Snape was being unusually informative. Harry wondered if that was calculated or if the wine had loosened his tongue somewhat.

Harry learned that Dumbledore had known about Draco's “mission” all year, about his feeble attempts to kill the man. About the unbreakable vow. And the fact that he didn't want the boy's soul damaged. Snape had revealed information about Voldemort's plans to infiltrate the ministry. About the Order. The problems at the ministry, the lies, loyalties and the scheming of certain members against others. He even told him about the connection between him and Voldemort. How parasitic it was. Ever growing stronger, until Harry would be taken over completely by the soul of a lunatic mass murderer. Not to be fought with occlumency. Harry felt as if there was a large tumor inside his head which would eventually kill him. It was just a matter of time.

In return, Harry had told him about the horcruxes, the Pensieve, Dumbledore's mission. It had been the first “neutral” conversation with Snape ever. He patiently answered the questions about the time turner in third year, about the fight with the Death Eaters in the ministry. Truthfully and to Snape's satisfaction.

It was late. He was tired.

Harry was not sure if he wanted to know more. The cold, calculative manner in which Dumbledore had planned his death disgusted him.

Snape also knew about this place. He knew that it was in a town named Irvine, right on the west coast of Scotland. It had only been recently abandoned after some scandals about mistreatment of the patients. It held muggles and wizards alike, no one had ever been released. Wizards lost their magic in here after a short amount of time. It was locked by muggle forces as well as several charms. Easy to open from the outside, impossible from the inside. It was out of sight from everyone and everything, as well as being surrounded by a silencing charm.

All the spells were charging spells. This meant that they had been strengthened over time and it would take the same amount of time to destroy them. Around two-hundred years.

Harry asked if Voldemort himself was able to destroy the "protection". Yes, Snape had answered sourly, if he spent his seven lives on it, he maybe could. He would however, be able to break in from the outside and yes, Snape could summon him with his dark mark. But Snape thought this would be nothing short of suicide.

Harry still hadn't found out who kept them in here, neither had Snape. It did not make any sense. Dumbledore's side would not capture Harry and risk him becoming a squib. The Death Eaters would. However, they wouldn't want to lose Voldemort's right hand man.

“Now... you might not understand how this information could be of any importance but...” Snape rubbed the back of his shoulders and seemed rather nervous, “I need to know why your relatives have been so... let's say … unsupportive. Did they seem... confunded when you last saw them? Why did they not come back?”

Harry sighed. “I don't think they were confunded, no.”

Snape frowned. Maybe he knew that he was walking on thin ice.

"When you become of age... which will be very soon, the charm your mother created will be broken. There will be no need for you to return to Privet Drive, unless you wish to do so."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that did not go unnoticed. The furrows in Snape's brow grew even deeper.

"How did you sustain those injuries?"

He didn't want to lie and he did not want to tell the truth either. It was certain that the Potion Master would use the information against him in the next argument. And there were always arguments. This truce was fragile, only held together by the thirst for information that had been withheld for years.

Snape's next move was unexpected. He put the file in the middle of the table and Harry, curious to find out why that voice was haunting him in the building they were both trapped in, stared at it.

"Potter!" Harry startled. Snape seemed satisfied. "It is important. You may not see why. But it is."

The unspoken words trust me where hanging in the air and Harry was glad that he didn't say them out loud.

His throat suddenly seemed very dry. Snape poured more wine and Harry snorted, but accepted.

"How. Did. You. Sustain. Those. Injuries."

No threat in the man's voice. And yet, Harry wanted to answer.

"Elaborate." And then he heard the unexpected, unfamiliar utterance. "Please."

The wine, the fact that he never had to go back and the unanticipated plea had softened him somehow.

"My uncle. He hates me."

Silence.

"You may explain."

"Well...," Harry fidgeted in his seat, "They don't really know much about magic and I always did things they found strange and..."

"Potter. I said explain. Not excuse."

Harry lowered his head. No one had ever been interested in the Dursleys. Not his primary school teachers, not his friends and especially not Dumbledore. Something snapped in his mind. It seemed as if the next words were pulled out of his throat, against his will. Or as if Snape had punctured an abscess that had long wanted to burst.

He recounted the resentment. The beatings. The hatred towards him. Why they called him a freak. The endless lists of chores and the punishments if they weren't met. Petunia's coldness. Dudley's bullying. Uncle Vernon's temper. Aunt Marge's bulldogs and the speech she gave about Harry's parents. The times Aunt Petunia had locked him into the bathroom with a bucket full of cleaning agents. The fumes. The night Vernon had thrown him against the coat hook and he couldn't walk for two weeks. The belt. How the buckle hurt when it was twisted a certain way. His burnt Hogwarts letters. The lack of presents and photos. What they told him about his parents. The day he ate out the trash can because he hadn't been allowed food for three days, was sick and Vernon made him eat it. The announcement at school that he was a thief because he had stolen a small girl's lunch. It had just appeared in his schoolbag, just like magic, but that made Vernon even angrier. The broken bulb, the darkness and stuffiness in the cupboard. The move to Dudley's second bedroom and the bars on the windows. The pain when Aunt Petunia hit him with a frying pan.

Harry had been staring at his glass of wine, unable to face Snape. When he was finished, he expected a comment along the lines of: 'Are you quite finished with your babbling?' Or 'that was so tedious, I almost passed out.'

Snape's face was ashen. Not that there had been much colour in it before, but he looked as grey as the wall behind him. He also seemed to have shrunk a little. The shadows under his eyes were black now.

Abruptly, he rose and stalked over to Harry who instinctively felt his bruised chin. Snape grimaced. He was very close now. Before Harry could react, Snape had lifted the T-Shirt and scrutinised Harry's back. He pulled it down quickly, but judging by the sharp breath the man drew in, he had seen enough.

"Merlin, Potter..." he whispered as his voice seemed to have left him. "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I tried," said Harry, a bit defensively. "I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts. And my letter was addressed to the cupboard. And... Dumbledore kind of reprimanded them last year for... not being nice and not feeding me much. He saw the bars and..."

Harry stopped. He had to. The thought of his miserable childhood being accepted by Dumbledore as part of his plan just hurt too much. The glass Snape was holding broke. He took no notice. No, the man didn't look well at all.

"Fascinating..." he whispered. "That's what Dumbledore meant."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Excuse me."

Snape stalked... staggered out of the room and Harry could hear his footsteps dying away in the distance of the corridor. Then he heard things getting smashed and shattered.

It had been a very long day.