Harry scowled in frustration, squirming on the bed. He glanced past Madame Pomfrey at his Potions professor standing silently by one of the windows. He wished the industrious medi-witch would go away. Snape had taken care of him all week – and he did it without all this fussing and fretting. Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly when Harry wriggled and scanned him again for the fourth time. Harry gave Snape an imploring look, but the professor remained still, his face a stony mask.

“No fever, and no signs of dehydration…” Pomfrey muttered. “But you’re right, Severus. He’s undernourished. He’ll need to continue to take a nutritional potion for several months, I should think. How often have you been dosing him?”

“Twice a day,” Snape replied blandly.

“Twice?” Pomfrey looked surprise.

“It’s not the conventional potion. I developed a specific potion for Mr. Potter, that addresses his individual nutritional needs. He gets a dose with breakfast and again at dinner. The interval allows his body to absorb more of the nutrients, and stimulates his appetite.”

Pomfrey nodded, visibly impressed. Harry glanced curiously at Snape. He didn’t know the Potions Master had brewed special potions just for him. It made him feel funny – kind of warm in his belly but a bit embarrassed as well. He’s done so much already! I wish I wasn’t so much trouble. . .he must be tired of looking after me. I’ll bet he’s glad Madame Pomfrey is here, so he doesn’t have to bother with me anymore!

Madame Pomfrey straightened and sighed, smoothing her crisp apron. “Well, I must say, Severus, I’m very impressed. Based on the notes you recorded of Harry’s initial condition, it’s clear you did a fine job of healing him.”

“Of course,” Snape nodded imperiously, as if there was never any question of the quality of his work. To Harry’s surprise, the professor didn’t appear in any hurry to escape the Infirmary, but remained where he was.

Madame Pomfrey insisted Harry lay down in the bed again (even though he assured her he wasn’t the least bit tired) and made rather a fuss about tucking him in. Harry flushed in embarrassment. He didn’t like Snape seeing the medi-witch coddle him.She acts like I’m a baby or an invalid or something. I wish she’d go away.After warming his blankets and refilling his water pitcher, the overprotective healer finally wandered back to her office. Harry glanced over at Snape with a sullen pout. “I wish she wouldn’t make such a fuss,” he muttered.

A small smirk lurked around the stern professor’s thin lips. “She’s been like that since before I was a student,” he replied softly. “She cossets the staff the same way. If you discover a way to diminish her aggressive nurturing, do let me in on the secret, won’t you?”

Harry flashed him a shocked, guilty grin. Did Snape just make a joke? He had expected Snape to make some caustic remark about complaining children, or at least criticize Pomfrey for spoiling the Boy-Who-Lived. He hadn’t expected the man to agree with him, or make a snarky comment about another staff member. He watched the professor move to the chair beside his bed and sit down. Snape’s unexpectedly grave expression made him suddenly nervous.

“Harry, Professor Dumbledore will be down directly to speak with you,” Snape said, studying him solemnly. Harry squirmed in the pregnant pause that followed. “He will ask you about your treatment at the Dursleys.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know you don’t, and I would prefer you had more time before being questioned,” Snape replied grimly. “But I know the Headmaster, Harry. He will insist. . .as, frankly, he should.”

Harry studied his hands as if they were the most interesting items in the room.

“He must decide what’s to be done with you. . . whether to make new living arrangements, or to. . .to send you back to your relatives.” He raised a hand at Harry’s panicked look. “He cannot make an informed decision if he doesn’t know the truth, Harry. It’s crucial that he understand what your life has been like in their hands.”

Harry turned his face away. “I. . .it’s. . .it’s hard to talk about it,” he admitted in a whisper.

“I understand.”

He does understand. But he wants me to tell. . . .“Do I have to?”

“I think it is important.”Harry clutched the edge of the blanket nervously. “Can’t. . can’t you tell him?”

“I have told him what I know – but my word isn’t enough in this case, Harry. He has to hear it from you,” Snape said softly.Harry sighed.

I can’t do this. I can’t. but…but I have to! Snape says so. . .do you want him to think you’re a coward?. . .be a Gryffindor, for gosh sakes!“Okay,” he murmured unhappily.They sat in silence for a moment, while Harry worried the blanket between anxious fingers. Harry spoke again, saying the first words that sprang to his lips without thinking. “Will you stay with me?”

He cringed as soon he realized what he had said.Oh no! What a stupid, wimpy thing to say! He’ll think I’m a cry baby! He doesn’t want to hang around here, holding your hand, you wuss!“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have. . .” he flinched when Snape cut him off.

“Of course I will.”

Harry couldn’t help staring up at the man beside him. The stern face was as stony as always. . .but there was something else. . .something in Snape’s dark gaze that seemed. . .pleased? Sympathetic?

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, a little stunned.Snape opened his mouth as if to say something else, but he was interrupted by the Infirmary doors swinging open with a soft squeak. From under the curtain of his shaggy bangs, Harry warily watched the Headmaster stroll toward them.

“Harry!” The Headmaster’s voice was warm and gentle. He came to stand by the bed, and gazed intently down at Harry, the normal twinkle in his bright eyes dimmed by regret. “I am so glad you are feeling better.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry answered automatically, avoiding the sharp gaze.

“I was saddened by the circumstances that brought you here, my boy,” Dumbledore continued. “I am so sorry for your misfortune.”Snape snorted softly beside him, echoing Harry’s uncertainty. Harry shrugged.The Headmaster waved his wand casually at a nearby chair, which slid closer. Another wave turned the stiff wooden chair into a cozy, overstuffed thing with a bright purple chintz cover. Dumbledore seated himself comfortably and gave Harry a sad, determined look.

“Harry, we need to talk.” He glanced sharply at Snape, clearly dismissing him.

“I have informed Mr. Potter of the nature of your inquiry, Headmaster,” Snape replied smoothly without moving from his seat. “Considering the reluctance Mr. Potter has displayed in discussing this topic, I think it would be wisest if I remain. If he manages to work himself into hysterics, I may need to dose him with a calming potion.”

Harry scowled at Snape, surprised and offended by his comments, but Snape merely glanced at him with a warning in his eyes. Harry shrugged and pretended to ignore Snape’s curt words.

“It’s all right, Professor. I don’t mind if he stays. He saw everything, anyway,” Harry muttered sullenly.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Can you tell me, Harry – what precipitated this…altercation…you had with your Uncle?”

Harry swallowed hard and stared down at the blanket. With halting words, he slowly explained the events that had occurred from the time he had left Hogwarts and returned to Surrey. The two men listened without comment. When Harry hesitated a few times, Professor Dumbledore patted his hand gently. Harry stiffened each time and drew his hand away, but didn’t dare look at either of them.

“Do you have any idea what may have caused your relatives to behave so unreasonably, Harry?” Dumbledore asked at one point. “Have there been any other unusual problems at home – or at your Uncle’s place of work?”

Harry shook his head. “No, sir. . . there’s nothing unusual about any of it. They’ve always been like that.”

“Like what, Harry?” Dumbledore asked gently.

“They’ve always hated me,” Harry said truthfully.

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore protested mildly. “That’s a pretty strong word – hate. I understand that you don’t get along very well, but I’m sure they don’t hate you.”

“Yes, they do,” Harry frowned. “They always have. I didn’t understand why until I got my letter from Hogwarts. They hate magic. And they hate me because I’m a wizard.”

“I can understand why some Muggles may be afraid of magic,” Dumbledore agreed gently. “People often fear what they cannot understand. Perhaps they are simply afraid of your magic.”

“Whatever,” Harry shrugged sullenly. “They can’t be too afraid of it, or they wouldn’t dare to do some of things they do to me. Anyway, I know they hate me. They’ve told me so often enough. And it’s not like I blame them or anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a freak. I’m not normal. All I do is cause them trouble. I’m a burden. They had to take me in when my parents died and they never wanted me. I don’t belong there. I’m just in the way.”

“Oh, Harry – you know that’s not true,’ Dumbledore said sadly.

“Sure it is. I’ve always been a burden. It costs money to feed me and put a roof over my head. That’s why I have to work – to earn my keep,” Harry said emphatically. “I don’t mind working really. It’s just. . .”

“Just what, Harry?”

“Well. . . Uncle Vernon hates anything to do with magic – and he won’t let me have my books or anything from school and I can’t do my summer homework. . .and. . .” Harry angrily blinked back sudden tears. “And he and Aunt Petunia hated my parents. They always say terrible things about them and. . .and. . . and I don’t want to stay there anymore!” He swallowed back the hard lump in his throat and he could feel his hands shaking with the effort not to cry.

“Headmaster,’ Snape suddenly interrupted, his voice sharp with disgust. “I really don’t see where all this whining is getting us.”

“Severus!” Professor Dumbledore snapped in irritation. “Please!”

Harry bit his lip, too shocked to respond. What!? What does he mean, whining?

“Sir, I have a suggestion that may speed up this interrogation,” Snape insisted grimly. “And eliminate Potter’s overinflated self-pity and tendency to exaggerate.”

Dumbledore glared at him.Harry covered his face with his hands, suddenly too hurt and embarrassed to face either of them. Oh Merlin! Is that what he thinks? I thought. . .I thought he believed me! I thought he was on my side!

“I suggest you use your Pensieve, sir. You can collect the relevant memories, and view them at your leisure, without requiring Mr. Potter to relive his experiences or confess to anything he may be concealing.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I don’t believe Harry is concealing anything, Severus. . . however, there is merit in your suggestion.”

“What’s a Pensieve?” Harry asked shakily.

“It’s a magical device that one can use to store memories,’ Dumbledore explained.

“Memories?”

“Yes. You can place your memories in it. Then someone else can enter those memories and see events exactly as they happened,” Dumbledore rose. “Yes… that is an excellent suggestion, Severus. I will return to my office right now and retrieve it.” He patted Harry’s shoulder absently. “Don’t worry, my boy. . .all will be well.”

“How do I remove my memories? Will it hurt?” Harry asked anxiously.

“No, my boy – not at all. Don’t fret! I’ll return shortly.” With that, the old wizard swept from the room, leaving Harry alone with the Potions Master.

“Harry?” Snape surprised him by reaching for his hand as soon as the Infirmary Room door swung closed. Harry tried to pull away. “Harry, look at me.” The stern command was urgent and Harry found himself reluctantly looking up.“I didn’t mean what I said,’ Severus said quietly, staring intently at him. “About whining – or self-pity . . .none of it was true.”

“What?” Harry gaped at him, unable to disguise his hurt.

“We don’t have much time. . .the Headmaster will return soon. I can’t explain all of this right now – but I will. I promise you!”

Harry scowled at him. “Why. . .why are you being so mean to me?”

Severus sighed. “Remember last year – when I told you I had to pretend to hate you in front of others?”Harry nodded dubiously.“This is much like that. After Professor Dumbledore collects your memories, I’ll send him away. Then we’ll talk. Meanwhile – you have to trust me.”

Harry scowled again. “Please, Harry,” the Potion Master’s expression was cold and unfeeling, but there was a pleading in his tone that Harry had never heard before. . .that he could hardly believe came from the haughty wizard. Harry nodded slowly and Snape seemed to collect himself.“When the Headmaster returns, I want you to share every memory you can recall. Start as far back as you can remember. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I guess so.”

“It will be all right, Harry. I promise.”Harry studied the man’s intent stare. He wants something. . .I think this is important. Harry was afraid to trust him. Adults always let you down, don’t they?. . . But Snape never has. . . he saved my life. . . he came when no one else did, and he took me away from the Dursleys. . .maybe I can trust him. . .for a little while longer, anyway. . .what could it hurt?He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. I’m so tired. . .I wish they’d all just leave me alone. . .I wish I could just go to sleep.

“I know you’re tired,” Snape read his thoughts from his weary face. “It will be over soon. Don’t worry about anything.”

Harry nodded but didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to think about all of this, but he didn’t want to disappoint Snape or the Headmaster either. It was hard to talk about the Dursleys. . .but they already knew some of it now. And he realized he felt a little strange. . .lighter somehow. Maybe talking about it did help. At least he didn’t feel quite so alone.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

“We’d best let Potter rest now, Headmaster,” Snape said coldly. He tipped the cup to the boy’s lips and made sure he drank all of the sleeping potion. When Harry laid his head down, his eyes were already sliding closed.

“I spent considerable effort and time healing him – I don’t want him to relapse now.” He scowled at Albus’ benign smile. “I daresay Madame Pomfrey would be displeased, to say the least.”

The threat of Pomfrey’s volatile disapproval had the desired effect. Albus nodded and twitched his wand. The Pensieve rose from the bedside table and hovered next to him. “I’ll review the memories this evening, and we’ll discuss this further tomorrow. Good night, Severus. And thank you for your assistance.”

“Good night, Headmaster.”He watched Albus exit the Infirmary, the Pensieve floating gently along behind him. Only when he was certain the old wizard was gone, did he tuck the boy’s blanket around him and brush the messy curls from his forehead.“This won’t be easy, child,” he whispered to the sleeping boy. “I hope you will be able to forgive me.”