It was going to take Harry a very long time to recover. He had already been in the hospital wing for about five days and he wasn't even close to being released. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey refused to let Hermione and Ron visit because he wasn't quite well enough yet. Harry was irritated by this, for he did have the energy to listen and talk, even if it hurt like fire to move. But he was by no means quarantined, for though it was true that Madam Pomfrey was not allowing him to do anything or have his friends come by, for some reason she did at least allow one person to visit. Harry didn't mind so much who it was, for the only emotion he seemed to be able to feel was surprise over the fact that Snape actually took the time to visit him. Harry thought it was strange indeed, and he really wasn't sure why he would do such a thing. He didn't delude himself into believing Snape actually enjoyed his company, for Snape was a bit of a solitary creature, and through watching and observing him Harry had come to the conclusion that Snape preferred to end conversations as quickly as possible and therefore keep the act of listening to other people's thoughts to a minimum. Harry didn't find this peculiar in the least, for he himself often felt nervous around people and preferred not to converse for too long (and to tell the truth sometimes it drove him very nearly mad when people listed all their problems and were entirely convinced they were greater than his problems, which was often quite an absurd thing to think). By the end of Snape's first visit however, whatever Harry had known previously of Snape's wish to say and hear as little as possible was thrown out the window, for quite suddenly it seemed as though he was trying to get Harry to talk as much as possible rather than shut up as fast as possible. It was a strange experience; that was certain.

    Snape's sudden wish to listen and actually talk to him confused Harry to no end, until it occurred to him that Snape was trying to figure something out. He was trying to get a picture of what life was like at the Dursleys'. It had taken some time for Harry to see a connection, for Snape was wickedly good at finding out information without letting on what he was doing and he only occasionally threw in a question that was relevant to what he wished to find. Harry had only spotted the connections to his home life because it was precisely the thing he hoped Snape would not find out about. And, once he did find out the pattern, it was then, lying in bed after the third visit from Snape that he recalled the day that they had gone to lure thestrals. He moaned before he could stop himself, which sent Madam Pomfrey dashing over to him in worry. Once he had assured her he was completely fine (regardless of the displeased noise he had made) Harry, with his rapidly beating heart, thought about what had happened when they had been procuring the blood to lure the thestrals. It was a moment when Snape got a glimpse through the window into Harry's deep seated mistrust of adults. Yes, he had been absolutely sure Snape, who had been angry with him at the time, was going to cut him for the bait. It did not occur to him that Snape might be different from the Dursleys. It was not difficult to believe that as intimidating a man as Snape would try to hurt him (though Harry now felt he had been jumping to conclusions in this department), due to the fact that Uncle Vernon often tossed him into the cupboard, grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck or on occasion smacked him over the head rather hard to get his attention. It was simply the way it was at the Dursleys', and sometimes Harry forgot that not everybody was like them and did not remember to remind himself what he should really expect around authority figures. Even Aunt Petunia joined in on occasion with her dreaded frying pan. Do something they don't like, and you get hurt for it (physical or emotionally; it really depended). Simple. It never occurred to Harry that Snape would be appalled that Harry readily believed that an adult would hurt him for something as little as impersonating them for a laugh during a game (Harry had thought it dreadfully fun at the time, even if little Maggie didn't get the joke).

       His thoughts returned to thestrals, and recalling the horrified look on Snape's face when he had figured out just what Harry thought he was going to do, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the way the Dursleys treated him was worse than he had always thought. He had a bit of a sunny side up approach to things, as he had no choice but to look for the good when life was so fraught with bad. That was how he often tried to see the Dursleys, and though it was hard sometimes, he still attempted to chase some of the dark clouds away. After all, it wasn't as though they were trying to hurt him too bad. He had a roof over his head, didn't he? Sure, he was not given enough food all the time, but that was only when he didn't finish all the chores Uncle Vernon gave him or he mouthed off. Other than that he got pretty good meals. There was his cupboard too, but they didn't lock him in there anymore, so he didn't quite see what the problem was. Sure he didn't like it there (in fact he really didn't like it), but it wasn't as though he had to live there full time anymore. Besides, Harry was a firm believer that there is no use in complaining, for it only makes a situation more miserable.

         Harry then ventured into the endeavour of trying to recall all he had said in the last few visits with Snape, but had a difficult time remembering how much he had let slip. The main problem in Harry's opinion was that he had been horribly bored, and had nothing to do but talk to Snape. He wondered if this had not been part of his professor's plan. Although, Harry also wondered if his sudden willingness to talk had something to do with the pain potions he was on, which sometimes made him feel a little funny. Whether it was one of these possibilities or both, the two ideas certainly made sense, and he was sure he had talked more than he normally would have. But that didn't matter, because the next time Snape asked him anything relating to the Dursleys, he would be ready.

     ***

     The next day, as Harry predicted, Snape came. With him, he brought a chess board. Wincing slightly in pain, Harry rolled onto his side and stared at the pieces. He hoped that this meant there would be less talking.

     "Ever played wizard's chess Potter?" Snape asked, setting the pieces on the board from his seat by Harry's bed.

     "Yes, Ron taught me," Harry said.

    "Quite a lot different from Muggle chess, isn't it?"

    "I'd never played chess before I came to Hogwarts," Harry told him truthfully.

    "Really? Never got the chance, I suppose?" Snape seemed rather surprised.

    "No, well ... there was chess club at primary but Dudley already thought I was a bit of a ..." Harry died off suddenly, realising what Snape was doing again. "So, I'm the white pieces then?"

     "Yes, which means you get first move."

    Harry instructed on of his pawns to move forward.

   The game proceeded, and after a little while Harry actually thought he might be able to give Snape a run for his money, much to his delight. All the while the two talked about many things, none really pertaining to anything they were doing. Harry thought that perhaps Snape had given up trying to unearth information. Right now they were talking about pets, for instance.

    "I believe the snowy owl belongs to you?" asked Snape absentmindedly as he surveyed the pieces in a rather bored manner. "I've seen it flying around on occasion."

    "Yes, her name is Hedwig," Harry replied, waiting for Snape to make his move.

     "She's seems very friendly," he said, still serenely looking at the board. "It is often difficult to get an owl to be so sociable. Have you had other pets before her?"

     "No, she's my first."

    "Yes, I cannot imagine your Aunt likes animals much," Snape muttered just before he made his move. "Knight to G five."

     "Wait, how do you ..." Harry asked as his pieces were swept off the board. Smash, clunk, clang; they were knocked out one by one. Harry looked up in shock to find Snape looking straight at him from across the wasteland of floored pieces. There was strange glint in his eyes and it looked as though he were trying to hold back a smile. It then occurred to Harry that Snape had been going easy on him, and that he had most definitely underestimated his Professor.    

      Harry contemplated what Snape had said as he made his next move.

     "How do you know Aunt Petunia doesn't like animals?" Harry asked suspiciously as his castle moved across the board. He didn't realise that his king was unprotected.

     "We grew up not far from each other," Snape said, eyes on the board.

      "Really? So you did know my mum then?"

    "Yes ... we were friends when we were young. She was much kinder than your aunt was to me," Snape muttered. "Check."

    Harry scrambled to find a way to protect his king.

    "I never got along with Petunia," Snape said quite distastefully after Harry made his move, "especially after she walloped me over the head with a frying pan when Lily and I were in the kitchen trying to sneak some freshly baked biscuits (not that that she wasn't there to do the same thing, but try telling that to her frying pan)."

    Harry winced in sympathy as Snape prepared to make his move.

    "Stings quite sharply, doesn't it?" Snape said absent mindedly in response to the look on Harry's face.

    "Yeah, it does," Harry agreed sincerely as Snape looked up.

    "Checkmate," Snape said softly just as Harry realised he had given himself away.

    "I mean, I can imagine it hurts ... you know?" Harry said weakly, seeing the look on Snape's face.

      Okay, so apparently frying pans to the head weren't all that normal. Well, he knew that, but sometimes it was easier to think that way. Convincing yourself it was  normal made it less tempting to tell someone, which in Harry's experience, only made things worse. 

    "Potter, I've known things are not right at your relatives for a while now," Snape said in a hushed voice, staring at Harry intensely. "But if you would only tell me to what degree things aren't right, perhaps I can help. I know what Petunia is like, and I should not have let Albus send you to live with her or her dratted husband. I also knew your mother, and she would never forgive me for knowing something was wrong and not acting on it."

     "The frying pan thing, I mean, it only happens once in a while," Harry muttered, going red as he tried to backtrack.

     "For what?"

    "You know ... stuff."

    "Explain to me."

    Harry tried to look Snape in the eye, but couldn't. "Not having chores done ... mouthing off. Doing something freaky ... accidental magic that is. That sort of stuff. But I only get it if I don't duck, which isn't often at all."

    "Does she do the same to your cousin ... Dudley, was it?" Snape said, ploughing on.

    Harry laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Not to her poor Diddykins."

    "What's your Uncle like?" Snape asked curiously. Beneath the calm demeanor Harry could see something terrible stirring in his eyes when he looked up. It frightened him, and so he looked away again. He could tell though, somehow, that the anger was not at him.

     "He's not much different," Harry sighed, not really sure what kept him talking. Perhaps it was because he hadn't told anyone these things, and some things you can't keep in forever. Maybe it was time for the walls to come down. "He doesn't like frying pans so much though. But if I do accidental magic or make Dudley mad he sometimes gives me a cuff to the head or locks ... Well, they don't do that anymore, so I don't see why it matters."

     "Tell me," Snape said.

    "No, it's not ... maybe I deserved it sometimes," muttered Harry, feeling muddled.

    "I have come to see there are very few things you have deserved over the years," Snape muttered under his breath, "my biased treatment of you included."

       Harry looked up, surprised, but then returned his gaze to his hands. "They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs, I used to have to sleep there too," he whispered, suddenly afraid. Of what, he did not know. "And you've more than made up for being mean to me at the start of the year. You've been really fair since."

     "I really wish to kill Petunia now," Snape growled, not quite hearing the rest of what Harry had to say.

     "Please don't," Harry said quickly, eyes widening at the look of fury on Snape's face and the white of his knuckles on the chair arms. "She's right mean, but she still doesn't deserve to be murdered. None of them do. I mean, they haven't exactly starved me and they gave me clothes, even if they are Dudley's old ones and pretty baggy."

     "Everyone has a right to a full stomach and proper clothing, and you are no exception. Unfortunately not everyone gets that." Snape frowned, looking slightly far away.

     Silence stretched between them, and Harry had the strangest feeling Snape knew, like himself, precisely what it was like to be deprived of those things.

     "Well, that's enough for today I suppose," Snape said, finally breaking the silence and standing up, glancing over to Madam Pomfrey as he did so, "Poppy looks ready to toss me out already."

     "Goodbye sir," Harry said. "Er ... you won't make fun of me in class about ... about anything the Dursleys have done, will you?"

    "No, I will not. Get some rest, you're far from recovered." Snape turned on his heel, chessboard and bag of pieces under one arm. He turned back after a moment's hesitation however, and said quietly, "Thank you for trusting me, Harry."

   Harry nodded, and sunk into his pillows, closing his eyes. He didn't have the energy to watch Snape go, not knowing where he was going, not really caring. He glanced briefly at the potion Madam Pomfrey gave him, only to gulp it down. Then, he thought about what had happened. For someone who had just spilled their deepest secret, he felt strangely relaxed. It could have been the potion, but something inside told Harry otherwise. For getting off his chest what he had just shared was rather like pulling a large splinter from his foot. It had been painful, and a even little frightening to do so, but now that sharp object was not constantly jabbing him at the worst moments, threatening to make him cry out without warning when it was jarred. It made him less confused too, for he was able to believe Snape's statement about him not deserving to be treated that way. It had been like that so long that Harry sometimes wondered, sometimes got lost in the pain. But he didn't feel confused, or lost anymore. He felt ... okay. Then he went from okay to tired, and from tired to dreaming. And these dreams brought peace.