Not that the brat had actually said anything. Potter seemed to view their weekly appointments as detentions of sorts, even though he was free to read or do schoolwork if he didn't wish to talk. And the boy never wished to talk, it would seem. Not to him, in any case. He had told Albus it wouldn't work. The boy didn't trust him and him being a witness to his panic after the closet incident hadn't helped matters.

Neither did the fact that one of the boy's friends lay petrified in the hospital wing.

Snape would continue in the endeavor, however, in the hope that Potter would corroborate their suspicions concerning his relatives' treatment of him so that he could be removed from their 'care'. Failing that, the Potions Master planned on paying Petunia and her family a surprise visit to observe the situation himself. Either way, Lily's child would not be spending another summer in that home.

His first thought upon finding the corridor outside his office vacant was that the boy had left when he didn't show up on time. Upon seeing that the door was slightly ajar, however, Snape recalled that he had left the door unlocked. Quietly pushing it further open, he stepped inside.

"Potter," Snape began, intent on apologizing for his tardiness. The boy startled at his voice, flinching violently. That, in itself, wasn't new. Potter had been much jumpier since the professor had unintentionally locked him the small cleaning supply closet, so much so that his other teachers had begun to comment on it. This time, however, the boy had been holding the trinket that had been sitting on Snape's desk and it slipped from his hand when he jerked in surprise.

The Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose as the delicate glass smashed against the flagstone floor. It had belonged to his mother and he'd only just brought it from his home the previous day. He'd meant to put it on a high shelf out of the reach of children who felt the need to 'look' with their fingers.

He was about to give the boy a mild reprimand for touching things that didn't belong to him, when Potter let an unmistakeably terrified whimper. Snape's eyes immediately opened to find the boy kneeling on the floor, slicing his fingers as he hurriedly attempted to pick up the shards.

"Potter!" the man snapped. Instead of halting the boy's actions, however, the sharp tone succeeded only in launching him into a string of profuse apologies.

"I-I'm sorry," Potter babbled, "it was an accident – I didn't mean it, honest! Sorry... I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise! I'll be good. I'm sorry, I -"

"Potter!" Snape repeated more quietly, taking the boy by the wrists to keep him from cutting himself further. The boy's tone raised a panicked decibel at the contact. "Harry."

Instantly, the boy stopped, green eyes focusing on the man for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"Who am I?" he prompted.

"P-Professor Snape," Potter whispered immediately.

"Do you remember where you are?"

"Hogwarts."

Snape lifted the boy to his feet, setting him back down in the guest chair a moment later. Summoning a bowl of warm water, a towel and some antiseptic, he gently set to cleaning the cuts and making sure there was no glass embedded in the boy's flesh.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone unusually soft. The man could feel the boy's eyes on his face, but he kept his gaze focused on his task.

"Sir?"

"In your flashback – the memory you were caught up in. What happened?"

There was long hesitation in which Snape was certain that Potter would refuse to answer, so he was surprised when the boy quietly murmured, "I dropped Aunt Petunia's antique vase."

The professor nodded solemnly. "And after that?"

This time, the boy really did make no move to respond, choosing to stare down at the broken knickknack, instead.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape reached out a hand and raised Potter's chin until he was forced to meet his gaze. There were tears in the boy's eyes. "Harry, did they hurt you?"

"I can't tell you," Harry choked out.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"You won't believe me," the boy murmured thickly.

"And why is that?" Snape inquired.

The tears brimmed over and began to trail down Harry's face. "No one ever believes me."

Snape gently brushed the tears from the boy's cheeks. "I believe you," he said seriously.

"You do?" Harry whispered.

"I do. And do you know what else?"

Harry shook his head jerkily.

"The headmaster would believe you, also."

The boy gazed at him uncertainly and Snape took a moment to seal the cuts on the boy's fingers, leaving a patchwork of newly-healed pink lines. Then, murmuring a quick reparo, Snape directed his mother's knickknack to a shelf behind his desk before turning back to the twelve-year-old.

"Harry," the professor used the boy's given name, as doing so seemed to calm him, "if you will tell me and the headmaster about your relatives -" At this, Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Or just me, and I can tell the headmaster for you," he quickly amended. "I promise that you will never have to go back there."

"Never?" the boy queried.

"Never," Snape vowed.

Potter stared down at his hands for several moments. "W-where would I go?"

"Of that, I am uncertain," the man answered frankly.

"Could I stay with you?"

As sudden and unexpected as the request had been, it was nowhere near as shocking to the man as his own response: "If that is what you wish."

Green eyes met obsidian, and after a tense pause, Potter gave a minute nod. "Okay," he finally agreed. "I-I'll tell you."