Digging for the Bones by Paganaidd

For the rest of the day, Harry went through the motions of behaving normally. He knew Hermione was watching him, all through their next class.

It was tempting to get angry at his friends again, but Harry just couldn’t. They’d truly been trying to help. Like his teacher or his school nurse who’d tried to help before, they just didn’t realize the consequences of their actions.

It didn’t matter much why this was happening, or whose fault it might be, Harry thought. Nothing seemed to matter much after Harry had stumbled from Snape’s office in a horrified daze. This was his life and his life just could never be easy.

Luckily, the class that afternoon was History of Magic. The late Professor Binns taught it the same way he’d taught it for about a hundred years. Lecturing from the book so that, assuming one could read, one didn’t miss much by not listening. Many a student caught up on sleep in the ghostly professor’s classroom.

In Harry’s case, today he used the time to replay the conversation he’d just had with Professor Snape. If not for the potion that seemed to be settling Harry’s stomach, he thought he’d likely be throwing up again.

“You must realize that a teacher raising hand or wand to a student is against this school’s policies.” Snape had said, in that low, dangerous tone that never failed to make Harry shiver.

Oh yes, Harry realized it. Harry realized it with a clarity born of painful experience.   He completely understood Snape’s meaning, the implicit threat reverberating through Harry’s mind.

A teacher could never raise hand nor wand to a student; a guardian was exempt from such restrictions.

Vernon had made similar statements, reminding him that, while other people might have constraints on their behavior towards Harry, as his guardian, Vernon had free reign.

When Harry thought about Snape having this kind of authority over him (and it wasn’t as if he could avoid thinking about it for long), he felt as thoroughly trapped as he ever had been when he was locked in his cupboard.

Before, the only thing Harry had feared from Snape was a detention or loss of house points. The man’s preferred punishment tended to be things like cleaning cauldrons or mopping floors. Unpleasant and repetitive, but not actively painful. Occaisionally, it was lines. He could be scary when he shouted and had threatened Harry and Ron with expulsion last year when they’d arrived at school with Ron’s dad’s car, but he’d had no power to enforce it.

What could he do to Harry now? It wasn’t even a question of Harry making sure not to break any rules, Like Uncle Vernon, Snape wouldn’t wait until Harry had actually done something.

Snape was unlikely to do anything that would leave a mark or be lastingly painful, but Harry was sure that he was much more creative than Uncle Vernon. Banning him from Quidditch (which in Harry’s mind would be worse than a caning) would just be a warm up. Who knew what kind of punishment he could mete out with a wand?

The threat having been made clear, Snape had taken Harry to task for every single inadequacy, right down to his oft-repaired glasses.

Harry’s skin felt hot all over, as he recalled the professor’s words on the state of Harry’s wardrobe.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d not been able to get new robes this year. Snape had scoffed when Harry tried to tell him that Petunia wouldn’t take him shopping. Snape didn’t know it, but Harry was lucky he’d had enough gold left in his trunk to buy new text books by owl order.

The comment about his glasses being a disgrace was downright evil, in Harry’s opinion. He’d done some very good spell work on them, he thought resentfully. Perhaps, he expected Harry to be proficient enough to cast a repairing spell that lasted, though. Snape always had a way of making Harry feel as though his magic just didn’t measure up.

After some more thought, Harry wondered if the man was correct, though. Given the amount of times he’d cast that spell, he really should be better at it by now.

The revelation that Petunia and Vernon had been receiving support for him was stunning. He’d heard for twelve years how he was taking food out of Dudley’s mouth. If ever they had to tell Dudley they couldn’t afford something, they’d explain that it was because the Freak was there and it was expensive to keep Freaks.

Harry knew Snape hadn’t believed him about that either. His voice had gotten dangerous again, as he’d said “I’m sure there are many things ‘Your Aunt Told You’ that are untrue.” Snape wasn’t much on hearing excuses.

At least whatever potion that the professor had given him had worked. Even though Harry sat down with the man with absolutely no interest in food, soon after taking it, everything became very appealing. Once he’d started eating, the hot food seemed to settle his nerves, making the meal, if not the conversation, much less of an ordeal than it could have been.

He had considered just not taking it at dinner, but reasoned that there was no need to cut off his nose to spite his face. The potion had done what it was supposed to do at lunchtime. Plus Harry had no interest in inviting Snape to ban him from Quidditch. He knew the man was looking for the slightest excuse to do so.

By dinner time, Harry could stop worrying about Hermione being concerned about him. She and Ron were having some disagreement about Hermione’s new cat.   Sometime after class, it had been chasing Ron’s rat and now neither animal was to be found. They were so busy sniping at each other, that they didn’t notice Harry’s quiet withdrawal. Harry just listened to them listlessly.

Harry caught Snape watching him at dinner, though. Harry returned the man’s gaze as coolly as he could and made sure that Snape saw him take his potion. Again, after the first few bites that tasted like cardboard, the food seemed to suddenly become delicious. In fact, Harry found himself taking seconds of both his dinner and dessert. That was unusual for Harry.   It must have reassured Hermione, because she gave him a bright relieved smile, which he returned as well as he could.

After dinner, Harry headed out to the lake, by himself to look for Snuffles. The grounds were empty, as the weather had turned cold again. Most of the students were already in their common rooms.

As Harry wandered closer to the boundary of the Forest, he felt a cold chill that went deeper than his skin. He thought he saw a movement of a dark figure among the trees. It had to be one of those dreadful dementors doing a patrol.

His hair standing up, he left the sausages where he’d first seen the dog and hoped he’d be back tomorrow. Feeling he had no choice, he retreated back up to his common room.

Hermione was off at the library, but Ron was there, starting on his homework, “She’s just mad because I won’t let her cat eat Scabbers.” Ron said scathingly, “I found him hiding in my trunk, with that evil thing scrabbling to get in.”

Harry shook his head at Ron, noncommittally. He was not going to get in the middle of this one. Harry tried to be sympathetic, but really, it just didn’t seem fair that the worst thing that Ron had to worry about was his rat being eaten.

Mechanically, Harry sat down to do his homework, reading through his assignments more attentively than normal, trying to stop thinking about Snape and Neville and the Dursleys and this whole horrible month.

He wondered what would happen when Dumbledore came back. It likely didn’t matter. It’s not as though Dumbledore had ever been particularly sympathetic to Harry’s problems with the Dursleys. Now, with Snape, it was likely he’d be less so.

Harry refused to think about the possibility that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would adopt him. That would hurt too much if he hoped for it and it didn’t happen. It was quite likely they wouldn’t be able to afford another mouth to feed, anyway.

That night he found himself in the common room, unable to face his bed. Even if he were able to drop off, he knew for a fact, that the nightmares would be waking him up soon. He’d gotten hardly any sleep since this whole thing started.

He’d found that sometimes he did better sleeping on a settee in the common room, with the lamps burning all night and the sound of the fire to keep him company.