A Freak By Any Other Name... by Lillielle

Never had Severus been more grateful that he was a Slytherin than in that moment when he knelt before the Potter boy, calmly reassuring him that he was allowed regular meals. It allowed a perfect, serene mask to sit upon his features that hid the deep, icy rage slowly coming to life within his mind.

Part of it was, of course, aimed at himself. He should have known better. He had allowed old prejudices to blind him to what was cowering right in front of him. Not for nothing was he the Head of Slytherin House. He knew how to spot abused and neglected children. Nott, for instance, he had already marked out for his nervous twitch.

But Potter. No, he had managed to excuse away every possible sign until at last, they could not be ignored. The boy was abused. The boy was still shaking in front of him, despite his light reassurances, a gentle, soothing touch on Potter's shoulder to keep him from bolting like a frightened rabbit.

When Severus was certain that the boy would not panic, that he would remain in his seat, he rose and quickly ordered a snack from a bossy-looking house elf named Dipsy. He noticed Potter's eyes go round at the sight of the strange little creature, and he could not help but reassure him what the house elf was.

"Thank you for telling me, sir," Potter whispered. He had managed to uncurl slightly from the defensive huddle he had assumed earlier, when he believed that he was to be punished for daring to ask for food.

Dipsy popped back in with a tray. All it contained was a tea service and some toast. Severus didn't think that Harry would be able to stomach more than toast.

"May I pour your tea, sir?" Potter asked, his voice shaking a bit. He couldn't seem to look Severus in the eye.

"Thank you, but I can pour my own," Severus said with just a hint of acerbity. The boy jerked and sat back in the chair. Severus noticed the child's feet couldn't even touch the ground. He was not big enough to be a "normal" first year. Small surprise if he'd been starved though, the Potions Master thought, internally rolling his eyes at himself. He would have to send the boy for a checkup, there was no way around it. In fact, he rather thought it might be a good idea for him to take Potter himself, after this meeting.

Severus prepared himself a cup of tea exactly the way he liked it and took a delicate sniff, savoring the scent as it wreathed around his rather unfortunately proportioned nose.

"You may pour yourself a cup of tea as well, Potter," he directed when he noticed the child still sitting there stiffly. "And take a piece of toast as well."

"Yes, sir," Potter said, doing so with a sparsity of movement that had Severus blinking in surprise. It looked like the brat had been raised to pour tea since infancy, although that was patently not possible.

"So...Potter," Severus drawled. "Please tell me why it is that you came to the conclusion that you were not to be allowed food at Hogwarts."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry froze in the act of nibbling the piece of toast that his Professor had pressed upon him.

"Sir?" he managed to squeak out, his throat gone bone dry in his fear.

"Please, Potter," Snape said. He almost sounded gentle, although Harry knew it had to be a trick. There was a trap in this somewhere. Uncle Vernon tricked him like this sometimes, too, telling him to eat, to drink, telling him he didn't have to serve, and then swiftly punishing him for daring to believe that he could ever be more than a freak. He was on slightly more familiar ground now, although the concern in his professor's eyes was new. He didn't know if that could be feigned.

"I'm sorry, sir, I know that I should not have asked," he offered quickly. Perhaps if he told his Head of House the truth about what he knew himself to be, it would make the punishment come more swiftly. If there was one fault Harry had, it was waiting for the axe to fall. He would rather the punishment occur and occur now, no matter how bad it might be. And this man knew magic. Harry knew it would be bad.

"And why not?" Snape asked. He seemed genuinely interested in the answer, leaning forward a little in his seat and taking another sip of tea.

"Because it is my place not to question my betters, sir," Harry said, almost automatically. His lessons had been inscribed into every atom of his being. "It is my place to eat whatever I am told to eat, whenever I am told to eat, and to be grateful that I am being allowed the chance to eat or drink at all, sir. I know that it is difficult of others to give up food for a freak and a waste of space, and I am always to be properly thankful and humble for even the most meager crust of bread because it is going into the mouth and stomach of someone who contaminates everything around him." He took a deep breath and stared at the floor. His shoulders ached with tension. He did not want to look up and see what he knew must be on his professor's face. Disgust and anger, revulsion that he had such a freak in his distinguished House, in his very office, in fact.

"Mr. Potter," Snape's voice lashed out. Although still relatively gentle, it felt like the crack of a whip against Harry's emotions.

"None of that is in the slightest possible way true," Snape said. If he had asked why, Harry would have been able to tell him why. If he had acted with rage, Harry would have understood what to do to allow Snape to release his rage upon Harry's willing albeit frightened body.

This calm, matter of fact statement that the things he had believed his entire life were false rocked him badly.

"Sir?" he whispered, his throat tight. He would not cry, he told himself fiercely. Criers were punished more severely. Criers were given something to cry about.

"You are not a freak, and you are not a waste of space," Snape told him. Still blunt, still matter of fact. Harry started rocking in his seat, unable to comprehend in the slightest what his professor was talking about. "You are deserving of food. A proper meal, Potter, not a crust of bread. You should not disdain those who offer you food, but neither do you have to be fawning and obsequious about it, either."

Harry blinked in confusion. What did that mean? But Snape gave him no pause to ask, if he could have forced the words out past the lump in his throat.

"Whoever told you this was wrong, Potter. You are nothing more or less than a regular eleven-year-old child. And you should be treated as such, and you always should have been. And I know that at last for now, you will not and indeed cannot understand my words. But you will, Potter." A slow smile spread over Snape's face and Harry shivered a little inside to see that smile. It didn't look very nice. "You will understand and the ones who taught you those things and the ones who hurt you will suffer. I can promise you that."

Snape stood up, and Harry automatically cringed back, his hands half-lifting in feeble defense against a blow he was sure was coming.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice gentling again until Harry felt like a wild animal. "Please come with me."

"Where, sir?" Harry questioned. He was uncomfortably conscious of the wounds on his arms pressing into the fabric of his robes and the crumbs that now littered his front from the piece of toast he had managed to mindlessly consume. It sat heavily on his stomach, but he thought he could keep it down.

"To the hospital wing for a full medical check-up," the Potions Master told him, and this time, Harry could not contain his terror.

Harry fainted neatly at the surprised professor's feet.