Harry lay still, flat on his stomach, watching the empty doorway. Shifting his head in the grit, he awkwardly grimaced at the stiff ache in his neck. Snape stood rigid, lips drawn into a thin line. He was there; that’s what Lupin wanted, for somebody to be there with the boy. What more could he do? He was caustic. He was severe. He was Severus Snape, he didn’t do comfort. He didn’t do outward displays of emotion – the effect of having to close his mind for the best part of his life. 

One of the rescuers startled Harry as he perched down by his broken arm. Harry couldn’t move his head to face him but relaxed at his voice. The rescuer told him everything he was going to do and then proceeded to cut away the sleeves and shoulder of Harry’s t-shirt. Below the shirt Harry had several grazes and open gashes. Most were clean – protected by his clothes – but all needed washing out and dressing to ward off infection. As the rescuer pressed a warm cloth to one of the wounds, Harry’s shoulders tensed painfully. Squeezing his eyes closed, Harry bit back a whimper and tried to hide his face in the grit. His fingernails clawed the ground weakly, scraping through the dust and ash.

Snape looked on, a helpless feeling rising like bile in his throat. Harry was a boy – a child trying to handle the pain alone, trying to be a man – just a boy. There was no call for help; no saying the pain was too much; no reaching out. He just took it. Harry knew Snape was there, but he asked for nothing, not even the tiniest comfort. Snape realised to his dismay that not only did the boy not expect it, but he also didn’t even seem to consider it an option. That realisation only made it clearer to Snape that he had to step up...to step up and be the person he never was – the person he never got the chance to be. Once upon a time, the cards were against him, but if he could just redeem himself in this small way...

He remembered back to his youth, to the years he struggled against his father. He thought to his mother, to her coldness as the years wore on. Despite the melancholy that seemed to grip her as she aged, he remembered vividly how it felt when she offered him words of reassurance; when she told him not to worry; when she extended a hand to pick him up all the times he was dealt the full brunt of his father’s rage. It was like, even with the smallest act of kindness, she could draw him out of isolation.

With the image of his mother in his mind, his legs seemed to move before he could unravel his own thoughts. He knelt to the floor a small distance from Harry’s head and took a long breath.

“Potter.”

Harry hissed under the rescuer’s touch and shook his head lightly as though unable to convey the pain in words.

“Potter, look at me. Open your eyes.”

Harry turned his nose away from the dusty floor towards Snape’s voice. Grimacing, he opened his eyes a fraction and Snape noticed they were glazed with unshed tears.

“I know it hurts,” he said stiffly, “but it’ll be over soon.”

Merlin help me, Lily.

Words of comfort just didn’t come naturally to him.

As the rescuer attached a piece of gauze to the main wound on Harry’s shoulder, he looked up to Snape and nodded, saying a quick, “All done,” before moving around Harry’s body and disappearing out of the room.

Harry’s upper body physically relaxed. He exhaled deeply and his watery eyes closed.

“No, Potter. Keep them open. You have to stay awake.”

Snape felt a twinge of sympathy at the worn expression Harry bore when he forced his eyes back open.

“I can’t,” Harry said tiredly.

“You have no choice, Potter. You have to.” Snape tried to think of something inane to ask to keep Harry’s mind alert. “Have you finished your homework for the start of term?” That’ll catch him off-guard, Snape thought sardonically, and he was correct judging by the look of bewilderment staring back at him.

“Not exactly...Sir,” Harry said warily.    

“And which have you completed?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

“Erm...none, Sir.”

Frowning, Snape muttered, “I can’t say I’m surprised,” though in truth it was the least of his worries at the moment that the child hadn’t done his DADA essay. “Do you always leave them until the last minute?”

It would certainly explain his marks, Snape’s inner voice sneered.

“Yes, it’s just easier that way,” Harry said curtly. Snape knew a lie when he heard one.

“And just how exactly is it easier to scribble all your essays in the space of two weeks?” Snape asked incredulously.

Harry attempted a derisive snort and twisted his nose back into the dirty ground. The silence between them didn’t last long...nor did Snape’s patience.

“I see you still have your impeccable manners intact.”

“I see you’re still a g– ngggh!” Harry’s fingers tensed again and he sucked in a breath to stop himself making any more noise.

Snape immediately shifted forward. “Where’s the pain?”    

“’m fine.”

“You are obviously not fine, now don’t be a fool!” Snape’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you feeling pain in your leg?”

Harry turned to look him straight in the eyes.

“Why are you even here anyway?! Come to see me suffer?”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter –”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it, Professor? You like to see people suffer. Me. My friends. Sirius. It’s all just fun for you! I lost the only person who...” He couldn’t say what he was thinking, not in front of Snape. “I bet you loved every minute of it.”

“That’s enough!”

Harry turned away from Snape’s glare. He could handle the anger, but there was something else lurking behind Snape’s deep obsidian eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a wounded feral animal.

“Black and I may not have seen eye to eye, as you well know, but I would never wish death upon anybody.” That’s a lie, Severus, you wished death on all of them bar Lily. Snape’s mind was at war with itself. That was years ago and not once did I ever wish it in seriousness. “My reputation may have you believe otherwise, Potter, but it’s quite the contrary.” Harry gulped and a look of shame seemed to wash over him. Snape averted his gaze, pretending to busy himself with dusting off his cloak, though his efforts were, of course, futile. “For all it is worth,” Snape said finally, “I am...sorry...for your loss.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sincere and true. Harry couldn’t argue any longer and Snape was glad that he didn’t have to explain himself anymore – though he was perplexed as to why Harry’s opinion of him had sparked such an eagerness to set the story straight. What did he care what the Golden Boy thought of him? But when Harry looked at him with those eyes it was like Lily was watching him; Lily was judging him; Lily was waiting for the truth. Small words pulled Snape back from inside his own mind.

“He was all I had.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper. “He was all I had.” His breath hitched. Despite the pain running through his body in waves, Harry hunched his shoulders and seemed to all but bury himself into the ground. He drew his good arm in towards his body with a groan and tried to shield his face from view.

Isolation. Snape looked on as though it was his former self closing off from the rest of the world. In that moment, there was no animosity, no petty grudges, just a boy and a tremendous amount of grief. Snape felt it too.   

“He died because of me,” Harry spoke into the ground.

“Potter. Don’t. Black went of his own accord. He went after you just as you went after him that night. It was to protect a loved one. What if it hadn’t been a trap? What if you had died that night? What if you had fallen into the veil? Would you blame Black?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why are you so quick to blame yourself? If you start taking the blame for things you cannot prevent, you will end up an angry, bitter man. You are many things, Potter, but that is not you.”

Harry shook his head into the ground doubtfully.

“Potter, look at me.” Harry took his hand away from his face and looked up with glazed eyes. “I pride myself on my brutal honesty. I would not say this if it were not true. It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry’s chest heaved under him. Tears of sadness and frustration welled in his eyes and he tried so desperately to blink them away.

Snape sat back on his haunches watching Harry’s inner turmoil, feeling powerless. Everything was wrong. This was a boy of fifteen plagued by guilt. A boy of fifteen who had seen more death than a boy his age should. Harry felt alone, and what was worse, he obviously felt like it was his own fault. Snape shook his head at his own failure. He’d vowed to protect Lily’s child, but he’d failed to protect Harry from himself. What Snape saw before him was the mess he’d made – the mess they’d all made.

He didn’t know what made him do it – whether it was a fit of sympathy, a pang of empathy, or a genuine compulsion to make amends – but he reached out tentatively and lay his muscular hand atop Harry’s, engulfing it in warmth. There was a moment of pause between them where nothing else happened and all either could feel was the touch of the other. Snape was holding his breath.

Then he felt the small fingers curl under and Harry’s hand clung weakly onto his, shaking softly in his strong grip.

Snape exhaled. He had done the right thing.

Something had shifted. This was a side to Snape Harry had never witnessed. Part of him was wary of it, scared it was false, but Merlin did he hope it was genuine. For the moment, he was too caught up in the turn of tide to give his doubts a second thought.

The man didn’t have Lupin’s gentleness and Harry could feel the calluses rubbing on the back of his hand, but there was such strength in his grasp. Harry had felt as though he was drowning, but Snape had pulled him to safety. Safety. That’s what it was. Snape held on as though he would never let go and, in truth, Harry didn’t want him to. He needed to feel grounded. Within a matter of seconds, his world had spun on its axis, but for once Harry just wanted it to stay put and let him truly relish the comfort he was being given before having it ripped away – taken, like it always was in the end.

Please don’t let go.

Snape’s voice permeated the thick air. “Have you spoken to anybody about how you are...feeling?”

They all say the same things...

“It never helps.”

“What about Granger? Weasley? The pair attach themselves to you like an extra limb.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “They’ve been busy. Hermione’s away in Egypt with her parents and Ron’s got his own family to deal with.” They were fair excuses, Harry realised, but it didn’t stop him from feeling disappointed. Snape gave Harry’s hand the smallest squeeze and Harry decided he must’ve noticed his disappointment because he quickly changed the subject.

“You say your Aunt Marge is sick?”

“The phone call came this afternoon. Uncle Vernon didn’t say what was wrong, but I overheard the conversation. I think she’s in hospital.”

“So they left a fifteen year old in charge of the house. Muggle logic at its finest, I’m sure.”

Harry cringed inwardly. Uncle Vernon will be furious when he sees they don’t have a house to come back to. He felt a small wave of guilt and had to force himself to remember that they’d left him there alone, locked in a room to fend for himself. But it was hard not to feel responsible.

“Are you concerned?” Snape said noticing Harry’s worried expression.

“About Aunt Marge?” Harry didn’t know what to say to that. If he said no, he’d appear heartless and it would, without a doubt, lead to more probing questions. “She’s...” he chose his words carefully, “iron-willed. I’m sure she’ll be back to her normal self soon enough.” More’s the pity. Harry caught a glimpse of the peculiar look Snape was sending him and decided to stop at that.

“Did you not wish to visit with your relatives?”

“The Order told me to stay here.” It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d wanted to go or not. Harry licked his lips as a weird feeling crept up his throat.

“So they were happy to leave you here alone,” Snape stated.

Harry could feel the fog coming back, smothering his brain, distorting his words and clouding his hearing. 

“Yeah...well...they never did like me much,” he replied absently. He was immediately regretful of his loose tongue – but that was all that came into his head as he tried to quell the nausea.

Snape looked about to speak when, out of the blue, Harry’s face dropped and the words came tumbling out, “Sir, I-I feel sick.”

Harry’s face sported a green hue that Snape spotted straight away.

“Sir, I-I feel sick,” the boy had said, and immediately Snape went into action. His free hand was quickly on the boy’s forehead looking for a fever. It was slight though the boy was paler than he’d ever seen him look.

“How bad is the nausea?”

“Mmm s’not so bad. M’feeling woozy is all.”

Snape frowned. “I’m afraid I cannot give you anything for it while you still have traces of the spinal block in your system. It works with twenty times the force of your common painkilling potion, so any other painkillers or anti-emetics are considered to be unsafe.”

“S’alright. I can deal with it,” Harry said, swallowing thickly.

“Hopefully you won’t have to deal with it for much longer. You’ve been through a lot today, Potter, and you’ve been lying on your stomach for some time. Try taking some deep breaths.”        

Harry had managed a couple of long deep breaths when he was suddenly hit by a sharp pain and couldn’t help but squeeze Snape’s hand like a vice. Before Snape could even ask where the pain was, Healer Thompson’s alarmed voice rang through the air.

“Mr Snape!”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked thickly, panic tingeing his voice.

Snape looked up, but Healer Thompson’s attention was still on Harry’s leg. The other two rescuers were now also by his side.

“Potter,” Snape said, “I have to go just for a moment, but I’ll be back.” As Snape went to stand, Harry didn’t relinquish his grip on his hand. Snape looked down to Harry, confused, but Harry’s eyes told him all he needed to know. Harry didn’t want him to leave and that realisation both pleased him and scared him.

He looked to the boy, who had fear written all over him, and said strongly, “I’ll be right behind you.” Harry didn’t let go completely, but slackened his grip so Snape could slide his hand away.

Don’t be bad news. No more bad news, Snape thought, but there was a dark foreboding feeling in the air, like a shadow hanging over the room.

“Thompson?” he said, and his face dropped at the sight before him. Blood. Everywhere. More than before. It saturated the front of Healer Thompson’s shirt. It dripped from the hem to the floor.

A tube protruded from Harry’s leg and floated in the air like a balloon, a small ball of light glowing at the end. Snape watched as one of the healers waved his wand into the ball of light sending a red liquid down the tube.

“Mr Snape, I will be blunt,” Healer Thompson whispered not looking up. His hands were busy with Harry’s mangled limb. “The boy is losing blood quicker than the intravenous blood replenisher can replace it.”

“He says he feels sick –” Snape said quickly, keeping his voice low so Harry wouldn’t hear.

“Blood loss. Mr Snape, I’m sorry but we have no choice but to amputate.”

Amputate.

Amputate.

Now Snape felt sick.

“Is there no other w –”

“No. I wish there was. We have to do it here. He can’t apparate or travel by portkey in this state, not until we’ve removed his leg. I doubt it would make the journey otherwise and the shock of that could be too much for him. We’ve called St Mungos. They’ll be waiting for us when we can move him.” Healer Thompson pressed a wad of gauze into the bloodied crook of Harry’s knee and suddenly the boy’s voice called out.

“Professor! Professor! Aghh. It’s my leg. I...I think I can feel it!”

Snape looked to Healer Thompson whose hands had stopped moving. His eyes were now locked with Snape’s. Both shook their heads in disbelief. Healer Thompson spoke first.

“The spinal block is fading.”

“Thompson, I can’t give him painkillers and another spinal block could cause permanent paralysis. He’ll have no anaesthetic,” Snape said urgently.     

“There is no other way. If we don’t do it now, he might lose more than his leg, Mr Snape. His life is my priority right now. We must be quick, however, before the spinal block wears off completely.” Healer Thompson watched as Snape tried to steel his expression. “He needs to be told what’s going to happen,” he said softly. “This won’t be a very pleasant experience for him, Mr Snape. He’ll need someone with him when it gets tough.”

Snape didn’t need to be told that – he would have stayed with Harry, anaesthetic or no anaesthetic.

Healer Thompson looked over to Harry, staring holes into the back of his head. He sighed and turned back to Snape. “Once you have told him, give me a nod and we will start the procedure.” Snape inclined his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Oh and Mr Snape? Keep him engaged. It might help take the focus away from any pain he may feel.”

Snape stepped back around Harry’s body and knelt by his side. The panicked grimace on Harry’s face only got worse when Snape came into view.

“What’s happening?” Harry said.

Too much, Snape thought, too much is happening to you. Too much has already happened to you. Lily, if you were here right now...Snape shook his head trying to banish the thoughts from his mind, but it was so difficult. Those eyes were staring up at him, looking for answers, but the only answer he had was going to devastate the boy. What’s wrong Severus? You’ve never had any problem making him miserable before, what’s one more time? ... Don’t be ridiculous. This is different; I’m not doing anything to him...So why do you feel like you are?

The war in Snape’s brain was showing on his features too, his crinkled brow conveying all the apprehension he was feeling.

“Sir?” Harry’s voice trembled.

Snape looked down and closed his eyes, thinking carefully over his words. How do I tell a teenage boy he’s about to lose a leg? In his head the concept was so alien, so profoundly unthinkable, but he’d long since succumbed to the notion that, in life, everything that could go wrong probably would eventually. His own misfortunes, however, were frequently eclipsed by Harry’s constant collisions with trouble. If it was true and Harry was the one person who was more unlucky than himself, he was not at all happy about it. The boy still has his family though, Snape thought. Yes, but where are they now?

“Potter, the damage inflicted on your leg during the collapse...Healer Thompson cannot repair it.” Snape kept his voice strong and forceful. “You are losing blood which is why you are feeling so ill. The only way forward is for Healer Thompson to amputate.” To his own dismay, he felt the colour drain from his own face when he uttered the word. 

Harry said nothing, just kept staring, mouth agape. He didn’t even blink. Snape’s arm extended out and he firmly grabbed Harry’s hand in his own again. Harry didn’t grip back.

“Potter?”

Harry’s open mouth snapped shut. “Right.” He nodded his head on the ground. OK.”

For a moment, Snape was confused. “You have fully understood what I have told you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said numbly.

“Do you remember what I told you about the spinal block?” Harry looked to him with a furrowed brow. “Potter, we cannot give you any more anaesthetic. The amount of numbness you feel now is the very most you will feel throughout the procedure. The spinal block is fading, so Thompson must start as soon as possible to make it easier on you. Do you understand?”

There was a brief moment of silence where Harry said nothing and Snape allowed him a moment to collect himself. Finally Harry looked Snape dead in the eyes and nodded resolutely.

“I can handle it.”

“I will remain with you during the procedure.” Harry looked grateful for that, but also ashamed for needing it. “For once I applaud your Gryffindor bravery,” Snape said without the barest hint of a smile on his face. Gripping Harry’s hand tighter, he looked up and over Harry’s body and gave Healer Thompson the quickest of nods before returning his attention to The Boy Whose Life Was about to Change Drastically.

He couldn’t see what was going on, but there was the occasional sharp twinge in his leg followed by a tugging feeling that made him more nauseas than before. Most people wouldn't like to watch their own leg be hacked off, but without the visual, his mind imagined a gory scene where the healers yanked his leg from its socket. The pain seemed to come and go, like the spinal block only worked in waves, and Harry couldn’t keep it from showing on his face. Snape spoke to him about school, about his owl...about everything trivial until he’d just about exhausted the list. Harry was caught by surprise when the pain escalated and he felt what could only be described as a rip in his flesh. He bit his lip hard and squeezed the life out of Snape’s hand – it was all he could do to stop himself from crying out. The man, it seemed, didn’t mind one bit.

As the pain died down again, ebbing like the tide, he loosened his grip with embarrassment and found himself unable to look at Snape. He felt weak and worry bubbled inside him that, despite the strange change in atmosphere where he and Snape were concerned, the man might not always be that understanding. One day Snape might turn on him and then he’d have all the ammunition to show just how weak Harry was. How he needed someone to hold his hand. This in mind, Harry tried to wrench his hand away, but Snape held on. When Harry looked up, Snape seemed to gaze intensely at him for a moment and then his face closed off.

“You are wary of the hostility between us.”

Harry didn’t want to say anything to that, but Snape seemed to find the answer in his expression.

“Potter, my attachment to the Dark Lord has...dissolved...as of tonight, so perhaps I can tone down the hostility since I am no longer required to act the part any longer.” Snape sighed and Harry was shocked at his sudden openness. “I am not by any means a happy man, Potter, and you are also by no means my favourite person. You have been a thorn in my side since before you were born...but I realise now that my attitude towards you has, at times, been unsavoury.”

Understatement of the century.

“I may be the evil Potions Master, greasy git of the dungeons –” At Harry’s look of shock, he added with a smirk, “yes, I am not deaf, Mr Potter, I am well aware of the numerous names I have accumulated over the years – but note this, nothing here today will be used against you. I give you my word. Besides, you may be holding my hand, but I am also holding yours. What would that do to my reputation?”

Did Snape just make a joke? If the situation was different, Harry would’ve laughed.

“I realise you would feel better if it were Lupin sitting here instead of me.” 

And then something strange happened. Harry found himself reassuring Snape.

“N-no, Sir! I don’t think I’d want him to...to see me like...y’know.”

I couldn’t show weakness like this in front of him...not after what’s happened. His pain didn’t seem anything in comparison to losing a best friend...

“Surely you know he, of all people, would not think any less of you –”

“I do know!” Harry said impatiently after his leg gave a twinge of pain. “I just think it’s different with you. Don’t ask me how.” Snape cocked his head. Harry continued. “If Remus was here, I’d feel like he felt obliged because...because of Sirius. It’s not the same with you. Professor, you didn’t have to be here. You could have left. I-I appreciate that you didn’t.”

A silence hung between them, punctuated only by the whispering of the healers and the scraping of their equipment. Snape took a loud breath.

“Potter, your relatives, do they leave you alone in the house often?”

Harry was caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.

“Uh...well, they have to. They can’t stay in with me the whole time. Uncle Vernon has a job to go to.”

Snape puffed through his nose. “You know what I mean. Do they often just up and leave?”

Harry hesitated and did his best to shrug without hurting himself. “Not really.”

“Are you being intentionally vague, Potter? Because I distinctly remember you telling me earlier that you and your family don’t get on.”

“I never said that.”

“Your exact words were, they never did like me much. So how much did they like you?” Snape asked.

“Enough, Sir,” Harry replied, “they liked me enough.” He shifted slightly, wincing at another round of pain cutting through the numbness.

“You are a terrible liar.”

“What do you want me to say? You must’ve seen enough in our Occlumency lessons to get the general idea, Sir,” Harry said tetchily.

“If you remember, rarely did I linger on a memory long enough to realise its importance,” Snape clarified. “That was not the point of my teaching you.”

Harry stayed silent. A grotesque crunching noise sounded from behind as the healers continued to work. At that point, Harry was unsure whether he really felt the pain of it, or whether he was just reacting to the sound. Either way, he gritted his teeth and swallowed down the sickness creeping up his throat. To his surprise, Snape reached for his wand and cast a quick Muffliato between himself and the healers. The sound of the healers at work was quickly drowned out, much to Harry’s relief. Snape, however, was apparently not finished with their conversation.

“Do they treat you as family?”

Yeah, the unwanted family pet.

“Define family,” Harry muttered.

“Potter, don’t be dense. I assume they feed you, clothe you?”

“You should probably stick with your assumptions then, Professor.”

Snape’s eyes flashed and his lips set into a tight, thin line. The grave expression would normally instil fear into Harry, but the waves of pain filtering through what remained of the spinal block seemed to take away his ability to care.

“They do feed you, don’t they Potter? And do not even think about lying to me,” Snape ground out, voice low and penetrating.

“I take what I can get away with during the day. Mrs Weasley sends food once a week. She says I look too thin.”

“Then the correct answer is no, they don’t. And she isn’t wrong.” Snape shifted his position on the floor and looked away. Harry caught sight of his free fist clenching. “And what, may I ask, is the punishment if you don’t get away with it?”

“Depends what mood they’re in,” Harry says noncommittally.

“Do they ever hit you?” Snape asked seriously, and Harry was taken aback by the genuine look of pent up fury staring back at him.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but instead a low growl crawled from his lips when he felt a sudden tug on his leg and a deep throbbing ache work its way up his back.

Snape shifted his grip on Harry’s hand, trying to surreptitiously take his pulse, but Harry could feel the fingers pressing on his pulse point. “How is the pain?” Snape asked.

“Bearable,” Harry said, breathing through it. His nails dug into Snape’s palm, but the man didn’t even flinch. As the pain lessened slightly, Harry relaxed as much as he could, but overall the ache was slowly getting worse.

“Now answer my question, Potter. Do they ever hit you?”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, quickly adding, “but only when something really bad happens.”

“Did they hit you today?” Snape was unrelenting.

Harry averted his gaze. “He couldn’t help it. He was just upset. He needed someone to blame.” He remembered back to the fleeting flash of regret he saw before his uncle threw him unceremoniously into his room. 

“Your uncle I presume?” At Harry’s nod, Snape took in the state of the boy’s face, at the bruise he noticed earlier. “Your eye – that was where he hit you.” Snape wasn’t asking. Harry looked up, stunned. He had forgotten it might have left a mark. “It is already yellowing. That means it’s healing. I did wonder how it was it seemed to be healing so quickly had you received it during the collapse.” Snape shook his head and smacked his lips shut, looking fiercely into the distance. “He locked you in your room.”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

“Without food.”

“Yes.”

“He hit you.”

“He was upset. Professor, he was frustrated and worried and –”

“Are you always on the receiving end of his frustrations?”

Harry remained silent as a fiery throbbing travelled up through his pelvis.

“Answer me.”

“Mostly,” Harry gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t like magic, that’s why,” Harry said and then he gave in to the cry that seemed to build from inside him. “Nghhhh!”

Harry was digging his nails in so hard that Snape was sure he would draw blood.

“Breathe it out. It will all be over soon. Just a bit longer,” Snape said, but his mind was in two places at once. As he looked down, he realised he couldn’t even comprehend the situation from Harry’s point of view. Being under the Cruciatus was enough. Momentarily, he took his eyes off Harry and glanced over to Healer Thompson. The full force of what was happening hit straight away. The leg was still partially attached. Harry wasn’t out of the worst of it yet. At that moment, Snape couldn’t deny how he was feeling. He was scared, he was sympathetic and he was worried for the boy and the boy alone. The war be damned! he thought. Right now, he’s a child, not a tool or a pawn.

All Snape felt in that moment was failure. He’d tried to keep it hidden, but he was furious, both with himself and the Dursleys for being such terrible excuses for human beings. He had known Petunia as a child and she was a nasty little girl, but never did he think she’d carry it on into adulthood. Who in their right mind would allow such poor treatment of a child in their care? Bloody Dursleys! If the Death Eaters haven’t got to them by now, I will. Snape realised that he’d got the boy all wrong. In one night he’d devastated his own perception. His own personal grudges had clouded him from the truth. He’d been taunting an already hurting boy. Forget about the Dursleys, what kind of person was he?

As the minutes dragged on, Harry breathed heavily as the pain receded and Snape gave the boy’s uninjured shoulder a squeeze as if to tell him he was doing well.

Something abruptly clicked in the Potions Master's head.

“The cupboard under the stairs,” Snape said suddenly as if to nobody.

Harry lay there breathless and seemed to tense up at his words.

“It says Harry’s Room. Why?” Snape said slowly, but in truth he already knew the answer.

“I’m sure you can work it out, Sir.”

Snape sighed. “I saw something during Occlumency. A fleeting image just like the rest of them. I thought nothing of it at the time. I just assumed you’d managed to get yourself trapped somewhere like brainless children do...How often did you get put in there?”

“I slept there until I went to Hogwarts,” Harry said quietly. Something seemed to be pulling his bottom lip downward, making it quiver.

Snape realised Harry hadn’t really answered his question, but he didn’t care at this point. Locked in a room. Starved. Made to sleep in a cupboard. Left alone in the house. Abused. Snape’s mind lingered on that last word. He used to think Harry Potter was many things: lazy, arrogant, irritating, troublesome, pampered, James Potter reincarnate. As the night went on, each notion was being dashed one by one.

“Why, pray tell, didn’t you tell anyone of this? Surely you know it’s not normal for a small boy to sleep in a cupboard?” Snape’s voice had a sudden air of impatience that was apparently contagious.

“Because I wasn’t normal! OK? I was a freak who did freaky things and upset his relatives every time he did them!”

“They told you that?”

“Every day.”

“You are aware everything they told you is not true?”

“Of course I am! I’m not five anymore. I know I don’t deserve it and I know it’s them, not me, in the wrong. But sometimes you just have to grin a bear it. I’ll be of age in a couple of years – then I can say good riddance.”  

“Good riddance,” Snape repeated softly aloud. “You are fifteen, Potter. You shouldn’t have to grin and bear anything.”

“Yes, well I shouldn’t have to vanquish a Dark Lord either, but as you’ve told me time and time again, Professor, life isn’t fair,” Harry snapped, turning his head away.

Snape said nothing in return. What could he say to that? He did, however, notice that the boy was crushing his hand. He could almost feel his own bones popping and clicking under the force. With a quiet finite incantatem, he cancelled the muffliatio spell around them and looked over to Healer Thompson who had shifted to the other side of Harry’s leg, his sweaty back now facing Snape.

“Thompson,” he said, “how long?”

“It’s almost done. How’s he doing?” Healer Thompson said without looking round.

“As expected.”

“Very well. We have a portkey ready. It won’t be long now.”

A small noise drew Snape’s attention back. Harry still had his face turned away, buried in the ground, but Snape could tell by the tension in his neck and the way Harry’s shoulders seemed to fidget that something was wrong. Harry made the noise again, like a keening from the back of his throat. Puffing out a hot breath through his nose, Snape rested his free hand on the back of Harry’s neck, realising exactly what was going on.

Stupid, proud, idiotic Gryffindor!

“How many times do I need to tell you, Potter? Don’t hide it! This is more than many could cope with. Allow yourself a modicum of release, boy!” Snape lowered his voice. “Harry, it’s not a sign of weakness. You are in pain. Don’t be ashamed to show it.”

Snape heard a sniffle. “I...I jus’wan’it to stop,” Harry managed, his voice wet and weary, before he turned his head to Snape and allowed the tears in his eyes to fall. Snape wanted it to stop too. The pain, the abuse, his own guilt...everything.

There was nothing left to say. Snape whispered reassurances just to let Harry know he wasn’t alone. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.” In that moment, it was all he could do.

Everything hurt. It hurt so much that he could no longer pinpoint where it was coming from. He could no longer remember what was supposed to be hurting, he just knew that it did and that he couldn’t think straight, or speak, or keep still because of it.

Snape’s words filled the air around him, but he could barely understand them. The only thing keeping him sane was the hand squeezing his.

Somebody shouted. It wasn’t Snape. No, Snape was still leaning close to him, muttering soft, unintelligible words. This voice was muffled, but loud. The sound of rubble under foot permeated the cloudy haze of pain around Harry’s mind. Suddenly, there was another man in front of him, looking at him and speaking, but Harry didn’t know what he was saying. The man put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave a strange look to Snape.

He felt something inside him drop when Snape’s hand was ripped from his.

The last thing he saw was Snape’s hooked nose twisting out of view as he felt the familiar pull of a portkey.