“Harry, what’s that on the back of your hand?”

“It’s just a cut- it’s nothing- it’s-”

Ron grabbed Harry’s forearm and pulled the back of his hand up level with his eyes. He silently stared at the words carved into his best mate’s skin for a long moment before releasing the hand, feeling sick. “I thought you said that she was giving you lines?”

Harry crossed his arms protectively against his chest, hiding the hand in between his arm and his side. He hesitated before speaking as they slowly continued their walk to the common room.

“She is. It’s… she has this quill, and it doesn’t need any ink because it… it uses blood. My blood. It cuts into my hand when I write.”

“The old hag!” Ron exclaimed in a whisper, positively repulsed. “She’s sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!”

“No,” Harry said instantly. “I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’s got to me.”

“Got to you?” Ron said, incredulous. He knew that Harry could be a bit… strange at times when it came to asking adults for help, but this was beyond anything… “You can’t let her get away with this!”

“I don’t know how much power McGonagall’s got over her,” Harry said, resigned.

“Dumbledore then, tell Dumbledore!”

“No,” Harry said flatly.

“Why not?”

“He’s got enough on his mind,” Harry muttered, though Ron knew there was more to it than that.

“Harry-”

“I’m tired, Ron,” Harry broke in as they approached the portrait of the fat lady. “I just want to go to bed. It’s- it’s not a big deal, honestly.” And with that he faced the portrait, whispered the password, and proceeded to their dormitory, not once turning back to look at Ron.

Ron stared at his friend’s retreating form as though he had never seen him before. And maybe he hadn’t. Who else would simply accept such an abuse of power, as if it were a perfectly normal thing for your professor to physically torture you?

***

“Hermione,” Ron said quietly once the common room was nearly empty. They were waiting up for Harry to return from his detention. He had told her about what Umbi- Umbridge was doing and she had gotten some sort of potion to help soothe the pain.

“Yes?” she responded absently, eyes scanning her Transfiguration textbook. They had a test tomorrow that Ron should be studying for but his mind was preoccupied. If he hadn’t been so worried about Harry though, he definitely would have been studying, no doubt.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of strange? How… calm Harry is about this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… well, if a professor had done something like this to you, wouldn’t you have told McGonagall or someone?”

“Well of course,” said Hermione. “But I’m not Harry. He doesn’t think like that.”

“Why not?”

Hermione frowned. “Haven’t you ever noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

She closed her book and turned to face him fully, her features serious. “The way he- he operates. He is obviously…” she looked around the common room as if to make sure no one would overhear their conversation. “Well, frankly, I believe that the Dursleys abuse him which causes-”

“Abuse?” Ron questioned sharply, feeling extremely uncomfortable. “What d’you mean abuse?”

Hermione gave him a look that clearly said you-are-such-an-idiot-Ronald before speaking a sentence that was practically the same difference. “You honestly have never realized? My goodness, Ronald, you and your brothers broke him out of his bedroom before second year. You said that they had bars on his window and locks on his door and never thought that there was something strange going on there?”

“How am I supposed to know what’s strange for Muggles?” asked Ron. “I thought it was just a normal thing for them!”

Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s absolutely not. If Muggle authorities knew about that, Harry would have been removed from the Dursleys custody a long time ago.”

“Then why haven’t you told Dumbledore about this or something? Abuse isn’t okay in the Wizarding World either, you know.”

Hermione’s eyes seemed to blaze. “Apparently, it is.”

“What?”

“I spoke to the headmaster and Professor McGonagall both about this ages ago when I first started to suspect that something was wrong. But Professor McGonagall said that she had no power over the situation and Professor Dumbledore,” she paused, huffing a heavy breath before continuing, “he said that Harry is safest there and that there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Safest there?! But if they’re hurting him-”

“That’s another thing,” continued Hermione, “he doesn’t think that they are hurting him. Well, he said something like he knows that he is not loved, but that he’s fine. I suppose as long as they aren’t beating him, it’s fine.”

“Do you think that- that they’re-”

Hermione shrugged, which was a bit of an odd gesture for her. “I really don’t know. Harry absolutely will not talk about it and I’ve personally never seen anything alluding to that. But…”

“But?”

“But abuse is abuse. The level of neglect they’ve shown towards him is criminal. The emotional abuse is mentally damaging. Can you imagine that they actually took care of him this summer after the third task? It’s no wonder he’s been acting like a bit of a mess lately, with what happened in the graveyard and then being sent back to the Dursleys right after that.

“Anyway, to answer your original question; Harry simply doesn’t understand that it’s not acceptable for an adult to hurt him. He accepts it because, for him, this is acceptable. This is normal.”

They were silent for a few minutes, deep in thoughts concerning their friend. Ron spoke again when he felt that he had come to a logical conclusion.

“Well, then, shouldn’t we tell someone for him?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Hermione questioned brashly, but not unkindly. She sounded more dejected than anything. “It wouldn’t do any good. I have tried to ask them for help concerning his relatives, and they have far more power over that situation than they do right now with the school. They won’t do anything about that so unfortunately, I don’t think they’ll do anything about this problem either.”

Ron made to disagree, but just as he opened his mouth the portrait door opened and Harry stepped in, looking a bit worse for wear. He quickly spotted Ron and Hermione sitting by the fireplace and managed to smile at them as he came over.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” he said, sitting down on the carpet. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, holding himself up with his left hand as he held the bleeding right one against his stomach.

“We wanted to,” Hermione said, pouring a yellow potion into a bowl and passing it to Harry. “This will help, soak your hand in it.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked towards the bowl, then at Ron quizzingly. Ron supposed that Harry hadn’t expected him to tell Hermione, but Harry hadn’t told him not to and he had to talk to someone about it.

Harry accepted the bowl and dipped his hand into the substance, letting out a small sigh of relief once it was fully submerged.

“Thank you, guys, you really didn’t have to- you’re the best,” Harry said with a small grin. “This will certainly help me a lot this week.”

Ron shared a look with Hermione over the top of Harry’s head. It was pure madness that Harry even had to think about any detentions after the first one. They simply had to tell someone about this.

Maybe Hermione was right and maybe it wouldn’t do any good, but Ron wasn’t going to give up so easily. Surely someone in the school would be willing to help Harry.

***

At breakfast, Harry gave him an odd look when Ron piled more food onto his friend’s plate. It was a bit strange, maybe, but ever since Hermione had mentioned the little things, Ron couldn’t help but see them himself.

He felt fairly bad for not having noticed before.

Where Ron unashamedly stuffed his face at every meal, Harry seemed to nibble on nothing. It was no wonder he was so small.

Harry did finish most of what had been put on his plate today, though, and Ron felt proud. Little things.

***

Ron had always been able to go to adults for help, and he refused to believe that this situation was hopeless.

But it was starting to seem that way.

“I’ve gone to all the heads of houses and Madam Pomfrey and not one of them said that they could help!” he exclaimed to Hermione one night in the common room after Harry had gone to bed early. His detentions with the wicked witch seemed to have come to a close for the moment, but he was still stressed out and exhausted and didn’t spend very much time with his friends or studying. Not that Ron could really rebuke him there, but Hermione at least was very concerned about him falling behind.

“No one even attempted to help?” Hermione asked. Ron shook his head.

“Not really. Pomfrey said there was nothing she could do about Umbridge, and the Murtlap Essence you already gave Harry was the best she could do for healing the cuts. Flitwick and Sprout said that they both had no power over the situation, and just said that Harry needs to keep his head down, which is exactly what McGonagall said to him earlier this week. We both know that that isn’t going to happen.”

“Well, they aren’t the only ones, maybe someone else…”

“I know, I’ll try more tomorrow. I’m not bothering with Trelawney, of course, she would only start spouting off a bunch of hogwash about my inner eye or something like that, but I suppose I can try Sinistra and Vector, though I don’t know them very well. Hagrid would just tell me to go to Dumbledore. Of course, I could always just go to our caring DADA professor for help...”

Hermione snorted. “Yes… I can talk to Professor Vector if it comes to that, but I really doubt that would go anywhere. Actually, I just meant that you haven’t gone to all the heads of houses,” she said, giving him a pointed look. Ron gave her one right back. A you-can-be-smart-Hermione-so-why-are-you-being-so-dense-now kind of look.

“You can not be serious. I just know it.”

“He is a head of house.”

“Head of Slytherin house! He hates Harry, and pretty much everyone, anyway, so there is no way he would help. He’s practically as bad as Umbridge!”

“Ron, just listen,” Hermione said, scooting closer to him so that he could hear her lowered voice. “I was in the library and-”

“Come on, Hermione, this is serious!”

“I was in the library and,” Hermione kept on, glaring, “I overheard an older Slytherin talking to a Hufflepuff first year. This was around the start of term and the Slytherin was telling the Hufflepuff that she should go to Professor Snape if she was having problems at home because apparently, he’s been known to be very helpful in those sorts of situations.

“The Slytherin said that Professor Snape has all of the newly sorted Slytherins undergo a health screening within the first week of term, and he has been pushing for the school to make this mandatory for all the houses, but the headmaster won’t go along with it and the other heads are unconcerned by it.

“So Professor Snape has some sort of personal obligation to help students from any house with this kind of stuff.”

Ron simply stared at her for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? That Snape, the cruelest teacher in school besides maybe Umbridge, has some sort of underground club to help kids who have it rough at home?”

“I’m just telling you what I heard!” Hermione retorted.

“What you heard from a Slytherin! Who was saying it to a first-year Hufflepuff, which is the most gullible group of students in the school. Sounds like some sort of sick prank that only a Hufflepuff would fall for.”

“I believed it,” Hermione snapped. “It wouldn’t do any harm to try.”

“It could do a whole lot of harm. He could cut me up and use my body parts for potions ingredients as punishment for falling for such a thing, and then signal Harry out even more than usual!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ronald. If you’re too chicken to talk to him, I’ll just do it myself.”

“I’m not too chicken!” Ron hissed. “I’m a bloody Gryffindor!”

“Then prove it!”

“I will!”

“Good!”

“Fantastic!” Ron grumbled, pulling his History of Magic textbook towards him and staring at the words on the page, fuming. This would be a suicide mission, but he would prove himself to Hermione. Chicken, as if! But, still…

“Will you go with me?” Ron asked after a while, looking up from the goblin rebellion illustrations.

Hermione looked up from her own book and smiled. “Of course I will.”

***

Ron stood outside of Snape’s office, shuffling his feet. Was this really a good idea? No. Was he going to go through with it? Well, Hermione was standing next to him expectantly, as if testing his courage, so yes. Probably.

He raised a shaky hand to knock on the door, rolling his eyes at his own dramatics and hoping that Hermione didn’t take notice. Come on Weasley, you’re a Gryffindor. You’re brave. Just knock on the bloody door.

And with an encouraging nod from Hermione, he forced himself to do just that.

It took a minute or two, but suddenly the door was thrust open and they were greeted by Slytherin’s monster himself (the Basilisk had nothing on Snape).

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Snape questioned harshly, making it clear that this was in no way a pleasure.

Ron was doing a really bad job at proving his valor as his tongue twisted and it was Hermione who spoke.

“We just wondered if we could speak with you, Professor?” she asked politely, confidently. Ron had always wondered why she hadn’t been sorted into Ravenclaw, but then he had never witnessed any student outside of Slytherin able to face Snape like this, with not a single tremor running through her body.

“I suppose you could,” Snape said, his dark eyes assessing them. He must have found whatever he was looking for, for he sighed and stood aside to allow them entrance.

Ron and Hermione stepped into Snape’s office, taking seats in front of his desk when gestured towards them. Snape remained standing, glaring.

“Well? What matter could you possibly have to discuss with me, of all people?”

Ron glanced at Hermione, hoping that she would continue this. But she just looked back at him.

Of all the times to have a competition over bravery, it had to be now…

Ron cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking up at Snape but not into his eyes. He focused on the potion vials littering the wall behind him. “Sir, it’s er… ah, I’ve been to every other head of house, and Hermione overheard a rumor that you erm have a… commitment to help students who are dealing with… abusive people?”

He hadn’t really meant to say it as a question, but it kind of was. Ron was fully prepared for Snape to snort and sneer and send them on their way, rebuking their belief in this rumor, but when Ron chanced a glance at his face, he was surprised to see Snape regarding him seriously.

“Are you having problems at home, Mr. Weasley?” he asked.

“What? Oh, no! Not me, um it’s… well, it’s Harry we came here about, actually.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t argue with the claim. “Is Mr. Potter experiencing difficulties at home, then?”

Ron looked at Hermione again for help, but she remained frustratingly silent. Ron resisted the urge to growl at her and looked back at Snape. “Er, I mean, that’s not what I was referring to. It’s just…”

“Professor Umbridge,” Hermione chimed in, finally offering her oh-so-appreciated assistance. “She has been using a blood quill on Harry during detention.”

Silence. Absolute, total silence. It seemed to go on for hours before Snape decided to speak.

“You mean to tell me,” he started menacingly, and Ron gulped, regretting every choice he had ever made that had led him to this moment, “that a professor in this school has been using an illegal object to physically torture a student?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron and Hermione said together.

“How many times?” asked Snape.

“Er... “ Ron thought about it. “At least five? He had detention every day last week.”

Snape made no attempt to hold back his growl. “How long were these detentions?”

“They started at five and ended around midnight,” Hermione said softly.

“Seven hours? For five days?”

Ron grimaced. He knew the whole situation was bad, but he’d never fully thought about just how long the detentions really were.

“And why, pray tell, did it take you two so long to come to someone about this? And why couldn’t the golden boy do so himself?”

“We did go to someone about it! I went to Flitwick and Sprout, and Pomfrey, and McGonagall just told Harry to keep his head down!” Ron defended.

“I’ve gone to the headmaster and Professor McGonagall both about Harry in the past,” Hermione offered, albeit far less heatedly than Ron. “They wouldn’t do anything. It’s not only the blood quill, sir. Harry never even considered telling an adult about this because it’s just not in his nature. It’s… his relatives, they aren’t…” she worried her bottom lip, struggling for words. “I don’t know much about them, really, but what I do know isn’t good.”

Snape regarded the two of them. “You believe them to be abusive?”

“Well,” Ron started, a bit amazed at how responsive Snape was being about all of this. Maybe… “I… I never really realized until Hermione pointed it out to me recently, but yes. I know he doesn’t like them, and the feeling seems to be mutual.”

“He never goes home for the holidays,” said Hermione. “He’s always been underweight, and he doesn’t eat much. He… I don’t quite know how to explain it, but it’s just in all the little things he does. The way he never asks for help, and never expects it. The way he just accepts things, like the blood quill…”

Snape seemed to think on this, perhaps considering his own encounters with Harry. Granted, most of them included ridicule on Snape’s part, but maybe he did have a bit of time to spare for observation.

“Has Mr. Potter ever directly said anything to either one of you alluding to abuse?”

Ron started to shake his head and then stopped and really thought about it. There had never been a time since they’d met where Ron thought that Harry had a good home life, but had he really never thought that much about all the little comments over the years?

“When we first met on the train to Hogwarts,” Ron started, “I asked him what Muggles were like and he said horrible, the ones he lived with, anyway. At Christmas, he seemed shocked that he had presents and… I don’t know much about Muggle money and customs and such, but I thought it was a bit strange that all they sent him was a fifty-pence, and not a very nice note to go along with it.

“Before second year, Harry wasn’t responding to my letters and I was worried so the twins and I drove the flying car to Surrey to check on him. They had bars on his window and several locks on the door from the outside. And a… I think it’s called a cat flap? To pass food through, I suppose. I thought it was a bit strange, but I figured Muggles… Hermione told me that it really wasn’t normal though.

“I remember that he was really nervous about the possibility of the school closing down because of the Chamber of Secrets, he really didn’t want to go home which I think was the main reason he was willing to go after Ginny with me…”

“And when we did go home,” Hermione broke in, “at the train station he said that his relatives would be upset that he didn’t get himself killed.” Ron nodded in agreement.

“Before third year he ran away after blowing up his aunt, not the one he lives with, mind, but she said some pretty horrible things about his mum and dad… Before fourth year we picked him up for the Quidditch World Cup and met his relatives, they were just awful, really… And they didn’t come to watch the third task, either.”

Harry had never pretended that things were well at home, so why had it taken so long for Ron to realize just what that meant?

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone about his bedroom,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“George did tell Mum that they were starving him, but she didn’t say anything about it!”

“It was right after you stole your father’s car and flew it halfway across the country, she probably just assumed that he was fibbing to get out of trouble! You should have tried again once she had calmed down.”

“Yeah, well, you told Dumbledore about it and it didn’t do any good, did it?”

“Enough!” said Snape. “We could all do without the endless squabbling.” He turned to look at Hermione. “You’ve informed the headmaster of this?”

“Yes sir,” replied Hermione. “He said that Harry is safest there and that it’s really not so bad.”

“Of course he did,” Snape sighed. He finally walked around his desk and sat down heavily in his chair, hand stroking his chin in thought. “With wizarding laws, there is nothing I can do for the situation.”

“Told you so,” Ron muttered. Hermione glared.

“With wizarding laws,” Snape admonished. “I’ve said nothing of the Muggle authorities.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

***

“Where are we going?” Harry grumbled.

The three of them, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, were underneath the invisibility cloak. It was the middle of the night and Harry had not appreciated being woken up, but Snape hadn’t wanted to chance someone seeing them.

“You’ll see when we get there,” said Ron, dreading the sure to be explosive reaction to their destination. He still wasn’t sure that this was a good idea and resisted the urge to prepare his friend. But if he told him now, they ran the risk of Harry bolting.

“If you two dragged me out of bed to look at the stars or something like that…”

Well, none of them missed first-year Astronomy lessons.

“It’s nothing like that,” Hermione murmured.

They came to Snape’s office door, and this time Ron didn’t feel any (well, many) reservations about knocking.

“Wait, isn’t this-” Harry started, but stopped abruptly when the door was opened and Snape appeared.

“Come in,” said Snape, and while Ron could hardly see Harry’s face in the darkness, he knew that if looks could kill…

“What the hell,” Harry hissed as Snape turned away and they shuffled into the office. Neither Ron nor Hermione responded to him as they pulled off the invisibility cloak after the door was shut.

Earlier in the day where there had been two chairs in front of Snape’s, there were now four. Three were set across from the one Snape sat in, and he motioned for the trio to sit.

Ron had to drag Harry a bit to get him over to the chairs, but he sat in the middle between Hermione and himself.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape started, “I realize this is a bit abrupt and surprising, but I hope that you will work with me. Would any of you like something to drink?”

Ron shook his head no while Hermione offered a “No thank you, sir,” and Harry simply gaped.

“Very well, then. I have been informed by your friends that a certain professor has been using an unorthodox form of punishment in her detentions? Care to enlighten me on that?”

Harry looked at Hermione, then Ron, mouth still open. In his eyes was a question, and Ron simply nodded, hoping that it would be enough.

“Er… yes, sir. It’s… it’s really not a big deal, but… she has been making me do lines with this weird quill…”

“Yes, a blood quill. Officially it is called a Black Quill but is known more widely under the blood name as it writes with the user’s own blood as ink.”

Harry nodded. “I asked her for ink the first time and she said it wasn’t needed, and then…”

Snape was jotting things down on a piece of parchment laying on the side of his desk. “What did she have you write?”

“‘I must not tell lies.’”

“May I see your hand?”

Harry offered it, hesitantly. Snape examined it closely, frowning in concentration. “You used Murtlap Essence on it?”

“Yes, sir,” it was Hermione who answered.

Snape sighed, letting go of Harry’s hand. “I’m afraid that that’s the best that could be done for it. Scars from the quill are often permanent, and with the repeated use for such a long time…”

“It’s okay, Professor,” said Harry. “It’s just a scar.”

Snape frowned. “It’s really not okay. I hope you will come to realize that.” He sighed, again. “Unfortunately, with the current political climate being what it is, there isn’t anything that can be done to stop Umbridge. I wish I didn’t have to ask you this, but I must ask you to try your best to stay out of her way.”

Harry nodded and kept his head lowered.

“That brings us to another matter,” said Snape. “I have been informed of possible… issues for you at home.”

Harry’s head shot up. “Sir?” he squeaked.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “we told him about the Dursleys.”

“What’s there to tell?” Harry questioned defensively.

“That’s what I am asking,” Snape said. “Your friends have expressed concerns about your living arrangements and I need you to confirm or deny these suspicions in order to move forward.”

“I-I don’t understand. What…”

“We told him about how they treat you, mate,” Ron offered quietly, feeling like a traitor. “About the bars on your window…”

“Yeah, so? What’s the big deal?”

“The fact that you don’t find it strange seems to be the issue,” Snape said. “Is that type of treatment typical of your relatives?”

“I’d really rather not talk about it, sir…” the with you wasn’t said, but strongly implied.

If Ron was taken aback when Snape left his seat and kneeled down in front of Harry’s chair to look him directly in the eye, Harry was stupefied.

“Mr. Potter… Harry, I realize that there has been plenty of animosity between us and I apologize for the way I must treat you in public. But I do want to help you, and I can not do that if you do not let me.”

Harry looked over to Ron for help, who simply nodded.

And so Harry spoke. He spoke of a cupboard and padlocked bedroom, of days of starvation, raised hands, and a million other things that Ron had never noticed.

At one point his voice broke and Ron grasped his hand, the hand permanently scarred with I must not tell lies and squeezed it gently.

“So… what now?” Harry asked quietly once he’d finished, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeves.

“Now,” said Snape, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, “we simply need to persuade your relatives to sign some papers and find a Muggle who is willing to take legal responsibility of you. This does not necessarily mean that you must live with them. At that point, you could live with your godfather with your technical guardian’s permission and there wouldn’t be anything that the headmaster or anyone at the Ministry could do about it. Muggle laws are respected in cases like yours, where you have Muggle records as you have lived the majority of your life in the Muggle world and your mother was Muggle-born.”

“My parents could do it,” Hermione offered. “I’m sure that they wouldn’t mind.”

“That may be a good idea, Miss Granger. I would appreciate it if you wrote to them and asked about it.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thanks, Hermione. But I- I don’t want to be a burden…”

“You are not a burden,” Snape assured. “No matter what those despicable relatives of yours might have said to the contrary. You’d do best to forget everything they’ve told you.”

Harry nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced.

“Now, you three should get back to Gryffindor tower and into your beds. This will all sort itself out in daylight hours.”

“Yes, sir,” the trio responded in unison.

“And Mr. Potter,” Snape said just before they threw the cloak over themselves “should you have any similar problems in the future, do see me. I hope that you will come to realize that not every adult is destined to fail you.”

Harry smiled a tentative little smile and nodded once more.

“Oh, and Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor for having the courage to help a friend in need.”

Ron stared at him, gobsmacked, before Hermione lifted the cloak over their heads and led them to the door. His thoughts were in a whirlwind as they made their way up through the castle, and Harry spoke just before they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” asked Ron.

“For- for noticing.”