Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of the affiliated books, movies, characters, etc. do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling. Just having some fun with a few ideas.

“Don’t forget to add the lacewing flies before removing your potions from the heat,” Snape’s voice droned as he swept between the tables of frantically stirring students. He stopped in front of Neville Longbottom and stared down his hooked nose into the cauldron, which was a murky green color.

“Longbottom, your potion is meant to be a deep purple shade at this stage. Tell me, what color is yours?” Snape questioned in a bored tone.

“G-green, sir.” Neville’s voice quavered, and he kept his eyes on the table.

“Ah, so your sight is not failing you. Then did you not read that only a drop of leech juice would suffice? It looks as though you have dropped your whole bottle in.” Snape sneered as he turned away, then muttered “Evanesco” over his shoulder and Neville’s potion disappeared.

“Hey! At least give him a chance, he might have been able to fix it!” Ron Weasley exclaimed from the next table over.

“Ron, leave it be, there’s only two more days until the Christmas holidays, you don’t want to spend your last nights in detention!” Harry Potter whispered fiercely to his best mate, glancing over as he stirred his potion feverishly.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice snapped out from just behind him. “You may want to focus on your own potion, yours looks rather off-color as well.”

Harry startled, and some of his potion slopped onto his arms, sinking into the skin of his forearms where he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes.

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed, “You had better go to the hospital wing then, I’m not even sure where you went wrong on this one, but it’s sure to have some nasty effects.”

Harry nodded mutely and started shoving his books into his bag, then stared at his hands as they suddenly stopped moving towards his bag and began slowly inching around his sides and towards his back.

“Professor?” he called out in a somewhat shaky voice, “What’s--”

He gasped as his hands and forearms suddenly sprang together, clasped behind his back, and his book fell to the floor with a thud. It was as though invisible ropes were binding his arms from elbows to interlocked fingers. He stared, dumbfounded, at the remains of his potion.

“Evanesco!” Snape vanished his potion immediately, then barked out, “Hospital wing! Now, Potter!”

The rest of the class stared as Harry trotted awkwardly towards the closed door and paused in front of it. He was almost hit by it as it swung open with a flick of Snape’s wand, but he twisted away from it and half-fell out into the corridor, stumbling down the hallway as he sought to regain his footing.

“Class dismissed. Return to your dormitories until the dinner bell.” With one last “Evanesco” towards the remaining potions, Snape strode out the door after Harry.

xxXxx

Snape entered the hospital wing as Harry was struggling to climb onto a hospital bed, attempting and failing to swing one leg over the high railings.

“Potter! What in the world are you doing?” he snapped out. “Did you speak to Madam Pomfrey?”

“She was-- I said-- She said she’d be out in a minute and to sit on a bed,” Harry stuttered, looking down at his feet and blushing.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Sit, Potter,” he ordered, then summoned a chair so it zoomed over behind Harry and swept him off his feet. Harry collapsed into it, falling awkwardly so that he was tilted onto his side with his face pressed into the arm of the chair. He flailed his legs a bit and eventually managed to right himself, glaring up at Snape, who was scowling and standing over him with his arms crossed.

“Fortunately for you, Mr. Potter, I am aware of what potion you so idiotically concocted today, and it is not very long-lasting,” Snape began.

“So you can fix it?” Harry interrupted, smiling hopefully. “Only, it’s a bit uncomfortable…” He trailed off under Snape’s dark stare.

“As I was saying, it is not very long-lasting. There is no known counter currently-- Patience, Potter!” He held up a finger to forestall Harry’s protestations. “There is no known counter, but the effects should not last more than an hour. I will inform Madam Pomfrey of your… condition, and return after dinner to escort you to your detention,” Snape practically purred this last word, “which you will be serving with me for your reckless and thoughtless behavior in the classroom. Don’t. Move. Until the hour is up.” With that, he swept off down the hall, smirking as he heard Harry’s muttered “As if I could.”

xxXxx

When Snape returned to the hospital wing, it was to find Madam Pomfrey hovering over a very irate Potter. Harry was seated in the same chair, and he was shaking his head back and forth as he flailed his legs at Madam Pomfrey, who was trying to hold a little bottle of what Snape recognized as a calming draught to his lips.

“No! I don’t want… Just TELL me how much longer!” Harry was mumbling loudly through lips pressed firmly together, his voice rising in his panic. He began to jerk in earnest when he caught sight of Snape. “No! You said an hour! Dinner’s not over, is it?!” Harry shouted.

Rolling his eyes, Snape moved swiftly over to the pair, reached over Madam Pomfrey’s arms, and pinched Harry’s nose closed with his thumb and index finger. Harry’s eyes widened and his kicking became wild, but Snape held on until Harry finally opened his mouth, then Madam Pomfrey dumped the contents of the vial into his mouth and massaged his throat until he swallowed. When they released him, Harry slumped back, gasping, his eyes beginning to droop slightly as the potion kicked in.

“Please, sir. It’s starting to hurt. I can’t get my elbows apart,” Harry pleaded, a sheen of sweat on his brow and his messy locks plastered to his face. He attempted to flick his bangs out of his eyes with little jerks of his head, but gave up after a few tries.

Snape considered him for a moment, then spoke to Madam Pomfrey, “Poppy, may I speak with you in your office?” Madam Pomfrey nodded and he followed her into the little room, then closed the door and put up a silencing spell.

“Was there any change in his condition while I was gone?” Snape questioned the mediwitch immediately.

“No,” Madam Pomfrey replied, “He just sat in that chair the whole time. He asked for water once, looked awfully embarrassed to have me helping him drink it, the poor dear. He started to get a bit agitated at about twenty minutes past the hour mark, kept asking me how long it had been. I didn’t want to tell him, I was afraid he would panic.”

“Yes, and that worked quite well,” Snape scoffed.

“Severus,” Madam Pomfrey admonished him. “Still, I don’t recognize this potion, are you quite certain it does not last past an hour?”

“Quite.” Snape bit out. “It is called fune ad servendium, and in its known form it was never meant to last past one hour.”

“Fune ad… rope for slaves?”

Snape inclined his head. “Yes. It is a very archaic potion. It was designed to provide a foolproof binding during the transportation of slaves, hence the lack of an antidote or counter. The one-hour time limit was set to allow the slaves to return to work quickly once they arrived; the potion could be re-administered throughout the journey fairly easily if necessary, but waiting for it to wear off would have become tedious, and the existence of a counter would have defeated its purpose.”

“No antidote? But…”

Snape sneered at her. “As I said, it is quite an archaic potion. While it was considered complex and difficult at the time, I am fairly certain that, if it becomes necessary, I could come up with an antidote with a little time.” He sighed heavily, sounding put-out. “Given that his condition has not changed, the bonds do not appear to be weakening at all, my best guess is that he somehow altered it to change the time limit. I will have to ask him exactly what he did to determine if that is, in fact, the issue, and to ascertain how long it will last now.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded. “I’ll go inform Minerva of the situation then, in case it lasts more than a few more hours and he needs to spend the night here. I suppose I’d better tell Albus as well.” She bustled over to the fireplace, throwing in floo powder as Snape exited the office. He returned to where Harry still sat awkwardly in the same chair. He was sprawled out with his back slouched in the chair to allow room for his arms beneath him, his bottom had slipped almost to the edge of the seat and his feet were planted firmly on the ground to keep him from sliding the rest of the way off.

“Potter,” Snape addressed him. Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now? I know it’s been more than an hour.” The calming draught had drained away most of Harry’s fear from earlier, and was keeping his anger at bay, but the professor could still detect a slight edge in Harry’s tone.

“You are correct. It has, in fact, been one hour and thirty-five minutes. However, before I give you all of the details, I need you to tell me precisely what you did to make this potion, so that I may determine exactly how to proceed,” Snape ordered, restraining himself from making his tone too biting.

“Does that mean you don’t know what it is?” Harry asked dully.

“No, that means that I believe you may have altered it slightly, and I would like to know exactly how you did so. Now please answer the question,” Snape snapped icily.

So Harry told him, pausing and frowning at various points as he tried to remember every detail he could.

“...and I had just finished stirring it clockwise when, well, you know.” He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the strain in his shoulders. “Now will you tell me what it is? And how to get rid of it? My shoulders are really aching,” Harry asked, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

Snape sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Only you could have created such a mess out of such a simple potion as an Invigoration Draught,” he muttered. “The potion you ended up brewing is called fune ad servendium. It is an archaic potion that has long since fallen out of use, but it was originally designed to bind slaves during transportation. The potion would essentially shackle or affix together whichever limbs it was dropped on.” He smirked. “Just be grateful it only touched your arms, Potter. The potion was also designed to last no more than an hour so that the slaves could return to work fairly soon after arriving without needing to wait too long for the effects to wear off. However, you, Mr. Potter,” Snape sneered, “Have managed to create a fune ad servendium that, as near as I can tell, has no time limit.”

Harry gaped at him. “But, sir, you can make… there’s an antidote… a countercurse... right?”

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line. “Unfortunately, no, not currently. However, despite its creator’s original intentions, this potion is no longer considered overly complex, simply obscure. I am confident that I will be able to create an antidote relatively quickly. No more than a month, certainly.”

“A month!! But Professor, I can’t… a month? How will I… Please sir…” Harry’s voice trailed off and he shifted painfully, looking distinctly pathetic.

“Relax, Potter. I can see that calming draught is already burning off. I said no more than a month. With the Christmas holidays approaching I should have plenty of time to brew, it may take me as little as three weeks.” Snape smirked at the horrified expression on Harry’s face. “However, in the meantime, I may be able to make you a bit more comfortable. Sit forward, so that I can look at your arms.”

When Harry, after struggling for a moment to comply, began to slide fully off the chair, Snape quickly bent forward to help him. He picked him up around the shoulders as Harry scrambled to get his footing, then rearranged him so that he was sitting further back in the chair and leaning forward to expose his tightly-bound arms.

Snape continued. “I refreshed myself on the theory behind this potion just before coming up here, and if I just…” Snape trailed off as he began tracing complicated patterns with his wand around Harry’s arms, muttering a long string of Latin under his breath. He paused and frowned when nothing seemed to happen, and Harry craned his neck to try to see what was happening as Snape resumed his wand waving and muttering. After the fourth repetition of this, Harry suddenly sighed in relief and his forearms sprang back apart, though his hands remained clasped behind his back with his fingers interlocked tightly.

“Thank you, sir, that’s much better,” Harry said appreciatively, standing up and shaking his arms out a bit. He paused for a moment, considering, then bent down, hopping a bit as he tried to step over his legs.

“Potter, I would not recommend that,” Snape warned him lazily.

Harry ignored his professor, stepping his second leg through the small loop his arms created and grinning up at his professor as he stood straight. He waved his hands above his head, exclaiming, “See! I--” Suddenly his hands sprang apart and whipped back behind him, causing him to gasp as they snapped together painfully. Then his locked hands were drawn towards the ground until he was kneeling and his hands were touching his feet. He whimpered for a moment and looked up at Snape with fear-filled eyes, then relaxed as he was released from the ground, the whole experience having lasted no more than fifteen seconds. Harry got shakily back to his feet, planting his feet carefully to avoid tipping over.

“Next time,” Snape smirked, “perhaps you will listen to me. The potion was designed for slaves, do you not imagine that certain punishments for thwarting its purpose would be built in to its design? Fortunately, this time at least, you appear to have tripped one only meant to scare the slaves into… submission, for a moment.”

Harry hung his head. “I just thought I could get my arms around to the front, they aren’t much good to me back there, really.” He shrugged.

“Yes indeed, the potion was, after all, designed to restrain slaves. Now, if you will stop foolishly bulling your way through for a moment, I will explain certain aspects of the potion so that you will know what to expect.”

Just then, the door to the hospital wing opened and Professor Dumbledore strode through with Professor McGonagall following just behind.

“Do please explain, Severus, this would be good for us all to hear.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he surveyed the scene. “Ah, Poppy, perhaps you had better be present for this as well,” he said, waving the mediwitch over from where she had been bustling about gathering potions. “Now, Severus, Poppy has already informed Minerva and I of the basic nature of the potion and the altered time limit. Would you care to continue the explanation?”

Snape inclined his head politely towards the headmaster. “As I already explained to Mr. Potter,” he sneered in Harry’s direction, “he has not just altered the time limit, he has in fact eliminated it, at my best guess. Fortunately, the potion is no longer considered quite as complex as it once was, so I am confident that I will be able to brew an antidote within the next three to four weeks.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Well, that does sound fortunate. Can nothing be done to help Harry in the mean time?”

“As I was just explaining to Potter, the potion can be brewed to any of six stages of strength, depending on how tightly bound an owner wanted their slave to be. It is a testament to Potter’s… skill,” he smirked, “that he managed to brew it to its strongest stage. Dripped onto the arms or hands, as we have just seen, that binds one’s arms behind their back from the elbows to the fingertips. And,” he cast a withering glance at Harry, “as we have also just seen, if the potion is brewed to keep the arms behind the back, they cannot be moved to the front. I managed to downgrade the strength of the binding to a stage five. You can see that his hands are still behind his back and his fingers interlocked, but his forearms are free. The next stage down would free his hands, though his wrists would remain shackled. Stages one through three are the same basic principle but with the arms held in front of the body.”

There was a brief pause, then all four pairs of eyes turned to Harry as he tentatively asked, “Professor, couldn’t you just knock it all the way down to stage one now? I mean, if I have to wait to get out of it fully, it’d be nice to have my hands free, and in front.” His eyes were wide and bright as he looked up at Snape.

Snape shook his head, the dark, greasy curtain of his hair falling into his face. “It takes some convincing to get the binding to downgrade. Since it was brewed as a stage six, it will take some very precise finagling to move it down to a stage one. If we misstep, it will snap back to a stage six and be much more difficult to convince the next time. I recommend that we downgrade it slowly through the stages, allowing the binding to settle into each stage before trying to shift it again.”

“And how long do you expect that to take?” Professor McGonagall spoke up for the first time.

After considering for a moment with his lips pursed, Snape answered, “I believe we should give each stage one day more to settle than the previous stage, since as we downgrade it further from its original state the spell will grow more unstable and more likely to snap back to stage six. That will mean that if we downgrade Potter to stage four on Friday morning, he will reach stage one by December 29th, a full week before classes resume. He should have adequate mobility in stage one to fully participate in classes while I finish up the antidote.” He glanced at Harry as he continued, “We will also have to wait until your bindings are at stage one for you to serve your detention.”

Harry glared at Snape, then looked to Professor McGonagall. “Does that mean I don’t have to go to class tomorrow and Friday?” he asked hopefully.

“Certainly not, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall corrected him crisply. “You do not want to fall behind. You will simply have to listen carefully and have one of your friends leave their notes for you to copy later on in the break.”

“But I’ll be a target!” Harry protested. “I can’t defend myself like this!” He wiggled his arms behind his back to demonstrate his predicament.

Professor McGonagall leveled him with a stern glare. “This is a school, not a jungle. You will be fine.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands merrily. “Well. Now that that’s settled. I believe you have missed your dinner, Harry. I’ll have one of the elves send some up, shall I?”

Harry blanched. “Dinner! How will I…? And…” He looked down at his shirt. “My clothes… I can’t…”

“Not to worry, Harry.” Dumbledore assured him blithely. “I’m sure Madam Pomfrey will be most willing to assist you. For now, it may be simplest if you simply sleep in the hospital wing, at least for tonight and tomorrow, and take your meals here. Poppy, if you would get him settled? And Minerva, if you could inform Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger that they may come see Harry in the morning after breakfast, I am sure they are most worried about their friend by this point.”

McGonagall nodded and Madam Pomfrey clucked as she bustled forward, commenting, “I had to send those two away from the doors twice already, most persistent,” before shooing Harry towards a bed and closing the privacy curtains behind them. Dumbledore motioned to the two professors and they followed him to the door. Snape was smirking, and McGonagall shot him an icy glare.

“What exactly do you find so amusing about this?” she snapped at him. “Do you watch your students at all? Potter must have made ten mistakes to get his potion to turn into something so completely different!”

Snape scowled at her. “Thirteen, actually. And in a room full of dunderheads it is difficult to spot every mistake.”

“That is enough,” Dumbledore cut them off as they strode down the corridor outside the hospital wing. “Harry will be fine, in time. I trust Severus to direct his full attention towards creating an antidote, and in the meantime we will work to minimize his discomfort and maximize his mobility. Now, I have work to do, and I know Severus does also.” He gazed sternly at Severus for a moment, then continued, “I will see you both tomorrow.” With that, he left to return to his office, and the other two did the same.

As he headed towards his potions lab in the dungeons, Snape considered just how distressed Potter had seemed by his predicament. Although it surely was an embarrassing and uncomfortable situation to be in, he thought with a smirk, he had been surprised by how much difficulty Potter seemed to have with the situation. Perhaps, he soothed himself, it is especially distressing to be put in such a humiliating position when one is accustomed to being treated as a celebrity. He pushed the questions from his mind as he entered his lab and focused on his newest puzzle to solve, excited despite the potion being for Harry Potter.

xxXxx

The next day, Ron and Hermione met Harry in the hospital wing. Harry had already had all of his needs tended to by Madam Pomfrey, and he was still blushing from being spoon-fed like a child. Fortunately, the mediwitch had been able to direct her wand over her shoulder to help him in the bathroom and with dressing, giving him some amount of privacy.

“Harry! Are you OK? We’ve been so worried!” Hermione exclaimed as she threw herself at Harry in a tight hug. “We tried to visit you last night after dinner but they wouldn’t let us in!”

Harry was struggling to maintain his balance under the weight of Hermione’s enthusiastic hug, and gasped out, “Hermione! You’re knocking me over!”

She stepped back, looking sheepish. “Oh, sorry Harry.”

“But you’re OK now, right mate?” Ron asked, looking Harry over. “You look fine, but we couldn’t really figure out what the potion actually did exactly.”

Harry sighed. “I’m OK, I guess, but I… er… the effects of the fune ad servendium are going to take a while longer to wear off.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t know that potion. Cord of… service, is that what it means? What does it do?”

Harry told them all about the potion and what it did (though he did not know what the name meant), the missing time limit, and the stages of strength.

“...Professor Snape said we could try slowly decreasing the stages while he works on the antidote. We already got it down one stage, it was pretty uncomfortable before, but I guess my hands will be stuck behind my back for the next few days,” he finished, blushing at this last bit.

Hermione was nodding sympathetically, but Ron frowned.

“Can’t you just step over your arms so they’re in front again? That seems like a simple enough solution for now,” he suggested.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “I tried that yesterday. It doesn’t work. They just snapped back behind me. And then it, uh… punished me, for a few seconds. I’d rather not try again.”

“But that’s barbaric!” Hermione exclaimed. “I can’t believe this kind of a potion even exists! I thought the wizarding world was civilized!”

“Well it’s an old potion, Hermione, no one uses it anymore,” Harry soothed her. “Come on, if we don’t leave now we’ll be late for Flitwick’s class, and I don’t think I’ll do well running like this.”

“Alright mate. Here, I repacked your bag for today’s classes, do you want me to just… er…” Ron trailed off, unsure.

Harry’s blush, which had nearly faded, deepened again. “Er… I guess I don’t really need it today… Maybe if you could just stick my wand in my pocket for me? I don’t know how I’ll use that either, but I feel weird without it.”

Ron suddenly looked mortified. “Harry! Your wand! How will you use your wand?! How will you defend yourself?!”

Harry looked down. “I know, Ron. I can’t do anything about it. Hopefully I’ll be ok.”

Hermione smiled. “Of course you’ll be ok. We’re here, we’ll defend you if we need to. Besides, there’s only two days of classes left.”

Harry smiled at her. “Yeah. Only two days.”

With that, the three of them left the hospital wing for their Charms lesson.

xxXxx

However, if Harry had thought his humiliation for the day was over when he finished being fed breakfast, he learned how wrong he was shortly.

They got to Charms just as the bell was ringing, and Ron and Hermione quickly scrambled into seats at the back of the classroom and began getting their quills and parchment out. Harry tried to follow suit but quickly realized he had no idea how to get the chair out from under the desk. He tried hooking one foot around the leg of the chair and hopping backwards, but this succeeded only in getting the other side of the chair crookedly trapped around the leg of the desk. Everyone was beginning to stare as Ron finally jumped up and pulled it out for him, and Harry’s face was crimson.

Although Harry did manage to pull his chair out by himself in their next class, Transfiguration, by the time they were leaving the classroom for lunch, the entire school had heard about his situation and was talking about it. There were whispers and stares as he trudged down the hallways with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

The worst, however, was when they ran into Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle at the entrance to the Great Hall. Harry was saying good-bye to Ron and Hermione to head to the hospital wing for lunch when Malfoy pushed past him from behind, knocking his shoulder into Harry’s and causing Harry to stumble and fall to the ground, his cheek smacking into the stone floor. Harry kicked himself over from his stomach onto his side and glared up at Malfoy, his face beet red.

“Oh, sorry Potter, didn’t see you there,” Malfoy chuckled, not bothering to conceal his laughter. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed on either side of him. “What’s the matter?” he continued, “Too tied up for a witty comeback?” With a last smirk he continued into the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle laughing on either side of him, while Ron and Hermione knelt down to help Harry up.

“Come on, mate,” Ron said, glaring at the gawking onlookers, “We’ll walk you to the hospital wing.”

xxXxx

By Friday during his morning break, Harry could only think longingly of the beginning of the Christmas holidays in just a few hours. By that time the next morning, most of the students would be boarding the train to go home and the halls would be blissfully quiet. Although Harry would be sad to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, who were both going home for the holidays this year, he was looking forward to finally being able to avoid the stares and humiliation that had been following him like a dark raincloud since Thursday morning.

Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins that morning had been a disaster. Hagrid had set them a ‘fun’ task for the final class before the holidays, making it simple enough that he could leave them mostly to their own devices while he cared for an injured grindylow he had found at the edge of the lake. He had told them to partner up and gave each pair a fairy, telling them to determine its favorite food from the variety he had set out. Harry had ended up partnering with Ron, but the two of them were hard-pressed to keep their fairy under control. All of the other pairs had set one student the task of holding and soothing the fairy, causing them to preen under the attention, while the other broke the variety of insects and plants up into tiny pieces and fed them carefully. With Harry unable to either hold the fairy or feed it, Ron had kept on fumbling the fairy about as he attempted to scoop crumbled pieces of food into its protesting mouth. Harry had struggled to come up with some way he could help, though his frustration at the situation was increasingly exacerbated by Malfoy’s antics. He and Pansy Parkinson had set themselves up right next to Harry and Ron and, between attempts at feeding his fairy, Malfoy took to prancing about with his hands clasped behind his back like Harry’s, pretending to stumble into things while Pansy snickered. Finally, as a parting shot just after class had been dismissed and Hagrid had returned to his grindylow, Malfoy had chucked a handful of the slimiest fairy food towards Harry’s face. Without his hands, Harry could only duck, and the glob had landed with a wet smack at the top of his forehead and begun sliding down his face. The Slytherins’ guffaws had only increased as Hermione had begun wiping it away from his eyes and face with the sleeve of her robe, explaining she was a bit wary of casting a cleaning charm at his face.

After dropping Ron and Hermione off by the Grand Staircase with repeated assurances that he would be fine alone, he trudged back to the hospital wing to meet Snape, his face streaked with a sticky brown substance. He walked through the (fortunately open) doors of the hospital wing to find Snape and Madam Pomfrey conversing in low tones. Snape looked up as he entered, his face impassive.

“Ah, the man of the hour,” he remarked snidely, closing the doors with a flick of his wand. “Have a seat, Potter, and sit forward. We’ll make this quick.”

Harry complied and Snape began muttering Latin incantations and waving his wand about Harry’s hands. In a minute or two, he felt his hand and fingers loosen from their tight grip and flexed them with a sigh.

“Thanks again, Professor,” he mumbled as he stood and began walking to the door.

“Potter!” Snape called out after him, and he turned. “Unless you truly are as idiotic as your potions work would lead one to believe, I assume the decorations on your face were not intentional. Were you planning on leaving them there all day?”

Blushing, Harry shook his head. Snape sneered and swept past him out the door as Madam Pomfrey bustled over to clean his face.

xxXxx

Harry headed back to the hospital wing for lunch. When he opened the doors to the wing, twisting his hands awkwardly behind his back and grinning triumphantly when the mechanism released, he saw that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape appeared to be waiting for him while Madam Pomfrey was readying his lunch tray. McGonagall looked mildly displeased about something, although she looked downright happy compared to Snape’s murderous expression, and Dumbledore was his usual jovial self.

“Ah, Harry!” Dumbledore exclaimed as Harry walked towards them. “I see Severus was indeed successful in reducing the binding to stage four. Excellent, excellent. We were just discussing your living arrangements for the holidays. Due to your current predicament, and since you would be alone there anyway with all of the other students gone for the holidays, we have decided it would not be best for you to stay in Gryffindor tower. However, since Madam Pomfrey will be visiting family for most of the holidays, we cannot keep you in here,” he explained.

Harry nodded and looked at Professor McGonagall. “Will I be staying with you then, Professor?” he inquired.

Her lips thinned and she replied, “Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I am visiting my sister and her family for Christmas and will also be absent for the holidays.”

Dumbledore intervened before Harry could ask his next question, stating, “You will be staying with Professor Snape for the holidays, Harry. He will be here for the duration, should any issues arise he is familiar with the potion and your predicament, and he may need you nearby anyways as he works on the antidote. He also has no students from his house staying for the holidays, so he will not need to juggle responsibilities.” A twinkle danced in his eye as he finished, “I daresay you two will be able to set your differences aside for a mere two weeks.”

Harry gaped at him. “Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected him. He looked at both Harry and Snape as he continued, “As this is the only logical solution, I expect the two of you to be mature about this situation. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “the elves will take your trunk down to the dungeons for you before the train leaves tomorrow morning, so I suggest you ask one of your friends to help you pack tonight before curfew. You’ll be staying the night here again, and Professor Snape will meet you after breakfast tomorrow to take you down to his quarters.”

Harry nodded mutely, while Snape continued to glare silently, but Dumbledore ignored this and addressed Harry again. “Well Harry, I believe Madam Pomfrey has your lunch ready, so we’ll leave you to it!” With that, he ushered both of the professors out of the wing.

xxXxx

After dinner that night, Harry followed Ron and Hermione up to Gryffindor tower to pack his trunk. He and Ron headed straight to their dormitory and Ron set about packing Harry’s things under Harry’s direction.

Once they had finished, they headed back to the common room to hang out until curfew, joining Hermione in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. When he told them that he would be moving into Snape’s quarters in the morning and remaining there for the holidays, Ron was immediately outraged on his behalf.

“That git! He startles you into splashing an awful potion on yourself, and then you have to spend the holidays with him! That evil, greasy, dungeon bat!” Ron exclaimed, his face turning red.

Hermione tried to calm Ron down while attempting to comfort Harry. “He’s not so bad Ron, and he didn’t intend Harry to come into contact with the potion. It may not be the best Christmas you’ve ever had, Harry, but I’m sure it will be fine.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “Hermione, it’s not just that I have to spend Christmas with him, though that’s bad enough. I have to have Snape help me with everything! Food, clothes, bathroom…” Harry turned bright red as he said this.

Ron looked shocked at this. “Bloody hell,” he breathed out.

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded him.

“Hermione, he’s evil!” Ron protested.

“He is not, Ronald, for the last time, Dumbledore trusts him!” an exasperated Hermione reasoned.

Harry quickly intervened before they broke into a shouting match. “It’s fine guys. I’m sure you’re right. It certainly won’t be pleasant, but I doubt he’ll cut me up into potions ingredients. I’ll survive.”

The three of them sat in silence for a minute, then Ron suggested a last game of chess before the holidays and Harry eagerly agreed. Hermione curled up in an armchair with a book, stroking Crookshanks on her lap, while Harry and Ron played. Ron was clobbering Harry worse than usual, and kept snickering into his hands whenever he would take one of Harry’s pieces.

“Queen to E4,” Harry ordered at one point, when around two-thirds of his pieces had been captured already. His face became horrified when Ron ordered his knight to take Harry’s queen, and Ron dissolved into peals of laughter, eventually falling to the floor as he caught sight again of Harry’s stricken expression. Hermione looked up for only a moment to roll her eyes at them, then returned to her book.

As Ron finally calmed down enough to speak, he gasped out, “Give me a hand up, Harry?” and then fell back into helpless giggles when he realized what he had said. At this last statement, Harry joined in his laughter, soon losing his balance and falling to the floor himself, which only increased their mirth.

Harry trailed behind Snape through the long twisting corridors of the dungeons. As they walked, he worried about living with the waspish man. Snape had never exactly tried to hide his dislike of Harry, and Harry was certainly not a fan of the professor. And while Harry could handle Snape as his professor, when the most he could do was assign a string of nasty detentions, he was a bit wary of the amount of control the man might have over him while Harry lived with him. What sort of punishments might he be allowed to dole out? Would anybody know if he went too far, or care? Harry suddenly realized, horrified, that he could withhold the antidote from him, or perhaps draw out the creation process. A cold wave of fear crashed over him as he realized just how much power Snape would have over him for the next few weeks.

His anxious thoughts were beginning to crowd his mind, chasing each other in circles, when the professor stopped abruptly. Harry was jolted out of his spinning thoughts as he nearly crashed into Snape’s straight back. He arrested his forward momentum just in time, somehow keeping his balance, then glanced around to take stock of their surroundings.

To his left was a large portrait of a tiny man with a bulbous nose, a white powdered wig which sat askew on his head, and an oddly shaped cane in his right hand. To his right was a blank stretch of stone wall between two suits of armor. Snape was standing in front of the wall with the palm of his right hand pressed onto the stone, fingers splayed out.

“Come closer, Potter,” he commanded. “You need to touch your right palm to the wall so I can key your hand print to the wards. If you are to be residing,” he practically spat this last word, “with me for the next two weeks, you will need to have access.”

Harry gulped. “You don’t just have a password, sir?”

Snape sneered at him. “No. Passwords can be overheard and used by anyone. I will set the access via your palm print to last only for the two weeks, there will be no taking advantage of this privilege once classes resume.” He glared at him, then motioned him forward.

Awkwardly, Harry shuffled forward and turned his back to the wall, extending his arms as far as he could and scooting backwards until his palms pressed into the stone of the wall.

“I said your right palm, Potter, not both palms,” Snape admonished him, exasperated.

“I can’t exactly separate them right now, sir,” Harry gritted out, angrily.

Snape paused, then smirked. “Then I guess you will simply have to use both hands.”

Harry turned back around as the walls began to open, disappearing into invisible seams behind the suits of armor, then reappearing as he followed Snape through. He glanced around, surprised at what he saw.

They had entered into what looked like a cozy flat, decorated in warm browns and greens. They were currently standing in the dining area, with a round wooden table in front of them. To their left was a small, but evidently often-used, kitchen, and straight ahead through the dining area was the living room, where a loveseat and two armchairs were grouped around a fireplace and stacks of books covered the walls. A hallway extended to his right from the space between the dining area and living room, and he followed Snape down it.

Snape was pointing out doors as they walked. “The door on the right is my room. Under no circumstances are you to enter without my express permission, which I will not be giving. The door straight ahead at the end of the hall is the guest bathroom, and the door on the left is the guest room, where you will be staying. Any questions so far?”

Harry shook his head.

“Good. I will expect you to be up every morning by 7:30 so that we can ready you before breakfast is served at 8:00. Lunch will be at 1:00 and dinner at 6:00. We will dine together rather than in the Great Hall since I will be helping you,” Snape explained, causing Harry to blush and look at his feet. “You may occupy yourself as you see fit throughout the day, although once we have reduced the binding to stage one I will expect you to be spending every morning studying. You may leave my quarters if you wish, but you must inform me of your whereabouts if you do so,” He leveled a stern glare at Harry. “There will be no foolish Gryffindor adventures while you are on my watch. Since writing is currently… difficult… for you, that will mean you must verbally tell me of your plans before leaving. Once we have reduced the binding to stage one, a written note left on the table will suffice. I also expect you to be back in the quarters by 10 pm so that we can get you ready for bed. You will be either in bed or in your room occupying yourself quietly by 10:30. Is that all clear?”

“Er, yes sir, I was wondering though… What will the punishments be if I break a rule?” Harry asked timidly.

“Planning a little bit of rule-breaking already, are we, Potter?” Snape’s eyes gleamed. “Suffice it to say, you do not want to find out.” Harry’s wide-eyed stare seemed to satisfy him, and he inclined his head towards the guest room door. “Your trunk should be in there. Go ahead and unpack your things.”

Snape was beginning to sweep away when he was halted by Harry’s tentative voice. “Sir? Er, I can’t… I mean, I think I’ll need help unpacking.”

Snape spun around and leveled a glare at him. “Are your clothes not neatly folded already?” At Harry’s nod he continued, “Are your hands not free now?” Harry nodded again. “Then I do not see a problem. I am not your nursemaid. Surely someone as athletic as you can figure something out.” With that he stormed out of his quarters and down the hall to the potions lab.

Harry stood for a moment, surprised, then heaved a sigh and turned back to the door to the guest room. Examining it, he cursed when he realized the door had a round, brass door knob rather than a longer handle. He spent several long minutes twisting at it, contorting his body, before the mechanism finally clicked and he sprawled into the room, landing on his back. He pushed himself back up using his hands and began the arduous task of moving his folded clothing from his trunk to the small chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. For once, he was almost grateful the Dursleys had never given him much clothing, as it cut down on the scope of the task.

xxXxx

Snape returned to his quarters just before lunch and strode to the guest room to call Harry to the table. He paused in the open doorway, and stood for a moment with his arms crossed. He was somewhat surprised to find Harry seated awkwardly on the floor with his back to the door, struggling to read his Transfiguration textbook. He had his feet pulled in to his right side with one heel holding the top corner of the page in place, and his neck was craned at an uncomfortable-looking angle as he strained to read the text. While Snape watched, Harry leaned back and grasped the next page with his hands, then leaned to his side as he turned it, struggling to shift his heel onto the new page.

“As fascinating as this display is,” Snape began, causing Harry to startle and fall onto his back with his arms pinned beneath him and his hands out to the side, the textbook falling closed as his feet shifted. Snape smirked as Harry kicked his legs out and sat back up, glaring at his professor, then continued, “it is time for lunch. Please come to the table.”

“Er, professor? Do you think I could use the loo first?” Harry blushed as he came to his feet.

If Harry had not known better, he might have thought he detected a hint of embarrassment in his professor’s visage when he answered, “Yes, I believe that is acceptable.”

As Snape led the way to the guest bathroom, he was considering just how humiliating it was to be Harry Potter’s nursemaid, and cursing Potter’s idiocy in potions. He knew it was not truly the boy’s fault, and was making an effort (he was!) at not taking his anger at the situation out on him. Yet he felt a bit like the nanny to a rich, spoiled child, and it was difficult not to enjoy Potter’s own humiliation, at least a little bit.

Opening the door for Harry, Snape stepped aside to allow him in first. With the two of them in there, the room felt quite crowded, so he left the door open. He stood in the doorway, facing Potter, who was looking uncertain as he stood in front of the toilet.

“Shall I just…?” Snape asked, gesturing with his wand.

Harry blanched. “Er, Madam Pomfrey usually just turned her back and did everything over her shoulder,” he explained.

Snape frowned. “I assure you, Potter, it is nothing I have not seen before.” When Harry continued to look horrified, he sighed and turned his back, smirking once Harry could no longer see. “Very well.”

xxXxx

They walked out to the table several minutes later, Harry’s face still flaming, and took seats beside each other. Lunch was already set out at the table, and Harry assumed the elves must have served it, since Snape had been out the entire morning. He watched with wide eyes as Snape piled food onto his plate, then turned his astonished gaze to his professor.

“Sir,” he protested, “I can’t eat that much! It will go to waste!”

Snape paused and looked him up and down. “You are a teenaged boy, Potter, and presumably will grow, at some point.” Harry’s blush deepened at this. “It is no wonder you are so small if you eat like a bird. While you are here, you will eat an adequate amount. No arguments.” He proceeded to cut up Harry’s food while Harry stared at the table, then began feeding him the morsels, taking his own bites as Harry chewed.

When Harry had eaten about half of what was on his plate, he stated, “I’m full. May I please be excused, sir?”

Snape frowned. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Have at least a few more bites, you can’t possibly be full already.” He brought another forkful up to Harry’s mouth, but Harry shook his head and tried to turn his head away, keeping his mouth firmly closed as Snape prodded his lips with the food.

“Come now,” Snape said, setting the fork down after trying for a minute to follow the moving target of Harry’s mouth. “I will not have you starving yourself simply because you are embarrassed to be fed.”

“I’m full,” Harry insisted, “I’m not starving myself.”

“Fine then. Just three more bites and you can be excused. If you refuse, I will simply plug your nose again,” Snape threatened.

Harry glared at him, but reluctantly opened his mouth. After eating his last three bites, and finishing his glass of water (also under Snape’s order), he fled to his room.

As Snape walked back to his lab after lunch, he pondered the oddities of living with Harry Potter. The boy seemed to bounce between acting like a spoiled child, like when he refused to finish his food (although there was not even that much on the plate!), and acting like a mature but independent teenager, like when he had found him studying (and on the first day of the holidays!). But perhaps the humiliation of his situation was beginning to get to him; he had seemed completely mortified at asking for help in using the bathroom. Snape had always thought Potter deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Besides, it was probably sheer boredom that drove him to read his textbook; he was likely so used to having all of his friends around him that he did not know what to do without them. With this thought, Snape returned to the puzzle of the antidote potion, sinking deeply into his process of discovery and creation.

xxXxx

Snape was woken from a sound sleep that night by a muffled scream. Shooting upright, he grasped his wand and stalked carefully to the room Harry was in, expecting an intruder. However, when he tossed open the door to the guest room, his wand held steady, he was surprised to find only Harry. He was asleep partially on his side and partially on his stomach, his bound arms leaving him off-balance so that his face was somewhat pressed into a pillow. His legs were kicking and jerking in the bed, and he was alternating between emitting screams which were half-strangled by his pillow and mumbling indistinct words. As Snape stepped closer, he heard some of his pleas.

“Please, please… NO! Let me GO! I’ll be good… please, just untie me.”

“Potter!” Snape called out, but Harry’s cries only grew louder and his tossing more frantic.

“POTTER!” He tried again, then moved forward and shook his shoulder to wake him.

At Snape’s touch, Harry’s eyes flew open and he flinched, attempting to back away and instead rolling himself off of the bed, landing with a dull thunk onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he started to say, then trailed off, gazing wide-eyed up at Snape from his prone position. “Professor?”

“Yes, Potter. Did you injure yourself just now?”

Harry looked confused. “What?”

Snape sighed impatiently. “Just now, when you fell off of the bed. Did you injure yourself? Did your head strike the floor?”

Harry’s brow scrunched up as he seemed to think, shifting vaguely as though wanting to pat himself down to check for injuries. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Was that a dream?” Snape continued patiently.

“Yes, sir. Sorry for waking you.” Harry struggled into a sitting position, then worked to get his feet under him, seeming more unsteady due to the late hour.

“Do you wish to discuss it now?” Snape asked, seeming somewhat reluctant, but also curious.

Harry looked surprised. “Not really sir. I’m fine.”

Snape seemed to consider him, his dark orbs piercing through Harry as though trying to x-ray him. “Do you require a sleeping potion to return to sleep? Or you may take dreamless sleep if you wish.”

Somewhat warily, Harry replied, “No sir, I’ll be fine.”

Snape nodded. “Then I will see you in the morning.” And he left the room.

xxXxx

Harry did not fall asleep again after his nightmare. He had them regularly enough, and he knew better than to try to sleep again the same night as one. While they usually only came about once a week or so, he had woken from a nightmare three out of the past four nights, and Harry was fairly certain he knew why. He was quite excited for Snape to reduce his bindings that day, hoping that having his arms bound in front of him might be less of a trigger.

He was oddly touched, in a confused sort of way, by Snape’s offer of potions to help him sleep after the dream. He was, of course, also mortified that his least favorite professor, a man who took great pleasure in thinking up creative taunts for him, had seen him in such a vulnerable state (he could hardly wait for next Sunday when he would be able to put up his usual silencing spell again). Yet Snape had seemed almost… normal. Human. He shuddered, though, to think of how his night would have been if Snape had forced him to take a potion. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on giving him dreamless sleep when he woke from nightmares Wednesday and Thursday nights, but the ‘dreamless’ part of the potion seemed to have worn off before the ‘sleep’ part, so in the last hour or so before waking he had been trapped in his nightmare. He had wondered, idly, if that was a known possible effect of the potion, but was afraid to ask the Matron.

When 7:30 finally rolled around, he practically bounded out of bed, his excitement for the downgrading of his bindings belying his fatigue. He headed out of his room in search of Snape.

xxXxx

Snape awakened at his usual 6:30 to perform his own morning ablutions. As he proceeded through his routine, his mind wandered to the night before. Potter’s nightmare had seemed unusually… violent, particularly for a young teenaged boy such as himself. Something did not seem quite right about the situation; there was a niggling at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off, reminding himself that there was a mass murderer intent on the boy, after all, occasional nightmares would be natural.

As he helped Harry to dress (in more of those horrid, ratty clothes he kept picking out!), Snape noticed that he appeared particularly chipper that morning. Unwilling to engage the boy in unnecessary conversation, he ignored his unusual energy through breakfast. Finally, as he was cleaning Harry’s face from the excess food that tended to dribble there (a side effect of being spoon-fed oatmeal), his curiosity got the better of him.

“You are annoyingly cheerful today, Potter. Care to share with us lowly folk what has you so excited?” he questioned drily.

Harry gave him a small smile. “You’re reducing the bindings today, sir. I’m just excited to have my hands in front again,” he explained truthfully.

Snape looked him over. “Yes, I suppose it would help with your balance somewhat.”

Harry blushed at this, but nodded.

xxXxx

By that evening, however, Harry was not nearly as excited about his bindings being in stage three. Snape had performed the spell at around 10:00 that morning, the same time as on Friday. Harry had realized by lunchtime that, although not nearly as bad as having his forearms bound behind him, having his forearms bound in front was not particularly comfortable either. There was still some definite strain on his shoulders, and he could not lower his arms beyond the point where his forearms were perpendicular to his torso, nor could he fully straighten them. He had found that if he held his arms up against his chest with his hands tucked under his chin, or rested his hands on the crown of his head, it relieved some of the tension in his shoulders. However, his arms would eventually tire of being held up, and the cycle would start over.

He had also realized that, without his hands, he could no longer open any closed doors within Snape’s quarters since all sported the same round doorknobs. He had learned this just after Snape had downgraded the bindings and returned to his potions lab, when Harry had tried to return to the guest room to retrieve a book. He had struggled with it for only a bit before giving it up as a lost cause, staring in defeat at the innocent-looking doorknob. He had considered asking Snape to open the door for him after lunch, but decided it better not to give Snape more fuel for his taunts (though he thought the professor had been mostly decent about this whole situation so far), and chose instead to be careful to leave the necessary doors open for the next seven days.

So it was that he found himself sharing the living room with Snape that evening after dinner.

xxXxx

Snape was beginning to be a bit unnerved by Harry. The boy had followed him out into the living room after dinner, rather than returning to his own room as he usually did, and sat down in the loveseat while Snape began reading in his favorite armchair. Now the boy was just sitting there, fidgeting every once in a while, and Snape could not help but steal glances at him, wondering what he was up to. Finally, he decided that relaxation would be completely unattainable as they were.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful?” he barked out, annoyed.

Harry frowned, lowering his arms from his head where they had been resting. “By doing what?” he queried defiantly.

Snape rolled his eyes and gestured to his book. “Reading, perhaps. You may borrow one of mine, if you wish,” he added, indicating his many shelves with a sweeping hand.

Harry eyed Snape for a moment, as though deciding whether he was serious, then stood up and perused the shelves for a few minutes. He chose a book called Forgotten Potions, wondering if fune ad servendium might be in there. He began struggling to extricate it, trying unsuccessfully to wedge his hands between the books to gain some leverage and growing frustrated. He startled when Snape’s voice spoke from directly behind him.

“Here, Potter,” he said and reached around him, plucking the book out easily and handing it to him.

Harry mumbled a thanks and tucked the book under his chin, returning to the loveseat.

A few minutes later however, he pushed it away and sat back with a quiet huff, frustrated once again.

Snape eyed him, then asked, “Dare I inquire what the matter is, Potter? Are the words perhaps too big for you?”

Harry glared at him. “It’s nothing, sir. And I can read just fine.”

Snape smirked. “My mistake, Potter. I assumed that your abysmal performance in Potions might have something to do with an inability to follow directions, but I see now that it is simply unwillingness. I should have guessed, based on your Gryffindorish rule-breaking.”

A faint flush was creeping up Harry’s cheeks. “I do follow the directions!” he protested hotly.

“And that is why you replaced the bubotuber pus with butterscotch in your potion on Wednesday?” Snape questioned nastily.

“I thought it said butterscotch! The board is hard to read sometimes!” Harry shot back.

This caused Snape to pause, though his face did not express his surprise. “The board is difficult for you to read?”

Harry deflated a bit. “Yeah, I mean, sometimes. Your writing is pretty small and the fumes get in the way sometimes.”

“No one else has mentioned difficulty reading the board.”

“Well, I guess they just understand potions better than me and they’re better at figuring it out.”

Snape seemed to be examining him for a moment. “When was the last time you had your eyes checked?” he questioned.

Harry stiffened a bit. “I don’t know,” he snapped.

Snape tapped his lip in thought. “Perhaps that is something to see Madam Pomfrey about then. In the future, Mr. Potter, I do recommend going to an adult if you have similar difficulties. I am sure that Professor McGonagall would be happy to help out the famous Harry Potter.” Snape smirked. “Now that we have concluded that you can, in fact, read, do you care to enlighten me as to the problem with my book?”

Harry sighed. “It’s not the book, sir.” His face colored a bit. “I just can’t turn the pages very well. They keep sticking and I end up flipping more than one at once.”

“Ah,” Snape said in understanding. “There again, Potter, is a predicament you would have benefitted from alerting someone to.” He waved his wand at the book briefly. “That should dry the pages out a bit and prevent sticking. It is a simple spell used by many adults with arthritis, but I think it should help in this case.”

xxXxx

Harry was rather amazed to find that the spell did actually help. He found an entry on fune ad servendium and set to reading it. It was short on descriptions of the making of the potion or the theory behind it, including only the two most primary ingredients, but it did give a fairly detailed account of its history and effects.

The book described the potion’s original design in transporting troublesome or newly-acquired slaves short distances. Its purpose was expanded as time went on to aid in the transportation of larger number of slaves, and even at times used as a punishment for misbehaving slaves. There was even a station of ‘potion-bearer’ that developed, where a trusted servant was given the task of doling out and re-applying the potion. The book also mentioned that the traditions of honor and respect among the lords and ladies of pureblood society prevented any of them from using the potion against each other in their various squabbles and even occasional wars.

Harry learned that the potion was outlawed at the same time that human slavery was in the wizarding world, and its use was all but forgotten, even in history books, where the practices of human slavery tend to be glossed over. Even the position of ‘potion-bearer’ was often erroneously described in history books as the servant who tasted the meals and drinks of the Lord to check for added potions. The author of the book described, with perhaps a hint of regret, how most of the ingredients and the way to make the potion had been lost as well.

Although Harry noted that the book’s account of the effects when dropped on the arms was only somewhat accurate, he shuddered at the descriptions of its effects on other areas, grateful that the potion had splashed only his arms and not touched his legs or face.

Then he looked up at Snape and suddenly realized how lucky he was that Snape had recognized the effects of the potion, let alone that he had known how it was brewed and understood its theory. The book he was reading was not even certain of the theory on how the potion managed to conjure the invisible ropes that it described. Although as Harry thought about it, he realized that it did not actually feel as though ropes were binding him, but he could not imagine how else to describe the effect -- it was not that the skin was stuck together since he had noticed it was able to shift and rub somewhat.

Before he could really consider what he was doing, he was surprised to find himself asking Snape, “Sir, how does this potion bind my arms? Does it conjure invisible ropes?” He held his breath, amazed at his own courage.

When Snape looked up, Harry thought that he might have looked… surprised for a moment before his features were schooled back into his usual impassive expression.

“No, Potter, only a fool would believe that a potion could work in such a way. Potions act on the body,” he answered.

“Then how…?” Harry trailed off.

Snape seemed to slip into full teacher mode as he explained, “The potion acts on the muscles and nerves of the affected area, sending the desired signals and locking the limbs into place even as it blocks the signals that would thwart its purpose.”

“So then…” Harry frowned. “It basically sets my body against itself? It convinces it that it’s supposed to stay like this?” He wiggled his arms in demonstration.

Again, a flicker of surprise seemed to flit across Snape’s face, and he gave a jerky incline of his head. Harry chuckled inside to imagine Snape’s dismay at admitting that Harry was correct.

xxXxx

That night, after Snape had helped Harry change into his pyjamas (turning his back as usual), Harry called out before Snape could close the door to the guest room behind him.

“Professor! Could you leave the door cracked open, please?” Harry asked, trying to not look too pathetic or desperate.

“You would like the door cracked open?” Snape sneered. “Why? Afraid of the dark?” Harry could not be sure in the dim light, but he thought Snape’s sneer seemed to lack its usual venom.

“No sir.” Harry took a deep breath, deciding it would be better to tell him now rather than dance around the subject for the next seven days. “I can’t open the doors right now. All of your doors have knobs instead of handles. I could do it earlier, but now I don’t really have hands…” He trailed off, feeling awkward.

Snape paused for a moment, then stated, “An oversight on my part, Potter. I will keep that in mind.” And he swept away.

As he drifted off to sleep, Harry was somewhat amazed. Had Snape just admitted to making a mistake, even if it was a tiny one -- an ‘oversight,’ as he had called it? He thought the world must be tilting on its axis.

When Snape awoke the next morning, it was with an odd feeling in his gut. He realized that the evening before had been… not entirely unpleasant. Potter did not seem quite as much like the spoiled brat he was in class. Perhaps he was simply more bearable without his friends around to show-off for, he thought, but the question remained of what Potter was truly like. However, he pushed his wonderings to the back of his mind as he went to meet the boy in question.

Harry, on the other hand, shuffled out of his room Monday morning feeling rather bleary-eyed. He had not slept well the night before. After tossing for a while, trying to get comfortable, he finally fell asleep only to be woken by a nightmare, once again. Fortunately, he was able to stuff his knuckles into his mouth to quiet his screams, his usual method of silencing himself when he was at the Dursleys and unable to set up a silencing spell, so he had not woken Snape. Additionally, his arms and shoulders were now continually aching from the strain. He decided he would venture out of the dungeons that day in an effort to keep his mind off the pain; there were only a couple of Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws around for the holidays, so walking the halls would not be too mortifying.

In between bites of food during breakfast, he addressed Snape to let him know of his plans.

“Professor? I was thinking I’d go to the quidditch pitch this morning. I’ll be back for lunch of course,” he stated tentatively, unsure whether he was supposed to ask permission or just inform Snape of his plans.

Snape paused with his spoon halfway to his own mouth. “Were you planning on flying?” He looked incredulous.

Harry shifted in his seat. “Well, yeah.”

Snape looked exasperated. “Potter, you cannot even turn a doorknob right now. How do you expect to grip a broom?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I can use my legs sir. I do it sometimes when I’m catching the snitch anyway.”

Now Snape looked angry, and Harry shrank back a bit. “Absolutely not, Potter. It is not safe. I will not have you breaking your foolish neck on my watch. No. No flying.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest further, but Snape swooped a large spoonful of oatmeal into the opening before he could.

“No arguments,” Snape stated firmly. Harry glared defiantly, his mouth brimming with the sticky oats.

When Harry had finally swallowed, he said, “Fine. I’ll go to the Owlery then.”

Snape nodded. “I will see you at lunch. And I will know if you defy me.”

xxXxx

Harry trooped back to the dungeons after visiting Hedwig, feeling considerably more cheerful than he had that morning. He stopped by the painting of the funny little man, facing the entrance to Snape’s quarters, then paused. He hissed in frustration, realizing how stupid he had been. It had not even occurred to him that he could not unlock Snape’s door now! He cursed, kicking at the stones in frustration. This, naturally, sent a shooting pain up his foot, and he wished he could rub the throbbing appendage. He sat down by one of the suits of armor, thinking that it was still a bit before lunch and Snape would likely be walking back from his potions lab soon. He would just wait for him to open the door.

Snape, however, had returned to his quarters a bit early, having decided to make lunch himself that day rather than sending down to the elves. He did enjoy cooking when he had time, and it was something he generally looked forward to during the holidays. He set the steaming plates out on the table right at 1:00, wondering where Harry was.

“Can’t trust the brat to keep to a schedule,” he muttered, and sat down to wait.

As the time ticked later, he grew angrier, eventually casting warming charms at the food. Finally, he began to worry. Had something happened to the boy? Had he decided to go flying after all and fallen? He quickly grabbed his cloak and hurried to the entrance to his chambers, intent on finding Potter.

Meanwhile, Harry was beginning to wonder whether Professor Snape was ever coming, figuring it must be past 1:00 by this point, when the entrance to his left suddenly opened and a slightly wild-looking Snape stormed out. The professor began striding down the hallway without seeing Harry, heading the opposite direction of where he was now scrambling to his feet.

“Professor!” Harry called out. Snape spun around and Harry stepped back when his expression darkened at the sight of his charge.

Snape stalked back to the entrance, opened it, and commanded, “In!” in a cold voice. Harry obeyed silently.

Once inside, Snape began to rant about idiotic Gryffindors, no respect for rules, could have been anywhere, no concern for his own neck… Harry shrank further and further back in his chair as the tirade continued, images of potential punishments flickering through his mind.

Snape finally paused and asked, with a cold glitter in his eyes, “Care to explain why you were late returning for lunch?”

Harry gulped. “Well, sir, I got back on time, sir, but I realized I couldn’t open the entrance anymore,” he raised his arms slightly to indicate the problem, “so I just thought I’d wait for you to get back from your lab for lunch. I didn’t know you were already inside.”

Snape’s anger faded from his face, leaving an expression rather like annoyance and something else Harry could not put his finger on.

Snape drew a breath and stated, “I…” he seemed to struggle for a moment, his expression strained, “apologize, Potter. Another oversight on my part.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded, unsure what to say. “So… I won’t be punished then, sir?” he eventually asked.

“Of course not, Potter, it was hardly your fault. I cannot punish you for something beyond your control.”

Wisely, Harry said nothing to this rather unexpected declaration.

Lunch was a silent, tense affair. Snape was distinctly annoyed at himself, and rather embarrassed at his lack of forethought. He had been so focused on his embarrassment at being forced to attend to Potter’s every need that he had not paid attention to what those needs were. He had sworn to protect the boy, for Lily’s sake, and although caring for him was not necessary, the boy was admittedly rather helpless at the moment. It would be cruel to leave him trapped or stranded, even if he was a brat like his father.

xxXxx

By the next day, Harry was quite fatigued and distinctly uncomfortable. He had hardly slept the night before, plagued by the pain in his shoulders and arms and the nightmares that began whenever he dropped off. Caught between trying to stay awake to avoid the nightmares and desiring to sleep to avoid the pain, he had spent the night cycling between drifting off in his tiredness and then jolting awake several minutes later to a nightmare. Throughout the day, he had additionally noticed a stinging pain that had developed on the skin of his forearms, he presumed from them rubbing together for so long.

By dinnertime, he was in a rather foul mood and could only think longingly of the next morning when Snape would reduce his bindings once more. He chewed sluggishly at the food Snape fed him; he hardly had an appetite but knew that he had to eat at least half of his plate lest he raise Snape’s ire.

Snape, meanwhile, was watching Harry with some amount of concern. It was Christmas Eve, yet he seemed completely downtrodden. There were shadows under his eyes, and he clearly had very little appetite, though he had not refused the food that Snape was still feeding him. Finally, he decided that he had better ask what was wrong, lest the child be ill (though why he would be suffering in silence he had no idea, ought he not be insisting that Snape wait on him hand and foot in his convalescence?).

“Potter, are you well?” he asked, attempting to keep the usual sting from his voice.

Harry looked up, faintly surprised, and shook his head.

Snape frowned. “Is the food not to your liking?”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled.

Snape considered him. “Are you sleeping well, then?” he finally asked.

Harry hesitated, then realized that Snape seemed unlikely to drop the subject completely, and so decided to give him a partial truth. He shook his head, adding, “My shoulders are hurting.”

Once again, Snape felt a bubbling of annoyance at himself. Of course they were hurting! He cursed himself silently for not thinking of it earlier. After all, Potter’s arms had been kept in what looked to be, on further inspection, a rather uncomfortable position for nearly three days now. He imagined the strain had caused quite a lot of tension in his shoulder and back muscles. A light bulb flickered on in his mind, and he wondered whether this was the reason he had seen Potter with his hands tucked under his chin or resting on his head so often in the last couple of days. He had believed it to be some odd, teenaged whim of his, but now it seemed a reasonable way of finding a more comfortable position. He wondered if he was truly that frightening and cruel that pampered Potter would not even complain of his discomfort. And Snape, a man who prided himself on his observational skills, had been too blinded by his assumptions about the boy -- assumptions which were beginning to crumble the more time he was forced to spend with him -- to notice when he was in pain.

Rising, Snape swept to his room, returning with a small jar a moment later.

“Stand up,” he ordered Harry, his tone surprisingly soft, if not exactly gentle. Looking confused, Harry obeyed.

“This cream will ease some of the tension and help with the ache,” Snape explained to Harry, hefting the jar. “I will just remove your shirt and rub it into your shoulders and arms for you.” He began to raise his wand but was halted by Harry’s protest.

“No! No sir,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. (Was that fear? Snape wondered.) “Don’t take my shirt off. Can’t you just… rub it in under my collar?”

Snape considered his request. It was rather strange that he would have such a reaction to such a small thing, but Snape supposed the teenager had had enough of his dignity stripped away over the last week, and decided not to question him on it.

“Very well. Turn around please.” Harry complied and he began massaging the cream into his shoulders and upper back, working through the loose collar of Harry’s baggy pullover. Snape could feel Harry relaxing as he moved around to his arms, his tired eyes beginning to droop.

When Snape finished, he steered the tired child towards the hallway, helping him get ready for bed and leaving the guest room door cracked behind him once the child was in bed. Lying in his own bed later that night, Snape’s thoughts drifted to all that he had learned about Harry Potter over the last few days. Contrary to his expectations, Potter was rather quiet and unobtrusive for the most part. He alternated moments of stubborn defiance and frightened timidity, and was clearly reluctant to inform Snape of any issues he was having. Whether this stemmed from an independent streak or a fear of his bristly Potions Master, Snape was not sure, but his mind churned through the possibilities as he drifted to sleep.

The next morning, Snape entered the guest room at 7:30, where Harry was just beginning to stir. He steeled himself for what he was about to do.

“As it is Christmas morning, you may forego changing out of your pyjamas until after breakfast, if you wish.” Snape looked a bit strained as he added, “I know that you are tired so you may go back to sleep until 8:00.”

Harry looked surprised, but nodded. He flopped back onto his pillows and seemed to fall back to sleep almost instantly.

Snape ended up leaving him to sleep until nearly 8:20 before he re-entered the guest room and shook Harry awake. He noticed that Harry flinched a bit at his touch, but he seemed to gather his wits rather quickly, and followed Snape to the table quietly.

They passed what seemed to Snape like a rather pleasant breakfast -- quiet, without the inane chatter about presents that he had expected on Christmas morning. Once they had finished, he addressed Harry.

“The house-elves brought your presents here last night, they are in the living room by the fire. Would you like to open them now?” He pointed to the small pile of presents in the corner of the living room. He had been surprised by the size of the pile, and watched Harry carefully for signs of disappointment.

Harry’s eyes lit up as he caught sight of the pile, but he glanced at Snape as though wary of a trick. “Yes sir, I’d like that.”

Snape inclined his head, gesturing to the living room, and Harry scampered out to sit in front of the fireplace. Snape followed at a more sedate pace, hovering in the doorway as though unsure of where he should go.

Harry swung his arms gently at the presents, carefully knocking his pile of gifts into a wider spread so that he could read the tags of each. He swept the lumpy package from the Weasleys toward him first, grinning to himself at what he expected was inside. He paused once he had maneuvered it into his lap.

“Er, sir?” he began tentatively. “Do you think… I’m not sure I can open them myself. Do you think you could… er, help me?”

Snape’s expression was unidentifiable as he said, “I would suggest that you try yourself first. You have other options besides your hands.”

Harry nodded, a bit surprised at Snape’s civility and helpfulness, despite the fact that his answer was negative. He thought for a moment, then began clumsily ripping the brown paper apart with his toes, pulling out a Weasley jumper, which he asked Snape to swap on over his pyjamas for him. Harry proceeded through the rest of his presents in a similar manner, though he did have to ask for Snape’s help with Hagrid’s present, as it had been tied up with some lumpy-looking twine and he could not break the knot with his teeth.

xxXxx

About an hour later, Snape reduced Harry’s bindings to a stage two. While Harry was rolling his shoulders in relief, Snape cleared his throat and began, “If you would like…” He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I would be… willing to take you to the Christmas dinner in the Great Hall tonight. That is, if you wish. I know that it might be a bit embarrassing to be seen being fed by your Potions Master. But…” He paused, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. “If you desire it, I am willing.”

Harry looked up at his professor, shocked. He knew that the situation would be embarrassing for more than just him, and he was surprised that Snape would willingly offer. Touched by the gesture, Harry nodded and said, “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Snape inclined his head a bit. Changing the subject, he said, “I think it is high time that we give you a bath. You are beginning to stink.” He sniffed his hooked nose, touching it briefly as though holding himself back from pinching it closed.

Harry might have found this gesture comical if he were not so horrified by the idea. “But sir! Can’t we just use a freshening charm again? Why do I need a bath?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Freshening charms only work for so long. There is no substitute for a real bath, and you have not had one in a week. You do not want to show up to Christmas dinner stinky and greasy.”

“You should talk…” Harry muttered under his breath, and instantly knew it was a mistake.

Snape looked thunderous. “You will take a bath, Potter,” he snapped. “Stop acting like a child. You will get in that tub, willingly or not.”

Meekly, Harry complied, deciding it was better to give in while he still had some amount of control over the situation rather than forcing Snape to spell him into the tub. He trailed behind his professor as they headed to the bathroom, his heart thudding in his chest.

Snape turned the taps on to begin filling the spacious tub, then turned around and raised his wand towards Harry.

Harry took a quick step back, raising his arms slightly as though to shield himself. He raised wide eyes to Snape. “Aren’t you going to turn your back, sir?”

Snape leveled a stern stare at him, biting out, “I see little point as I will need to help you bathe anyway.”

Harry drew his arms close to himself, as though he wished he could hug himself around the middle. “I can do it myself sir.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You are trying my patience, Potter.” He looked up. “Fine.” He strode to the door and pointed his wand back over his shoulder, waving Harry’s clothes off of his skinny frame. “I expect you to be in the tub by the time I return with your clothes,” he stated, and left the room.

Harry quickly stepped into the tub, treading carefully so he would not slip, and lowered himself onto a submerged bench so that only his head and neck were above the water.

When Snape re-entered the room, he was holding up a pair of worn, baggy jeans with holes in the knees and a scruffy t-shirt. “Are these the only clothes that you own?” he demanded, still angry over Harry’s earlier behavior.

Harry shrunk further into the water, but then his temper flared. “So what if they are?” he shot back.

Snape glared at him, then heaved a frustrated sigh. “We will save that discussion for later. You need to take your bath.” He picked up the soap and moved towards Harry, but Harry backed to the other side of the tub, remaining under the water.

“I said I could do it myself,” he protested, his tone defiant.

Snape rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then slammed the bar of soap onto the ledge of the tub. Harry was idly surprised that the bar did not break. “Fine. You may try,” he allowed.

Harry warily returned to that side of the tub. Without allowing his shoulders out of the water, he reached his hands up and slipped his forearms around the soap, squeezing to hold it in place. Then he sat back on the bench and began scrubbing under the water.

Snape almost looked amused underneath his anger as he said, “Potter, that will never work.”

Harry shot him a look, then gasped and grimaced, an expression that was an indication of pain to Snape’s keen eyes.

Concerned, Snape snapped out, “What is it, Potter?”

“Nothing, I just dropped the soap. I’ll get it.” Harry was about to duck his head under the murky water when Snape stopped him.

“Wait, Potter.” Snape fixed him with a stern look. “Accio soap.”  The soap zoomed out of the water and into Snape’s hand. “Stand up,” he commanded.

“I said I could do it!” Harry argued, his face flushing with anger, though his wide eyes seemed to speak of a different emotion.

“And I let you try. You obviously are having difficulties, so I will help you. Now, stand up. I will not ask you again.”

Slowly, and with a faint tremble that did not go unnoticed by Snape, Harry stood while facing his professor, until the water was just above his belly button.

Snape scrutinized Harry for a moment, noting that he was skinnier than he had realized while he considered where the pain he was hiding may have come from. He then ordered, “Stretch your arms out.” When Harry complied, he took ahold of one of his forearms, causing Harry to stiffen. He twisted the arm carefully to examine the inside of the forearm, and found red, chapped skin there.

Still looking at Harry’s arms, Snape asked, “This was from the rubbing?” He glanced up to see Harry’s nod, then continued, “Why did you not inform me?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s fine.”

Snape released his arm. “Another subject we will be discussing after your bath. Turn around please and I will soap your back for you. You are certainly never going to be able to reach there.”

Harry shook his head, his expression defiant, but his body was still trembling.

Snape sighed again. “I will only be soaping your back. Once I finish I will cast a mild sticking charm to two sides of the soap so that it will not slip out from your grip, and you may clean the rest of you while I turn around.” Snape’s expression darkened. “I will not ask you again, Potter.

Slowly, Harry turned around, his trembling increasing.

Snape nearly dropped the soap when he saw Harry’s back. Suddenly, pieces were fitting into place in his mind. Harry’s flinching at an unexpected touch, his nightmare, his alternating meekness and defiance, his testing and breaking of rules and boundaries, his hiding of his own pain, his independence…

Abuse.

The word seemed to fill his mind, crowding out all else for a moment. What had those Muggles done to him? How could no one have noticed? How could he not have noticed -- he who was sworn to protect the boy?

“Potter.” Harry flinched mildly as Snape addressed him. He softened his tone as he continued, “How did you get these scars on your back?”

“I… I…”

Harry’s mind had gone blank as soon as Professor Snape had asked him to turn around. Think, think, Harry! He screamed at himself mentally. Come up with a story, an excuse -- something! You’ve fooled people before -- you’ve fooled him before! Just say something, anything…

Snape noted that Harry’s trembling had increased as he stuttered out a response from between chattering teeth, “I… I f-f-fell…”

Before he could stop himself, Snape sarcastically sneered out, “Yes, I’m sure you fell repeatedly onto the same long, thin object.”

Harry twitched a bit at Snape’s tone and hunched in on himself, but remained stubbornly silent. Snape sighed and softened his voice. “Come. Let’s get you clean first.” He soaped down Harry’s back, had him turn so he could soap up his arms, and then spelled the soap, left it on the ledge, and turned around.

Harry took a moment to come back to himself after Snape had turned around. His trembling began to ease somewhat as he finally scooped up the soap and began scrubbing himself. It’s not so bad, he thought to himself. I can still save this, he doesn’t know anything yet, I can convince him…

But convince him of what? No one had ever seen his scars before -- even the boys in his dormitory thought he was just a bit shy about changing in front of them. Snape was right, what else could his scars possibly be?

xxXxx

A half an hour later, Harry and Snape sat across from each other in the living room. Harry was clean and dry, aside from his damp hair, and bundled in a large, fleecy blanket on the loveseat, a cream having already been applied to the irritated skin of his forearms. Snape was leaning back in his armchair, his body language the picture of nonchalance, but his eyes did not quite hide his concern and anger.

Snape was deep in thought as he observed the nervous boy in front of him. He needed to find out the truth of the matter. He was certain it was Potter’s relatives who were mistreating him -- who else could it be? And he was quite certain he recognized the lash marks on his back as coming from a belt. While there were not so many, Snape would estimate such an incident likely happened a handful of times, he knew that such treatment did not spring from nowhere. If Potter had been hiding scars like these, what else could he have hidden for these past few years? He needed to get the truth from him, get some evidence he could bring to Dumbledore to take Harry away from those people.

“Would you care to try explaining your scars again?” Snape began. “Perhaps the truth, this time?”

Harry remained silent, worrying his lower lip between his teeth while he stared stubbornly at the carpet.

Observing the fear that was showing beneath the facade of defiance, Snape suddenly felt as though he were looking in a mirror that was reflecting himself at that age, hiding and apprehensive of being discovered while simultaneously dreading never being discovered.

“It’s ok… Harry. You’re safe.”

At the use of his given name, Harry looked up and met Snape’s eyes, his defiance cracking and beginning to fall.

“I… I c-can’t…” Not supposed to tell. Can’t say anything. Can’t tell anyone. The mantra filled Harry’s mind.

“It’s ok, Harry.” The name fell more easily from Snape’s lips as he watched the terrified teenager trying to hold himself together. “Let’s start with something small. How do you feel towards your relatives?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly a secret. “I don’t particularly enjoy it there,” Harry said, his voice sounding small to his own ears.

Snape nodded, encouraging him without seeming eager. “And how do they feel about you?”

That wasn’t a secret either, right? “They don’t like me either.”

“How do you know they don’t like you?” Snape asked.

“Well…” Harry thought for a moment. “They ignore me a lot.”

“What else?” Snape queried, his voice calm, unconcerned.

“Um… They don’t like to bring me places.” That couldn’t be a secret; Mrs. Figg had watched him enough times when he was younger.

“Where do they leave you when they go out then?”

“They used to leave me with Mrs. Figg sometimes,” Harry answered. He fidgeted a little.

Snape nodded. “And now?”

Harry’s face turned white. No. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t.

Snape watched as Harry began to tremble again, and hurriedly said, “That’s all right, Harry. You don’t have to answer that now.” Snape thought for a moment, then asked, “How else do you know they don’t like you?”

“Er… They don’t like to spend money on me, I guess.” Anyone could see that from the state of his clothes.

Snape calmly questioned, “What sort of things cost too much money for them to spend on you?”

“All kinds of things, I guess. Gifts, outings, clothes, food--” Harry stopped, horrified at his slip. He glanced up at Snape through his fringe. Had he noticed that last item?

By the look in Snape’s eyes, he had. “Food, Potter?” He struggled to keep the anger from his expression.

“Yeah, ya know.” Harry shrugged, trying to hide his trembling. “No supper as a punishment. That sort of thing.”

Snape did not look convinced, but he let it go. “What else did they deny you?”

“Er…” They already knew about this one, right? His Hogwarts letter had been addressed there, after all… “Well, they didn’t want to give me a bedroom for a while, until after my Hogwarts letter came.”

Snape’s eyes looked icy, even if his expression was studiously impassive. “And where did you sleep, then?”

Harry shrank back, but answered the question. “In the… in the cupboardunderthestairs.”

Snape closed his eyes. “Where, Mr. Potter?”

“The… the cupboard under the stairs sir. But… the school knew that, my Hogwarts letter was addressed--”

“The letters are addressed automatically,” Snape interrupted him, his eyes flashing open.

Harry gulped. Automatically? They hadn’t known that? Oh no. He was in so much trouble…

Suddenly, Harry felt very tired. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and forget everything that had happened since Snape had made him take a bath. “Sir? May I go to my room now?”

Snape’s expression softened once more. “Yes… Harry. That will be fine.” He stood up as Harry did and reached forward to unwrap the blanket from his student’s shoulders, noting but not mentioning Harry’s flinch at his raised arm. He watched sadly as the child shuffled away, his shoulders rounded and head down.

xxXxx

Some time later, Snape knocked quietly on the open door to the guest room, a tray of food balanced in one of his hands. He took in the tiny pile of gifts lovingly stacked in front of the trunk, his heart panging just a bit, then turned his attention to the small lump in the center of the bed. Harry was curled up into a tiny ball, just his messy hair and closed eyes peeking out from beneath the blankets. He was fast asleep.

“Harry,” Snape called gently, stepping forward into the room. Harry’s eyes opened slowly. When he caught sight of his professor, he sat up and began shifting his legs over to the side of the bed, looking curiously at the tray Snape was carrying.

“No, you don’t need to get down. I didn’t think you would be up for the Great Hall, so I had the house elves bring some of the feast here for you. I thought you could eat in here, if you’d like. Or,” he added hastily, “if you would rather, we could still make it down for the feast.” The usually stern professor looked suddenly unsure of himself.

Harry shook his head, a mixture of bewilderment and wonder in his eyes. “No, here is fine.”

Snape nodded and brought the tray over to the bed as Harry scooted himself up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Snape began feeding Harry, but he noticed that, although Harry usually looked uncomfortable while being fed, he seemed particularly so just then.

“Is something wrong… Harry? You seem uncomfortable. Are you in pain?” Snape’s eyes clouded a bit in concern.

“No, no I’m fine,” Harry insisted, not meeting Snape’s gaze.

“I remain unconvinced of the truthfulness of that statement, Potter. Care to try again?” Snape scolded him mildly.

Harry sighed. “I just feel a bit like a… an invalid, right now. Being fed in bed.”

Snape frowned. “Would you be more comfortable at the table? We can move, if you would prefer it.”

Harry gave him a small smile. “No, it’s ok… just feels a little strange.”

“I would imagine that being taken care of may feel a bit strange to you,” Snape said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Harry colored. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Harry, but that is the point. You should not need to. You are still a child.”

“I am not a child,” Harry snapped.

Snape looked a bit sad. “I know, Harry. But you should not need to be an adult, not yet.” Harry shrugged, glancing away, and Snape continued, “You do realize that the way they treat you is not normal, don’t you, Harry?”

‘They treat me fine,” snapped Harry. “I’m fine.”

Snape growled, “They do not treat you fine. From what you have said and what I have seen, they are neglecting you and abusing you. That is not fine.”

“I’m not abused,” Harry mumbled.

Snape gave a bitter smile. “I don’t think either of us is convinced of the truthfulness of that statement.”

Harry gave him a measuring stare, but said nothing.

A few minutes later, Snape spoke up again. “I see the house-elves sent up wizard crackers. I would not be completely opposed to pulling one with you, if you desire to.”

At this, Harry cracked a grin, and Snape silently vowed to make that wonderful look appear on Harry’s face more often. “Sure!” he said, enthusiastically.

xxXxx

“I will be at the lab for most of the day today,” Snape stated somewhat suddenly. It was the next morning, and Harry and Snape were just finishing breakfast. “Usually, when it is discovered that a student’s home life… leaves something to be desired, I recommend that they write down their experiences. I find that it generally makes it easier for them to share later.”

Snape saw that Harry was eyeing him warily, but with some interest. He continued, “I would have recommended this for you, but in your current predicament…” he trailed off for a moment, then resumed speaking, “I have a quill that will record for you as you dictate to it, verbatim. It works similarly to a Quick-Quotes Quill, but is perhaps a bit simpler. It is slightly less ideal than writing, but as I will be gone the entire day barring meals, I was hoping you might be a bit more comfortable.

“You may write however you wish. You can write it as a diary, as a letter, as a list, an accounting. No one need ever see what you write, the important part is to admit it to yourself. You can even write two versions if you wish, one for you and one for someone else you wish to confide in.” Snape surveyed Harry, watching his reaction.

Harry, still looking wary, asked, “And what if I have nothing to say?”

“Then I suppose you have nothing to say. You may write about whatever you wish. However, I do request that you spend at least some time writing today. The subject matter is up to you.”

Harry looked thoughtful, but nodded.

An hour later, Harry sat in front of a blank piece of parchment, the quill poised on the page in front of him. At first, he had been a bit angry at Snape's insistence that he write something down; what was he supposed to write? But now, he thought that maybe, if he could just get Snape to understand... something... whatever it was that he wanted him to understand, maybe he would drop it. He was still feeling raw from his carefully-guarded secrets being discovered, and he wanted to protect those he had left. But maybe it would feel good to talk about it at least to himself? He didn't have to show Snape...

“This is stupid,” he mumbled, then watched in awe as the quill wrote This is stupid. “That’s so weird!” he chuckled, then all-out laughed when the quill transcribed That’s so weird!

“Ok.” He thought for a moment. “I’m still not saying it’s abuse, but I guess there are a few things the Dursleys do that I don’t really like…”

xxXxx

That evening after dinner, Harry walked over to where Snape sat in his armchair, a small length of parchment pinned between his elbows.

“This is for you, sir,” he said quietly, then fled to his room.

Snape looked down at the parchment that he held clutched in his hand.

Dear Professor Snape,

The Dursleys gave me Dudley’s second bedroom after I got my Hogwarts letter. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs before that. They used to lock me in there sometimes as a punishment, but that’s no different really than other kids being sent to their room, is it? Just my room was under the stairs. No that sounds stupid, can you scribble that out? No, I guess you’re not a very smart quill, are you? Oh well.

They give me a lot of chores too, but lots of kids have chores. They don’t make Dudley do any, but that’s because he doesn’t have to earn his keep. I cost them so much money, so I have to do something to pay them back. It just makes sense.

Harry

Snape’s expression almost would have looked like a smile, if one did not know better. It was a start, he thought.

“Didn’t I warn you, boy, never to tell anyone?” Uncle Vernon hissed, menacingly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry whimpered, cowering before the figure looming closer.

“And what did I say would happen if you ever said anything?” The shadowy silhouette came into focus just above him, and he could see the belt that Uncle Vernon was caressing in his hands.

“But I didn’t--”

“Don’t talk back!” Uncle Vernon shouted, backhanding him across the face.

Then Harry started feeling the sting of the belt on his back, and as always he could not move away. He realized at some point that his arms were tied in front of him rather than behind, but he did not have time to ponder this strange occurrence as just then his Aunt and cousin were suddenly in before him.

“How could you think anyone would care?” they mocked him.

“This is how a freak like you should be treated!”

They continued to taunt him as Uncle Vernon rained down lashes on his back for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his control broke as the pain mounted, and although he knew it would only encourage his Uncle to strike harder, he screamed.

xxXxx

Snape went to bed late that night, pondering the contents of Harry’s letter and how best to proceed. As he drew back the covers to climb in, he heard a sound. Pausing to listen, he waited a minute or two before he heard it again, what sounded like a muffled scream. He hurried to the guest room, where he found Harry curled into a tense ball, his fists stuffed into his mouth as he whimpered.

“Potter!” he called out, then amended, “Harry! Wake up!”

When further calling had little effect, he hesitated. He remembered Harry’s violent reaction the last time he had woken him from a nightmare, and was trying to avoid shaking him awake again. Eventually, he knelt down and began rubbing his back, saying, “It’s ok, Harry, you can wake up now, it’s ok.”

Finally, Harry seemed to relax a bit. Unsure whether he was awake, Snape kept rubbing circles and speaking.

After a minute or two, he heard a tentative voice ask, “Professor?”

Snape stopped instantly and moved around to the end of the bed as Harry struggled to sit up, blinking up at him.

“You were having a nightmare,” Snape explained. “I thought it best to wake you.”

Harry looked somewhat confused, but said nothing as he gave a small nod.

“Would you like some dreamless sleep?” Snape asked, unsure how best to proceed now that Harry was awake.

Harry shook his head ‘no’ very firmly, his eyes somewhat wide in the dim light.

Snape frowned. “Do you think you will be able to return to sleep tonight?” he asked.

Harry hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head, looking down at his hands.

Snape looked too, then came back around to the side of the bed and reached for Harry’s hands, examining the knuckles in the light filtering in from the hallway.

“You are bleeding,” he commented, looking up to gauge Harry’s reaction.

Harry shrugged and tried to pull his arms back, but Snape did not let go. He drew out his wand and muttered something over Harry’s hands, and when he released his arms, Harry saw that shiny new skin had formed over his most recent bite marks.

Snape was eyeing Harry when he looked back up from his hands. “Do you often bite your hands when you have a nightmare?”

Harry shrugged again, and Snape rolled his eyes. “A verbal response, please,” he stated with some annoyance.

Harry looked back down at his hands in his lap. “Yes, sir. When I can’t use a silencing charm.”

Snape nodded as understanding dawned on him. “To muffle the sound,” he clarified.

Still not looking up, Harry nodded.

After a brief pause, Snape asked curiously, “Why do you not wish for dreamless sleep?”

Harry shrugged again. “I don’t think it works properly for me, sir. When Madam Pomfrey gave it to me, I still dreamt for a bit before I woke up.”

“Ah,” Snape said, imagining what Harry was not describing -- those seemingly long moments before waking when he was trapped in the nightmare and unable to wake. “That is a known, though rare, possibility with dreamless sleep. No one knows exactly why it works like that for some people, though the current theory is that it occurs in people who tend to have especially vivid dreams.” He thought for a moment, then asked Harry, “Do you know the Muggle game called English draughts?”

Harry looked up, surprised. “Yes, sir. I’ve never played it though, sir.”

Snape nodded. “I find that it is an excellent game when one cannot sleep. It keeps the mind occupied, but it is easier to play than chess when one is tired.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Harry’s lips. “I’m not much good at chess, sir.”

Snape beckoned to him. “Come. I will explain the rules and we will play in the living room. You should not have too hard of a time sliding the pieces, and I can help you when you need to jump them.”

A few hours later, finally heading to bed in the wee hours of the morning, Snape found himself once again pondering how best to proceed. Harry had been tight-lipped throughout the many games that they played, unwilling to speak about his nightmare, what had caused it, or the letter he had given to Snape before bed. He knew that Harry’s relatives were mistreating him, there was no other logical explanation, but removing Harry from their care would be much smoother with some real evidence -- something more than old scars of which Harry was unwilling to admit the cause. Moving him was complicated enough, but he would likely at the least need Harry to admit to being mistreated to move the process along. Snape knew that the process would be difficult for Harry, especially since Snape had essentially forced Harry into exposing his relatives’ treatment of him when he saw his back. The cupboard might be enough to convince Dumbledore, but the sooner Harry admitted to the mistreatment, the sooner they could begin the real legal battle. He knew that Harry was likely afraid of his relatives, and also on some level probably unwilling to admit the extent of the abuse to himself. He would need to find a way to gain Harry’s trust, to be gentle enough to coax Harry into talking. He had done it with a few of his Slytherin students over the years, found a way to tame his barbed tongue, gain their trust, and help them through the process; could he do it with Harry Potter, after all of their history? His opinion of Harry had already -- startlingly -- changed. Could Harry’s opinion of him, his hated Potions professor, change?

xxXxx

After the two had finished a rather bleary-eyed breakfast the next morning, Snape led Harry out into the living room. They sat in what had become their usual seats, and Snape faced Harry.

"We need to discuss your letter, Harry," he began slowly.

Harry looked down at the coffee table between them, avoiding Snape's eyes. "What about it, sir?"

“Harry,” Snape thought for a moment, then sighed. “What did you think of sleeping in a cupboard, when you were younger?”

Harry shrugged, but gave no verbal reply. Uncle Vernon’s threats rang in his ears, and the mantra of ‘not supposed to tell, can’t tell anyone’ circled around his mind.

Snape waited for a moment, but when no elaboration was forthcoming, he switched tactics. “Do you know that if a child is being mistreated, hurt or neglected or denied basic needs, by their caregivers or another person in their life, if authority figures such as a teacher find out, that child can be taken out of that situation? Their caregivers will no longer be able to hurt them. It does not matter what those caregivers have threatened. But unfortunately, the child can only be protected if the situation becomes known, which usually requires the child telling someone. All too often, children stay in such situations because they are afraid to tell -- afraid of their caregivers, or too embarrassed. But you know that it is nothing to be ashamed of, of course, and if they will tell someone, they would have no reason to be afraid anymore of their caregivers.” Snape paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Harry?”

Harry nodded, still staring determinedly at the table.

Snape nodded shortly. “I am heading back to the lab today. I want you to write something again while I am gone.”

A while later, Harry sat at his desk staring at the blank piece of parchment in front of him. He shivered to think of what Snape clearly wanted him to do. He knew what Uncle Vernon would do if he found out he had broken his rule, the rule that had been ingrained in him from such a young age: never tell what goes on at 4 Privet Drive. Besides, they had also convinced him that this treatment was fitting for a freak like him, and that no one would care anyway.

And how could he tell Snape, of all people? The man who had constantly belittled and taunted him for the past few years? How could he tell him something so… shameful? But then… at least he probably wouldn’t blow it out of proportion as some might. And he had been pretty good, surprisingly good, the past few days. And the thought of never having to see the Dursleys again, which Snape had so heavily hinted at… He shuddered as a vision of Uncle Vernon’s purple face swam in front of him.

But where was his Gryffindor courage? He had a glimmer of hope before him. Surely he could steel himself for the task. How bad could it be?

So with grim determination, Harry set the quill on the page, its tip poised to write, and began dictating.

xxXxx

Dinner was a tense affair for Harry. He fidgeted nervously throughout the meal, and could not stomach even his usual small portion. Snape was surprisingly patient with him, even excusing him early with less than half of his plate cleared. He left for his room immediately, and stared at the paper he had left on his desk, wrestling with his fear. Could he trust Snape? Could he trust that he would take him from the Dursleys, that he would not mock him with this information? And had he told enough, enough to get him away from the Dursleys? What would the Dursleys think, would they fight to keep him? His heart fell a bit, though he could not imagine why, when he realized that they likely would let him go easily.

A little while later, Snape was helping Harry in the bathroom when they heard the floo flare and a familiar voice call out. They finished up quickly and headed out into the living room, Harry’s face flushed with embarrassment but Snape remaining his usual impassive self.

“Ah! There you are, my boys!” Dumbledore called merrily as they entered the room. “How are you getting along? We missed you at the Christmas feast.” His twinkling gaze rested on Harry.

Harry turned even more red. “I’m fine, sir. We were just-- we were--” He was searching for an explanation when Snape intervened.

“We considered attending the feast, but decided that the situation would be too embarrassing,” he explained smoothly. “Headmaster, since you are here, there is a matter which I would like to discuss with you. Harry, would you mind going to the guest room for a bit?”

Harry, guessing at the subject of the discussion, reluctantly left the room. As he dragged his feet down the hallway, his fear and curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he paused in the doorway to his room, listening.

“Some things have come to light this past week which have led me to question the suitability of Potter’s current guardians,” Snape was saying, speaking slowly as though considering his words carefully.

There was a pause. “Oh?” Dumbledore asked, his voice light but with an undertone of concern.

“I caught a glimpse of some scarring on his back. He was reluctant to discuss it, but I am not unfamiliar with that pattern of scars.” Snape’s tone was sharp.

There was a tense silence for just a moment, then Dumbledore asked, “Like yours?”

Like Snape’s? Harry thought. What did that mean? Did Snape have scars like his? He heard no answer from Snape; he presumed he gave a nonverbal reply.

After a moment, Dumbledore sighed heavily and asked with an edge of weariness in his tone, “Is there anything more I should know?”

“He has been understandably reticent on the subject,” Snape began, “but he has spoken of some of his treatment there. Things that I believe he thought we already knew or would not be a big deal. The fact that he felt comfortable enough to speak of growing up with a cupboard as a bedroom, of being given endless chores and told he needed to earn his keep through them, of being locked up without food as punishment… I wonder how much more there is, given that he told of those pieces so quickly. And they are bad enough.”

Harry frowned. Was it really that bad? It wasn’t, was it?

Dumbledore sighed again. “I have failed you both, it seems. I concentrated so much on keeping Harry safe from all in the magical world that might harm him, I did not even think…” He trailed off, then spoke again after a moment, “This will not be an easy legal battle. How much more has he told you? We will need as much information as we can get to take him away from his relatives. I will ensure that we succeed, of course, leaving him with them is not an option. But it will be much easier if we knew the extent of it.”

Harry heard the rustling of Snape’s robes, then his voice. “It is a difficult subject to broach. I do not want to push him too far before he is ready. But you are right, we do need to know, for his safety.”

Harry thought Dumbledore’s voice sounded a bit firmer, a bit more like his usual strong self as he replied, “I trust you completely with this task, Severus. There is no one better.”

Harry heard the headmaster leaving by floo again and quietly crept over to his desk and sat in it, trying to look like he had been there all along. He had just settled when Snape appeared in the doorway.

Snape was, of course, well aware that he had neglected to put up a silencing spell. He had been hoping that Harry might overhear their conversation, and that doing so may help him trust a bit more, perhaps even help him to feel like he was more in control of the situation. Seeing the thoughtful look on Harry’s face, he knew that he had heard the conversation and it had given him much to consider. Though Snape also hoped that he did not think too much about Dumbledore’s question regarding his own scarring.

Snape was pleasantly surprised when, after he had helped Harry into his pyjamas, Harry pushed a letter towards him that had been sitting folded in a corner of the desk. He then scampered over to his bed and got in, lying with his back to Snape to discourage further conversation. Taking the hint, Snape doused the lights and left the room without saying a word, taking the letter to his customary chair by the fire to peruse.

xxXxx

The next morning, after a quiet breakfast, Snape again led Harry out to sit in the living room. He watched Harry closely as they sat across from each other, noting the faint circles under his eyes. The night before he had once again calmed Harry down after one of his nightmares, this time awakening to the alarm of the monitoring charm he had thought to put up in the guest room the day before. He was concerned about the apparent frequency of these nightmares, not only because Harry certainly needed the sleep, but also because it spoke to the stress Harry’s mind was under.

“Would you be willing to try talking about your letter, Harry?” Snape asked when they were both settled. He had brought out the board for English draughts once again, thinking it might help the conversation run a bit smoother and keep Harry calmer.

Harry looked down at the coffee table but nodded, shifting his feet a bit.

Deciding to start with something that would hopefully be a bit easier, Snape asked, “So your relatives have you do a lot of chores when you are home?” He moved one of his pieces forward.

Harry shrugged but nodded again, and sliding his piece forward as well.

“Does your cousin Dudley do any chores?”

A shake of the head answered in the negative, confirming Snape’s suspicion.

“What sort of chores do they usually have you do?” Snape prodded as he made his next move on the board.

Harry shrugged again, but answered verbally, “All sorts, I guess. Cooking, cleaning, weeding.” He slid his piece onto the next square somewhat absentmindedly.

Snape nodded as he considered the board. “How do you usually spend your free time while you’re there?”

Harry frowned as if thinking hard. “Er, in my room, I guess.”

“You mentioned that you were locked in your room sometimes. When does that usually happen?” Snape was careful to keep his expression neutral as he looked up from the board after making his next move, watching Harry’s reaction.

Harry squeezed his hands between his knees, seeming a bit agitated, but responded, “If I do something wrong, or if there’s company over, or sometimes just on the weekend…” He trailed off, realizing what he was admitting, and glanced up at Snape through his fringe briefly before fixing his eyes back on the game board.

“How long do they usually leave you there?” Snape asked as he jumped Harry’s piece.

Harry swallowed. “Er, never more than a week, I think. Usually just a couple of days.”

“And how often do they usually feed you or let you out to use the bathroom while you are locked in there?”

Harry hesitated, and Snape was afraid for a moment that he would get no more answer than a shrug. They had each made two moves before Harry finally opened his mouth and said, “Sometimes it’s about once a day.”

“And other times?” Snape asked quietly.

A brief hesitation, then Harry answered, “They leave me a bucket.”

“And food?” It was currently Snape’s turn, but he was watching Harry rather than contemplating the game before him.

Harry only shook his head mutely, squeezing his hands so tightly with his knees that Snape briefly wondered if he might cut off his circulation.

Switching to a hopefully slightly less difficult topic, Snape moved his next piece and said, “You mentioned something about hand-me-downs from Dudley? How many of your clothes would you say were bought specifically for you, or how many fit you properly?”

Harry frowned again. “My trainers fit ok.” He slid one of his pieces over quickly.

“Were they bought for you?” Snape questioned, jumping another of Harry’s pieces.

Harry shook his head. “No, but I bought my school robes, those were specifically for me.”

“Is that all? You own no other article of clothing that is not a hand-me-down?” Snape asked as Harry moved another piece.

Harry shrugged, his face coloring a bit.

Seeing Harry’s embarrassment, Snape decided to broach a different line of questioning. He slid one of his pieces, looking deep in thought, then asked, “Do you have nightmares regularly?”

Harry looked up at that, a bit startled, but nodded as he slid a wooden piece across the game board.

“How often, usually?” Snape queried, steepling his fingers as he surveyed the board before him.

Harry shrugged while he watched Snape make his move. “Maybe once a week.”

“Have they been more frequent lately?”

Harry moved slowly as he reached for his next piece, finally sliding it with his fists and nodding at Snape’s question.

“Do you have any idea why?” Snape asked as he jumped another of Harry’s pieces.

This time Harry froze for just a second while reaching across the board, then seemed to be trying to look nonchalant as he shrugged and moved his piece.

Snape decided to let it go, and the rest of the game was passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

I used to try hard to please them, you know. When I was little, I thought that if I just tried hard enough then they might be happy with me, maybe even treat me like they treated Dudley. I used to daydream sometimes about them giving me Dudley’s second bedroom, and new toys and clothes, and then me and Dudley would be like brothers.

I used to try really hard to not be freaky, but it was hard because I wasn’t really sure what it was that I was doing. Did you know I didn’t know my name was Harry until I stayed with Mrs. Figg for the first time when I was almost four? And I didn’t know I had a birthday until I went to school. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.

Harry looked back at what the quill had written. He was not really sure where that had all come from. He had not thought about his old daydreams in years. He used to dream about someone coming to take him away from the Dursleys too, some long-lost relative, or someone who would come and say it had all been a mistake and they had been searching for him for years. It had seemed a bit like that when Hagrid had come and told him he was a wizard, but then he had still had to return to the Dursleys every summer. But those kinds of daydreams had not come until he was older; his first dreams had been about the Dursleys loving him.

Harry was not sure what possessed him to actually give the letter to Snape that night after dinner. He could hardly believe he was handing this over to his potions professor, a page so full of ammunition for taunting. But somehow, he seemed to have landed on a track that was carrying him along faster than he could process everything that was occurring. He was not entirely certain where it was taking him, but he realized that he did not want to stop things. It was frightening, but it was almost as though some small part of him was beginning to trust Snape.

xxXxx

“Freak,” Aunt Petunia hissed at him. “You’ve never been anything more than a freak.”

“How could you think we would ever love you like we love our Dudders?” Uncle Vernon added.

“He’s the perfect son; he’s never turned his teacher’s hair blue.”

“You’ve cost us quite a pretty penny over the years, boy!”

“Do you know how much it costs to feed and clothe a worthless burden like you?”

Harry, it’s time to wake up now.

“No, I tried to be good!” Harry protested feebly.

“Well you should have tried harder,” Aunt Petunia sniffed.

Harry, it’s ok, it’s just a dream.

“You never even could perform your chores properly; couldn’t even earn your keep!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed.

Harry, wake up for me, please, it’s time to wake up now.

“You’re just a worthless FREAK!”

Harry!

Harry opened his eyes to see Snape standing over him. He flinched backward slightly at the threatening shape, then relaxed as Snape stepped backwards slightly and he recognized where he was and who was with him.

Snape sighed quietly. “Would you care for a game of draughts?” he asked.

Harry nodded mutely and followed Snape into the living room.

xxXxx

The next morning, even Snape was beginning to feel the toll of the many sleepless nights in a row. He wondered how Harry, still just a teenager -- a child really, was still functioning; he suspected that he had been having consistent nightmares even before Snape began noticing.

After Snape had gotten Harry ready for the day, Harry spoke up. “Sir?” he asked. “Do you think we might be able to reduce the bindings a little earlier today than we have the other days? Then I could feed myself breakfast?”

Snape shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Reducing the binding to stage one is the most difficult step; it would be most unwise to attempt it too early. We should give it the full four days. I do not want to risk you returning to a stage six.”

Harry looked disappointed, but he nodded in understanding.

Snape observed Harry throughout breakfast. He was quiet and reserved for the duration of the meal, and only ate about a third of his food, which was a slightly smaller portion than usual. Snape had continued to pile Harry’s plate at each meal with what he considered a ‘normal’ portion for a boy of his age, hoping that the teenager might be able to finish it at some point. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder if Harry might need to take a nutritional supplement, or perhaps an appetite enhancer, to help him get his appetite and body weight to a healthier range. But Snape was worried about more than just his physical health when he saw how listless the boy seemed that morning. He accepted his food meekly just by opening his mouth, chewing it mechanically, and merely shook his head slightly when he was full. And as Snape gently cleaned the excess oatmeal away from his lips, he simply sat and stared at his plate.

When they finished eating, Harry silently followed Snape out into the living room, where they sat in their usual seats, Harry studying the floor.

Snape studied Harry for a moment before saying, “You seem unusually subdued today, Harry. Is something bothering you?”

Harry shrugged. “Just tired, I guess.”

“I can understand that, certainly. You are sure that nothing else is bothering you?” He paused, gathering himself, then said, “I do not mind discussing it, if something is. It is ok to tell me.”

Harry looked up, surprised. An echoing chant of ‘worthless freak’ and ‘annoying burden’ had been circling through his head all morning, but it faded a bit now as he met Snape’s obsidian eyes. He felt a lump forming in his throat, and he blinked. Oh no. Not now. He hadn’t cried in years, so why now? And in front of Snape, no less. He tried to choke the tears back, but a sob rose unbidden in his throat and escaped, issuing from his mouth as a pathetic hiccough. He closed his eyes in shame, but after a moment he felt a hesitant arm around his shoulders, and the floodgates opened. He began sobbing, turning into Snape’s shoulder to hide his face.

He wasn’t even sure why he was crying really, but at some point he became aware that he was mumbling words into Snape’s robes.

“...tried so hard to be good… I thought if I just tried harder… Why didn’t they… couldn’t they…”

His throat closed over the last word. He couldn’t say it, that word he had longed to hear for so long in his childhood -- before he realized how foolish it was to hope for such things.

But Snape seemed to understand. He felt his chest rumble deeply beneath his cheek as he spoke.

“It was them, Harry, not you, never you. They refused to see how wonderful you are. They chose to refuse to see the real you, instead they only saw the image they had made up of you.”

“But how can you say I’m wonderful!” Harry exclaimed wetly. “You’ve hated me all these years, too.” He swiped at his cheeks but did not move from Snape’s embrace.

In that moment, Snape came to realize just how badly he had hurt an already wounded boy these past few years. Harry had come to Hogwarts already injured, wanting to trust but afraid, wanting nothing more than a little affection and a little acceptance, and he had ground him under his heel.

Snape sighed heavily and rubbed Harry’s back lightly. “I, too, was blind to the real you. I only saw that you looked like your father and I placed the burden of my childhood grudges on you, but wrongly so. And I am truly sorry for that, Harry. But I have changed, and I do see how wonderful you are now, Harry. You are a bright, curious, hard-working boy, with a beautifully innocent spirit. I regret that I did not see it sooner.” And in that moment, Snape realized just how true his words were. Somehow, his mission to protect, and then to save, Harry Potter had turned into something more. He cared for him.

Harry sniffled. “But if you changed, why can’t they change?” He looked up at Snape again, meeting his eyes with his green ones, bright with tears. “Do you think they ever will?”

Snape did not know what to say. How could he answer such a question from this hurting boy? “I wish that they could, Harry,” he finally whispered.

xxXxx

A little while later, Harry sat in a chair pushed back from the kitchen table, his face cleaned of his tears. Snape stood in front of him, his wand raised.

“Are you ready?” he asked. At Harry’s nod, he began incanting, waving his wand over Harry’s arms. After a minute or two, he stopped and frowned, glaring at Harry’s arms. He resumed, changing his pattern subtly.

After a moment, Harry’s eyes widened. His forearms were slowly inching their way towards each other. “Sir?” he squeaked out, his voice quavering.

Snape saw what Harry was indicating and began chanting furiously, tracing sweeping arcs and circles with his wand. After several tense minutes, Harry’s forearms halted their progress, and Snape’s incantations became whispered and melodic, entrancing, and his wand movements graceful and almost dance-like.

Minutes later, he stopped and sat heavily in a chair, running one hand through his greasy hair. Harry gave him a small smile and wiggled his hands, which were now free, his arms bound only at the wrists.

One corner of Snape’s lips twitched upwards just slightly. “It appears we were successful, eventually. How are your hands?” He stood back up and reached for them, inspecting Harry’s palms. “A bit chapped,” he said, answering his own question. “I will fetch the cream.”

Harry nodded. “Will I be serving my detention tonight then?” As much as he loathed Snape’s detentions, he did not want to risk the fragile rapport they had begun to build between them. He did not want to appear ungrateful or as though he were shirking responsibilities or punishments.

Snape, however, smirked at him. “I think we can forego your detention. I do believe this whole ordeal has been quite punishment enough.”

Harry gaped at him, but nodded.

Snape’s expression turned slightly more stern as he added, “I do, however, expect you to spend at least a couple of hours after lunch each day studying and working on your assignments. You have a bit to catch up on.”

xxXxx

After Snape had left, Harry once again found himself staring for a long time at the blank piece of parchment before him. It was slightly easier, he thought, being able to write it out rather than say it, but it was still scary. Finally, he decided that he need not give this letter to Snape, if he did not want to. But as he began delving into the years he had spent with the Dursleys, he was thinking more and more about the things he had experienced there, and he had discovered that it was almost cathartic to have it written on the parchment, as though he were extracting a poison from his soul.

Eventually, he set his quill to the paper, and began to write, albeit rather clumsily.

xxXxx

Harry did not have the courage to give Snape his letter until the next morning before breakfast. He was feeling a bit more energized, having slept all the way through the night before without waking once or having any dreams he could recall. He supposed he had been too exhausted to dream.

He had not originally thought he would give Snape the letter, but once again, he felt a sense of inevitability about it. And as much as it terrified him, and even pained him at times, he had to admit there was some tiny part of him that felt relieved to tell someone the secrets he had been keeping for years.

Snape accepted the letter with a small nod, setting it aside at first to read after he had finished eating. But when he saw how restless and nervous Harry was, he decided it might ease his discomfort just a bit if he started reading it now, ending the suspense. He picked it up and began reading it as he finished his breakfast, carefully maintaining an impassive expression and relaxed posture.

Uncle Vernon has always smacked me around a bit, for as long as I can remember. Even Aunt Petunia gets an occasional slap in. They’ve always made me do all the housework and chores, and I just got smacked a bit if I messed them up at all. I got locked in my cupboard if I did something freaky though. And they usually left me in there when they left the house, unless they wanted me to do chores while they were gone.

But one time when I was 7 I think, or maybe 8, they found me out of my cupboard when they got home. I don’t remember how I got out, actually, I just remember I was hungry. They found me in the kitchen eating a banana. Uncle Vernon was so furious. He said I’d stolen from them and they couldn’t trust me anymore.

So when they went out after that, they always left me tied up to something. Uncle Vernon even brought handcuffs home from somewhere, and he would keep the key in his pocket. Usually they'd just handcuff me to part of the frame of my cot. It wasn’t so bad though, really, it just got a little boring.

That next summer, Uncle Vernon caught me taking a break in the shade one time when I was supposed to be mowing the lawn. He got pretty mad. Then he had me build them a taller fence for the next few days, and he got out the old lead line they used sometimes when my Aunt Marge brought her dog Ripper with her to visit. When he had me mow the lawn again the next week, he cuffed my ankle to the lead line. But he only did that a few times that summer, and I guess he got bored of it later, because he never did it again.

By the end of the letter (more of an accounting, really) it had become quite a struggle for Snape to keep the anger from his face and body language. The Dursleys were monsters. Even if they had never laid a hand on Harry, the level of abuse and neglect, the degradation, was horrific. And Snape had not missed the switch from present to past tense. Since he highly doubted that the abuse had ceased, he wondered how it had escalated from there.

As he led Harry into the living room once more, he contemplated a mystery that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a week and a half, since the day of Harry’s potions incident. Harry had been surprisingly panicked at the idea of his arms being bound, and he had some idea of why now.

After they had both settled, Snape began, “First of all, I am very proud of you, Harry, for telling me about this. I know that could not have been easy.”

Harry looked quite surprised, and his face flushed a bit at the compliment.

He looks as though no one has ever told him they are proud of him, Snape thought as he looked at Harry’s wide eyes and glowing face. Then again, he thought, I suppose it is likely that no one ever has.

“I am guessing that, given your history with your relatives, your situation with the fune ad servendium was especially difficult. Do you think that is true?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged, his happiness fading. “Maybe,” he said quietly.

“Do you think that is why your nightmares have been more frequent?” Snape suggested, trying to help the child to open up.

But as much as Harry had enjoyed Snape’s compliment and desired to do something else to earn such praise, he could not seem to bring himself to open up any more that day. He was too embarrassed, too ashamed of his own weakness.

After a long while of trying to gently encourage Harry into talking, Snape began to suspect that the issue behind Harry’s reticence was his shame, his embarrassment, even his feelings of isolation. Harry would likely know of no one else who was mistreated by their family -- it was so difficult for him to wrap his mind around the idea that it was not his fault, that there was nothing he could have done about it, particularly when all around him he saw loving families.

Snape sighed inwardly, steeling himself. He supposed he had known all along, on some level, that he would eventually tell Harry about his own childhood, but it did not make the moment of revelation any easier.

“Harry,” he hesitated. “I would like to show you something.” At Harry’s nod, he twisted around in his chair a bit awkwardly, so that his back was facing Harry, and pulled the back of his sweater up around his shoulders, mentally thanking Merlin that he had not yet put on his robes. He waited just a couple of seconds after hearing Harry’s gasp before he turned back around in the chair, straightening his sweater as he did so.

For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence as each tried to gather their thoughts, neither meeting the other’s eye. Then Snape said quietly, “I just want you to know you are not alone in this, Harry.” When he saw Harry nod, he rose, readied himself quickly for the lab, and left his quarters.

xxXxx

Although Snape knew that Harry had written something that morning, he did not receive a note again that night. He elected not to push the boy, wondering if perhaps they were moving a bit too quickly. He thought he likely had quite a bit he was trying to process, and it was not coddling him in any sense to give him some time.

That night, he woke once again to the monitoring charm he had set up in Harry’s room. (Harry’s room? When did it become Harry’s room?) He hurried down the hall, opening the closed door to find Harry in the midst of the most violent-looking nightmare he had witnessed yet.

“Harry,” he called gently, trying to find some part of the teenager to hold onto amidst the flailing limbs. Harry’s screams and moans were only partially muffled by his hands, and the pitiful sound he was emitting wrenched at Snape’s heart -- an organ he had not even realized had begun to thaw. Eventually, Snape managed to touch Harry’s back, and he began rubbing small circles. When Harry flipped back over, he just managed to escape having his hand trapped beneath him.

“Harry!” he called again, a bit louder. He was not even sure Harry could hear him. Finally, after an internal debate, he reached over the teenager and pinned his arms, resting one leg on the bed and gritting his teeth as Harry began kicking at his stomach.

“Harry, everything is ok, you are safe, you are at Hogwarts, you are safe, no one is hurting you, it is time to wake up, you are safe…”

It took several long minutes, much longer than any of the previous nightmares, before Harry finally woke. He flinched violently back from Snape at first, and Snape released him and moved back towards the edge of the bed. But before he could stand back up, he suddenly found himself with an armful of sobbing teenager as Harry threw himself at his professor.

The following morning at breakfast, Harry could not stop staring at Snape as he fed himself, thinking about the scars he had seen on his back. Snape's back had been covered in white marks he recognized all too well, and Harry could not stop wondering whether Snape had received them the same way he had received his. Had Snape's family tried to beat the freakiness out if him too?

When he and Snape moved to the living room for their usual after-breakfast talk, Snape tried to ask Harry about his dream the night before. Harry was tight-lipped and quiet, shifting uncomfortably, but after a long moment of silence, he finally opened his mouth.

"Sir?" he asked. "How did you... Did you... Your back..." Harry paused and took a breath. "Did your parents take the belt to you too?" he finally spit out his question, the words coming out in a rush.

Snape examined his hands for a moment, then answered calmly, "Yes, Harry. My father did take the belt to me at times, particularly when he was drunk. Did your uncle or aunt abuse you that way as well?"

Harry flinched a bit at the word abuse. "I'm not abused," he muttered. "But yeah, Uncle Vernon took the belt to me a few times.” He paused, then asked, “Did you ever tell anyone when you were at school?”

Snape met his eyes, and answered, “No, I did not, I did not have the courage to. However, I do find myself wishing at times that someone else had discovered it back then.”

The two sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, until Snape finally spoke up.

“Harry, would you be ok with me telling the Headmaster a brief overview of your treatment at the Dursleys? I am mandated to report such issues when I find out about it, so I have already told him that your treatment there is not acceptable, but it will help, I believe, for him to have a bit of a clearer picture.”

Harry reddened a bit, and looked uncomfortable. “Does he have to know?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Snape answered, “at least not right now. However he may have to know eventually, and I believe it will simplify things in the long run. He will likely also wish to speak with you personally.”

Harry sighed and nodded, acquiescing.

xxXxx

Their lunch later that afternoon was unusually quiet. Harry had forgone his usual writing session while Snape had been at his lab that morning, and he was feeling oddly guilty over it, although he had spent the time studying instead. Deciding that he was being silly, he addressed Snape as they were nearing the end of the meal.

“Sir? Would it be all right if I went flying this afternoon? I already worked on my homework.”

Snape nodded his head slightly. “That would be fine. Just keep your hands on the broom -- no reckless stunts today.” He silently wondered whether Harry had spent any time writing, but deciding not to push him about it that morning.

Harry nodded and grinned. He had not spent much time outside of Snape’s quarters since that rather disastrous first attempt, and he was looking forward to flying. The existence of brooms was probably one of his favorite things about the magical world.

Thirty minutes later, he was soaring over the quidditch pitch, the cold wind whipping his hair and stinging his eyes. It was amazing how clear-headed he felt; he had not even realized how much everything with Snape and the Dursleys had been weighing on him until now, when he felt weightless and calm. And now, as he thought about it, holding back information from Snape just did not seem to make sense. The man already knew so much -- he might as well just tell all. Snape had been surprisingly gentle and understanding so far. Even though part of him was still scared of the idea, he had really begun to trust Snape. He actually believed that Snape would take him away from the Dursleys, and for whatever reason he did not believe that Snape would tell anyone but Dumbledore any details that he shared. And he had realized that although it was difficult and nerve-racking, there was some amount of relief in finally telling his secrets and allowing someone else to worry about them. Harry smiled slightly as he pulled another hairpin turn. Maybe this Christmas break had not been so bad after all.

Meanwhile, Snape was standing stiffly in the Headmaster’s office, explaining what he had learned about Harry’s home life to Dumbledore.

“...They would tie him up, Headmaster. And I believe there are still details that Harry has not shared. He has barely even admitted to being given the belt, although he has touched on it briefly.”

Dumbledore gazed at the man before him, who he could tell was only barely containing his anger, with a mixture of sadness and hope. As his long tirade wound down, he spoke up, saying, “I do believe we have enough details from Harry at this point to begin moving for a change of custody. We have physical evidence as well as his tale, and the combination should be enough. Although you should take Harry to Poppy tomorrow, as she will be back by then, to have everything officially documented. We will have to ask Harry how he wants everything handled, also. Fortunately, Wizarding Family Services is discreet enough to keep word from getting out, to the Ministry or to the Wizarding world in general.”

Snape nodded. “I was planning on bringing him to Madam Pomfrey to have his eyes examined anyway. Should I bring him here tomorrow evening to discuss with you custody details and such?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “That should be fine. I will see the both of you tomorrow then.”

xxXxx

Originally, Snape had thought that he would bring Harry to the hospital wing after breakfast the next morning. However, that plan changed when Harry walked out of his room holding a piece of parchment, handing it to Snape silently before beginning to eat his breakfast. Snape eyed the boy, who was determinedly staring at his plate, for a moment before slowly unfolding the note and beginning to read.

Dear Professor Snape,

I’m really kind of scared to tell you these last things, but I think I feel like I need to, and I think some part of me almost wants to. I’m not exactly sure why, but maybe I’ve grown tired of keeping secrets.

The Dursleys stopped ever sending me to Mrs. Figg once my Hogwarts letter came. They actually got a lot better that summer though. They gave me Dudley’s bedroom, and they didn’t punish me as much or give me quite as many chores. I think they were afraid someone was watching and that they would get in trouble.

But the summer after my first year, I guess they realized that either no one knew or no one cared. They locked me in my room for a while and put bars in the window and a cat flap in the door so they could just slide in some food, and they let me out twice a day to use the bathroom. But Uncle Vernon started coming, usually on Friday nights, and he would just beat me up a little. Usually it just left some bruises, though he did take the belt to me a couple of times.

The next summer, at first he went back to just beating me up when I messed up chores or something, and cuffing me when they left the house, but now they started cuffing me to a pipe in the basement along the wall, usually with my hands behind me. But then after the whole incident with Aunt Marge, once Fudge found me and brought me back, he started taking me down to the basement on Friday morning and leaving me there till Sunday night. He would just put my hands behind my back and leave me some water in a bowl until Sunday night. Sometimes, if Dudley was particularly nasty, he’d come down on Saturday and leave me some food just out of reach, or he’d knock my water bowl farther away. They liked to have company on the weekends, that was usually their excuse for putting me down there, and if Uncle Vernon thought I made any noise while they were there, he’d use the belt on me before he let me go on Sunday night. He’d move my hands up to a higher pipe so he could reach my back. It was never anything too awful though, I never passed out or anything, I think he just did it to remind me who was in control.

So ever since then, it’s been something like that with the Dursleys.

The letter ended rather abruptly, and Snape looked up, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, to see Harry was still staring at his plate. He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you for sharing this, Harry. Do you feel ready to talk about it yet?”

Harry mutely shook his head, still not meeting Snape’s gaze, and Snape nodded, understanding. He stood up, and then hesitantly walked over to the boy, awkwardly wrapping an arm around his hunched shoulders. He had no idea where such a gesture had come from, or why he was suddenly embracing -- hugging, even! -- Harry Potter, but he knew that it somehow felt right. Harry stiffened for a moment beneath his touch, then relaxed slightly. Snape only held the position for a moment before releasing Harry.

“Now,” he began, composing himself hastily, “I was planning on taking you to the hospital wing this morning to have Madam Pomfrey check your eyes. Are you amenable to that?”

Harry nodded, his eyes wide as he stared at his professor. Snape nodded slightly.

“Good. Ready yourself then -- I’ll not have you traipsing about the halls barefoot -- and we’ll go.”

xxXxx

Several minutes later, Snape looked on as Harry sat on a bed, Madam Pomfrey having him look this way and that, peering into his eyes and taking measurements with her wand. She frowned.

“Mr. Potter, when did you last have your eyes checked?” she asked.

Harry blushed and mumbled, “I don’t remember.”

The matron tutted for a moment, then spoke. “Well your current prescription is nowhere near strong enough. Goodness, it’s a wonder you can see the board in class! And how you ever find the Snitch in that infernal game…” She trailed off for a moment, shaking her head, before adding, “I can send your new prescription down to Hogsmeade, they can fill it within a few days. Would you like to pick out a new frame as well? These look like they’ve been through the mill.” She clucked as she held up Harry’s spectacles, and Harry’s blush deepened.

Several minutes later, once a frame had been chosen from a catalog and Madam Pomfrey had left the room to send the order to Hogsmeade, Harry began stuttering protestations.

“Sir… really, sir -- I can pay! -- I can pay you back… You don’t need to…” He finally stopped when his professor turned to face him and shot him an icy glare.

“I am perfectly capable of paying for a pair of spectacles, Mr. Potter,” he snapped.

Harry gulped, but rushed to explain, “It’s not that sir, really, it’s just that… You don’t need to sir, I have money, I don’t want to be a… a burden…” he trailed off under Snape’s withering stare.

“Mr. Potter, you are certainly not a burden. It is, in fact, considered normal for adults to pay for children’s needs, particularly if they are currently under their care.” Snape continued to glare at the shrinking Harry for a moment before sighing and saying in a softer tone, “Consider it your Christmas gift, if you must.”

Harry finally nodded in acquiescence, though he still looked a bit troubled, but Snape steered the conversation away from the topic.

“When did your relatives last take you to have your eyes examined?” he queried.

Harry flushed a bit. “They didn’t, sir,” he answered quietly. “The school told them I was having trouble seeing the board, so Aunt Petunia took me to the drugstore one day and told me to pick a pair.” He shrugged.

Snape nodded, a bit surprised although the information was not completely unexpected. “And what about other doctor visits? How often did they take you to a physician?”

Harry shrugged again. “I saw the school nurse, like the other kids in my class, I guess. Dudley went to the doctor, but I never did, not that I remember.” He looked down, embarrassed.

Snape nodded again. “I would like to have Madam Pomfrey check you over fully, when she returns. It is common practice, in cases like these, to have documented physical evidence, and the Headmaster should have already informed her he would like it done. However, it is particularly important in light of what you just told me.”

Harry looked a bit wary, but nodded his acceptance as the matron bustled back into the room. Once Snape and Madam Pomfrey had conversed quietly, the nurse had Harry lie back in the bed, telling him she would be running a ‘deep scan’ diagnostic on him.

For several minutes, she slowly traced her wand over his body, a parchment she had set on the bedside table filling with writing as she went. When she finished, she looked determinedly impassive as she said in somewhat clipped tones, “I’ll just send this to the Headmaster, then.” She and Snape shared a look before she headed towards the Floo.

Snape beckoned to Harry, and the two left the wing.

xxXxx

That night, Snape led a rather wide-eyed Harry up to the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore was waiting for them when Snape opened the door, standing just to the side of his desk and smiling pleasantly, but without his customary twinkle.

“Ah, Harry, Severus, do have a seat please,” he said to them, taking his seat behind his desk as they sat in the two small armchairs in front of it. Harry glanced at Snape, feeling rather uncomfortable under the Headmaster’s keen gaze.

“Well, I suppose it is best to be direct.” Snape nearly snorted to hear that statement coming from Dumbledore, but contained it. “Harry, Professor Snape has informed me of some of what you have told him regarding your relatives’ treatment of you. Could you please tell me just a little bit of what it has been like for you there?”

Harry tried to swallow, his mouth dry. “Er, well… they, er, locked me up sometimes. And, er… they didn’t like feeding me… And… sometimes they would hit me.” He looked away, squirming slightly in his seat.

“That’s fine, Harry, you don’t need to say anything more right now,” Dumbledore told him in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I just needed to hear it from you directly. I am so very sorry, Harry.”

Harry looked up at the Headmaster, a bit surprised, and saw that Dumbledore’s eyes looked sad and old. He suddenly realized that the Headmaster was in fact old, over a hundred, he thought.

The Headmaster continued to address Harry. “I am so sorry that you were treated that way, Harry, and that I was the one who chose to leave you with your aunt and uncle. And I am so very sorry that I did not think of more than Death Eaters when I considered your safety. It is likely one of my greatest mistakes, and I hope that one day you might forgive me for it, and that you might heal from it.”

Harry only nodded, a bit bemused at all that he was hearing. He was not actually sure that he blamed the Headmaster, but he also was not sure whether he was ready to forgive him, either. So he said nothing.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly for another minute before speaking again. “We are working on finding a place for you to stay, Harry. I want you to be able to have as much input as possible on that, although we unfortunately need to take into consideration some factors such as your safety. I imagine you have probably thought of the Weasleys, or if you have not you probably would soon,” Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled just a little at this, “and I know they would love to have you, but I do not believe the Burrow would be secure enough, nor would it easily be made secure enough. Professor Snape and I are working on coming up with a list of possibilities, but I want this discussion to be as open as possible with you, so please let me or Professor Snape know if you have any suggestions or any issues with our ideas. Can you do that, Harry?”

Harry nodded again, although Snape thought he looked slightly sad when he turned to look at his professor and met his eyes. But he dismissed it as the child being disappointed that he could not live with the Weasleys and refocused on the conversation.

“The only other thing we need to speak about tonight, Harry, is how you want this situation handled. I know that this will be difficult for you to think about, and difficult to decide, but I want you to consider this carefully before making a decision. You need to decide whether you would like to press charges against the Dursleys, which would lead to a trial.” Harry looked horrified at this idea, and Dumbledore hurried to finish his explanation. “It would be discreet, Harry, Wizarding Family Services is quite good at that, although there is always a small chance that it could become known, I cannot deny that. Usually a trial is necessary in abuse cases; however, given your circumstances, I believe it could be handled more quietly. A trial would be held in a small room with you and a trusted adult or two, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, a judge and two lawyers.” Harry trembled a bit at this prospect. “The more quiet version would simply involve signing some paperwork and an interview in the Wizarding Family Services office of the Ministry.” Dumbledore looked very kind, although a bit concerned, as he watched Harry try to gather himself.

“I don’t want a trial, sir, I want to handle it the other way,” Harry said, his voice quiet.

“Are you sure, Harry? This does not need to be decided now, it is a big decision so you may take a few days to think about it,” Dumbledore cautioned him.

Harry nodded. “I’m sure. I don’t want to face them. I just don’t want to see them again.” He trembled a bit for a second before getting himself under control again, and Snape had a strange urge to wrap him in a hug, which he contained.

Dumbledore’s eyes regained their sad and old look. “Very well,” he said.

With that, Harry and Snape stood and left, heading back towards the dungeons.

xxXxx

The next day, Snape noticed that Harry looked particularly mopey. He was trying to spend as much time in the lab as possible, attempting to finish the antidote before Harry had to resume classes, but he was still returning for meals, and he took some time after breakfast to go over the initial list that he and Dumbledore had come up with. Finally, after dinner, Snape grew tired of waiting for the boy to come to him (given his track record, he never would), and decided to ask him about it. He brought Harry out into the living room and sat him in his usual place.

“Harry,” he began, sitting across from him, “what is wrong? You have seemed unusually… upset all day. Is there something you need to tell me, is there something more? Or did something happen?”

Looking down, Harry shook his head.

Snape sighed. “Harry, I do not believe that there is nothing. I cannot help you unless you tell me. I realize that it is difficult for you to trust, but it may be possible for me to help you. But I can only help you if you tell me.”

Harry’s shoulders hunched slightly, but after a moment he spoke. “I just thought… maybe I could stay with you?” He looked up and met Snape’s eyes with his own green ones, large and hopeful. At Snape’s confused expression he looked back down and mumbled, “It’s ok if you don’t want me, I understand, it’s not a big deal.”

Snape shook himself mentally, trying to wrap his mind around what Harry was saying. Then it finally clicked. “You want me to be your new guardian?” he asked, a bit dumbfounded.

Harry reddened and began mumbling again, “It’s ok, it’s not a big deal…”

Snape was speechless for a moment, but then his brain kicked back into gear. "Harry, it is not that I would not want to, but I have a past, I'm not sure the Ministry would ever approve..." His heart nearly broke when he saw Harry's crestfallen expression, the one the child was trying so hard to hide.

"It's ok, it's fine really, it's not a big deal, one of the ones on the list would be fine." Harry was mumbling again, looking at his feet.

Snape's heart swelled as he looked at the lost teenager before him. He suddenly realized he would do anything for this child, and it was a frightening but surprisingly wonderful feeling.

xxXxx

"Albus he wants me, ME, as his guardian. What child would ever want me?” Snape was pacing in the Headmaster’s office before the hearth.

Dumbledore had a twinkle in his eyes as he answered, “I believe you two have grown to care for each other. Both of you.”

Snape stopped and looked at Dumbledore. “I cannot disappoint him in this, Albus. That child has known too much disappointment in his life. He hardly could work up the courage to tell me that he wanted me as his guardian. But what Ministry official in their right mind would ever grant me custody?” He sank into an armchair, his head in his hands.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful as he stood before Snape, examining him. “I believe we may be able to convince them.”

Snape looked up, hope and surprise in his uncharacteristically unguarded eyes.

Dumbledore smiled at him. “Perhaps if we had someone else -- Minerva, for example -- take over primary custody, and have them appoint you as secondary guardian. The Ministry would have less reason to complain if both I and Minerva blessed it, and if you were only secondary guardian. Once the legalities are out of the way, for practical purposes you could be the unofficial primary guardian while Minerva would take on a more secondary role. It would not seem so unusual for his Head of House to take over guardianship along with another teacher, not at a school such as Hogwarts.”

Snape nodded slowly, mulling over the idea in his mind. “It might work.”

“Do you think Harry would agree to it?” Dumbledore asked. Underlying his question was the unspoken one of whether Harry would feel secure in the situation, or feel unwanted and shifted about.

On Saturday morning, on the day all of the students would return from Christmas break, Harry woke excited and nervous. He slipped out of the warm bed -- his bed, it would be his once the custody papers went through -- and placed his new glasses on his nose, marveling again at how clear everything looked. He dressed quickly (using a switching spell, as Snape had done, to change his shirt) and left his room -- his room, shutting the door behind him.

When he came out into the dining area, he found Snape standing by the table, looking unusually tired and unkempt. He held his hands behind his back as he watched Harry approach.

“Sir?” Harry asked, a bit wary. The man was acting rather strange. What if he had changed his mind about being his guardian? “Is something wrong, sir?”

One corner of Snape’s mouth twitched upwards, just slightly. “No, Harry. I actually have something for you.” He brought his right hand out from behind his back and held up a small vial, filled with a murky potion.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Is that…? But it wasn’t finished yesterday! Did you stay up all night, sir? You didn’t need to do that, I’m fine--”

“It is of no consequence, Harry,” Snape interrupted him waving his left hand to dismiss Harry’s protestations. “I wanted to try to finish it for you before the students arrive. I know how hard this has been for you, Harry, I wanted to try to fix it for you.”

Harry blushed and looked down, examining his bound hands. “You didn’t have to sir, but thank you.”

“Do not thank me too much just yet, Harry, it may not work. It should work, and it certainly will not make it worse… If it does not work, it will definitely work if I just add a bit more of the lacewing flies…” Snape trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Harry suppressed a snort. Snape could get much too excited about potions. “Sir?” he prompted him.

Snape looked back at Harry. “The point is, it should work, but there is a chance it will not as I have not been able to test it on a human subject, so I do not want you to get your hopes up too high.”

Harry nodded and reached for the vial, which Snape handed to him. He fumbled for a moment with the stopper on the vial, having a difficult time getting the leverage he needed, until Snape finally took it and opened it for him. Harry blushed again, then took the vial back. He was about to drink it when he had a sudden thought.

“Sir, how do I take it? Do I drink it or pour it on my hands?” he asked.

“You take this one orally. I prefer not to make potions that work by skin contact; it is too easy to splash or spill, as we learned a couple of weeks ago.”

Harry nodded and, after hesitating only a moment, downed the potion.

Almost immediately, he felt a tingling in his arms, starting at his shoulders and spreading down to his hands. He gasped as it grew more intense, centering around his wrists, and then the force holding his wrists together suddenly loosened. Cautiously, he moved his hands apart, and grinned when he succeeded.

“Look, sir! It worked!” he exclaimed, spreading his hands apart in front of him to demonstrate. However, when his hands reached the width of his torso, about a foot apart, they stopped, unwilling to spread apart further. His face fell. “Oh,” he said, glancing up at Snape.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Snape’s face before he schooled it back to his usual impassivity. “It looks as though it did not work. Or at least, not fully.” Snape glanced away, unable to look at the dejected expression on Harry’s face. “I am sorry, Harry. I do know how to fix it now, though, it should only take a couple of days. I am sorry I raised your hopes.” He grimaced and muttered to himself, “I was so sure it would work…”

“It’s ok, really, Professor,” Harry hurried to reassure him, forcing a smile onto his face. He was still very grateful for all that Snape had done, and he had seen how hard the man had worked on the antidote, especially over the past week. “It’s not so bad, people probably won’t even notice now. And it will hardly get in the way. As long as I don’t have to play a game of Quidditch, it’ll be fine, really.”

Snape looked back at Harry and gave him a very small smile. “All right, well, I believe it is time for breakfast, anyway.”

Several minutes into their meal, Harry set down his fork and addressed Snape. “Sir? May I ask you about something?” he began tentatively.

Snape also set down his fork. “You may.” He tried to keep his face open and reassuring, although it was difficult since he was so accustomed to wearing a surly scowl or a blank face.

Harry began playing idly with his eggs as he tried to compose his question. “I was wondering… Do you think Ron and Hermione will be ok with this? With you being my guardian, I mean? How do I tell them? And do I have to tell them about the… the Dursleys?”

“Harry, if they are truly your friends, which I believe they are, then they will be ok with whatever makes you happy -- provided it is not something dangerous or illegal, of course,” he added with a hint of sternness. “I believe you may find it a bit difficult to convince them that you are sincere in your new opinion of me, Mr. Weasley in particular may be rather stubborn, but I am confident that they will eventually come around. As for whether to tell them about your relatives, that is entirely up to you.” Snape steepled his fingers in thought, then added. “I will caution you, though, that Ms. Granger will likely not let the matter go until she has some explanation for your change in guardianship. And, I believe that it may be beneficial in the long run for you to give them at least some idea that you were mistreated there. You need your friends, Harry,” he said, looking into Harry’s emerald eyes. “And you cannot maintain a close relationship when there are secrets and lies between you. That said, you need only tell them what you are comfortable with, and you may certainly take your time doing so. If they badger you about it, then let me or Minerva know, and we will handle it.”

Harry nodded. “Ok. I think I can do that.”

Snape inclined his head and resumed eating. “Good.”

xxXxx That Summer xxXxx

“Harry, what color is your potion meant to be at this stage?” Snape drawled from behind Harry, startling him slightly.

“Er, purple?” Harry answered, looking up at his guardian.

Snape nodded, crossing his arms. “And what color is it?”

Harry looked back down into his cauldron. “Green, I think.”

Snape rolled his eyes, sweeping back over to his own desk in the Potions lab and muttering “Evanesco” over his shoulder. “You really are a dunderhead at potions, Potter.”