Harry made his way through the corridors. He was just coming in from spending some time outside with Hedwig. It was exam week, but as all tests had been canceled to celebrate the recovery of those who had been petrified and the destruction of the creature that had cause their condition in the first place, he was largely free to do as he pleased, so long as he turned in his homework on time.

The boy briefly allowed his mind to wander back to his foray into the Chamber of Secrets. He wondered how it was that he could venture into the den of a basilisk and yet being stuck in a closet sent him into a panic. Perhaps, he would ask Snape about it. After the Potions Master calmed down, that is. Snape had not been happy with him. In fact, the man had been quite livid...

"Once again," the professor had berated him fiercely, "you have rushed recklessly into a deadly situation without so much as a thought for your own safety. Are you trying to get yourself killed, Mr. Potter? Because you very nearly succeeded!"

As blistering as the rebuke had been, Harry couldn't help but feel a warm glow because of it. After all, the man hadn't been angry at him strictly for acting like a "foolish Gryffindor", but for putting himself in danger. While it was true that the professor wasn't exactly the nicest person Harry knew, he had never done anything to actually harm him, either. And when he realized how he was treated at his relative's house, he worked really hard to get Harry to tell Dumbledore so he wouldn't have to go back there. That Snape was angry for Harry nearly getting killed strengthened the boy's conviction that he was right to trust the man.

"Well, look who we have here," a voice drawled, breaking Harry from his musing. "If it isn't Potter."

Harry sighed, turning to face Malfoy. The blond stood a short distance away, flanked on either side by his frequent companions. "Malfoy," he returned, his voice a bit heavy on the sarcasm. Sometimes, the Slytherin really got on his nerves.

"Wandering about by yourself, Potter? That's not very smart of you," Malfoy sneered, his expression remarkably like Dudley's.

And that seemingly innocent observation was all it took for the scene in front of Harry to suddenly change.

Malfoy's pale hair darkened to a dirty blond color, even as the boy himself expanded, bloating until he had morphed into a boy thrice his size. The opposite was happening to Crabbe, as the shortest of the three Slytherins thinned until he become a waifish, rat-faced boy. And Goyle... well, Goyle kind of looked like one of the others from Dudley's gang, anyway, so he didn't change all that much.

No... Harry tried to tell himself, vainly shaking his head to dislodge the image before him. It's Malfoy. It's...

"Got something to say, freak?" the other boy taunted.

His instincts promptly taking over, Harry turned to flee, having learned long ago that discretion was the better part of valor. In the case of Dudley and his gang, that meant running at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, Harry found that he was already backed into a corner.

"What? Can't find any nine-year-olds to beat up?" Harry snarled at his pursuers, his tone much braver than he felt. The Dursleys might not say anything about their son beating the tar out of him, and Uncle Vernon would have certainly smacked him around for his 'cheek', but he'd be damned if he cowered in front of his brutish cousin. Even if he was scared.

Draco looked at his companions, who appeared to be just as nonplussed as he felt. "What are you on about, Potter?" he demanded, eying Harry, who was standing with his back in the corner between the wall and one of the archways.

"Better that, than a brainless lard-buck -" Harry broke off as the first of the blows landed, and soon he was curled up on the ground, one arm up to protect his head as the other hand scrambled for purchase against the flagstones in an attempt to move himself into a less vulnerable position.

Wait – flagstones? That's right... he was at Hogwarts, part of his mind insisted. He wasn't back in Little Whinging being physically assaulted by his cousin. He was stuck in another memory.

But as soon as those thoughts surfaced, the terrified portion of his mind screeched that, of course, it wasn't flagstones he was laying upon, but the cement of the playground where he had attended primary school. It was the perfect place for Dudley and his band of bullies to waylay him as there were few people there over the summer.

So it was that Harry continued to flinch and jerk, biting his lip to keep from crying out as the remembered kicks and blows rained upon him.

By now, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were exchanging horrified looks as the Gryffindor writhed in the corner as though he were being attacked by invisible assailants.

"Get the professor," Draco commanded, his pitch a little high. The other two promptly obeyed, moving as fast as they were able. "Potter!" the blond shouted at the other boy, wary of moving too close. "Hey, Potter!"

Hurrying footsteps echoed up the corridor behind him. "What are you doing to him?" Granger shrieked, even as Weasley shouted, "Leave him alone!"

"Does it look like I have my wand drawn?" Malfoy hissed at them. "I'm not doing anything to him." Understanding dawned on both of their faces as they looked at their friend and the Slytherin knew that they'd just realized what he and his friends had: Potter was having some sort of flashback.

Harry stilled as the attack finally ended, struggling to fight back the sobs that threatened. His fingers scrabbled against the cement. No, flagstones... or was it cement? He didn't know where he was, anymore. And did he hurt or didn't he?

"Move," Snape ordered brusquely as he swept towards the cowering form, Crabbe and Goyle almost running to keep up with him. He crouched down beside the boy, whose eyes were shut against the world around him. "Harry?" he spoke quietly, cautiously reaching out a hand.

Cool fingers brushed against Harry's cheek. Cool, not warm like Uncle Vernon's large, sweaty paws. Turning his head towards the tentative contact, the boy drew in a deep breath. Stale potions. Not the sickeningly sweet perfume of Aunt Petunia's hand lotion. It was Snape. Snape had come to save him, just as Harry knew he would – the man had promised to protect him.

The Potions Master was startled when Harry suddenly levered himself up off the floor and wrapped his arms around his neck. It was without conscious thought that he folded his own arms around the small frame, even as the boy pressed his face into his shoulder.

"Potter," he began.

"Pr'fessor Snape. Hogwarts." Harry responded automatically, voice muffled by the fabric of Snape's robes. The boy was trembling, his breath hitching despite the fact that he wasn't actually crying.

Snape rose to his feet, Potter still in his arms, turning back to the watching students. "Go back to your common rooms," he told them. His tone brooked no argument. His Slytherins, still a little wide-eyed, complied immediately. The two Gryffindors obeyed more slowly, obviously hesitant to leave their friend with the Potions professor. Oddly enough, it was Weasley who finally prodded the Granger girl into motion.

The man made his way back towards his office, pausing outside it before continuing on to his quarters. After lighting a fire with a quietly murmured spell, he settled on the end of his sofa, Harry still tucked against him as he rubbed soothing circles into the boy's back.

"What happened?" Snape asked the familiar question once Harry's breathing had calmed.

"Harry hunting," the boy answered, shifting so that his face was no longer hidden but he was still seated in the man's lap.

Dear Merlin, the man thought as the new term was introduced. What else did they make this boy go through? "Please explain," he requested, though, his tone made it clear that compliance was optional.

Fortunately, Harry did explain, his voice quiet and halting as he told of the abuse he had to take not only from his cousin, but his cousin's friends, as well.

Snape pressed the boy closer (he was not hugging him). "You did not deserve that sort of treatment, Harry," he told him.

Emerald eyes met his, disbelief and hope mingling in their depths. "But I didn't try s-stop it, either," Harry murmured. "My magic could have protected me, couldn't it? But I never used it, 'cept maybe the once."

"You're not entirely to blame for that, either."

The boy opened his mouth to disagree.

"What would your aunt and uncle have done if you'd used magic to protect yourself from your cousin?" Snape asked. The boy diverted his gaze and the man lifted his chin back up, again. "It's not your fault. And the fact that you didn't stand up to them doesn't make you weak. You are a child. You're relatives should have taken care of you and protected you – even from your cousin."

Harry let his head rest against Snape's shoulder once more, giving no indication as to whether or not he accepted what the man had just said. Snape was certain he would have to repeat himself several more times before the boy believed him.

They sat there, the crackling of the fire the only sound. After a while, Harry drifted to sleep. Snape told himself that the reason he didn't get up and lay the boy on the couch was that he didn't want to risk waking him. Instead, he remained where he was, allowing his mind to wander. The boy had suffered so many grievances, and yet, apart from the moments in which he was trapped in his own memories, he had not cried.

Severus Snape allowed himself a small sigh. Healing for his ward was still a long time coming...