"Potter?" Snape said, now seriously slurring his words.

"Yes," Harry replied, leaning forward in order to understand better.

"Now is perhaps the time to inform you about the death of your uncle," Snape said.

Harry gasped, not that he particularly cared about uncle Vernon. Still, after everything the Dursleys went through because of Harry he didn't wish death upon him

"Did uncle Vernon get killed?" Harry asked.

The black glare stayed on him leaving Harry feeling scrutinised and very vulnerable.

"No," Snape exhaled the smoke, took another large swig from the whiskey, still staring at Harry. "He died of a heart attack after an interrogation from the Aurors."

Harry shrank a little, shook his head as if he didn't understand, hoping that he really wasn't understanding it correctly.

"Why was he being interrogated?" Harry asked.

"Oh Potter, surely you are not that stupid. He was being investigated for mistreatment of the famous Boy-Who-Lived-Twice."

Harry shrank further into the sofa, accepted the bottle gladly and remained silent.

"Why didn't you inform the headmaster?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged.

"I did," Harry replied.

Snape shook his head in disbelief, the old sneer back in place.

"You told Albus that you were being starved, locked in a cupboard without food or even a fucking chamber pot…" Snape paused, seeming to enjoy Harry's blushing before he continued. "Hit with a frying pan, treated like one of Malfoy's unfortunate house elves, all physical and emotional needs neglected… You told him all of that?"

Harry fiddled with the bottle, drank some more before handing it back. He was drowsy, sleepy and feeling inferior.

"My Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard. Dumbledore knew about the lack of food, Molly Weasley told him. I begged him to stay at Hogwarts, I took his office apart once. It was no use. He'd made up his mind and that was that."

There was silence after that apart from Hermione's light snoring and the crackling of the fire.

"I had no idea that the similarities between you and me that Albus was always so eager to point out, were actually partly inflicted by him."

Harry had a feeling the older man still wanted to add something to that sentence so he just waited patiently. After what seemed like minutes he was proven right.

"I too asked Albus every summer. He never gave in. He never even asked exactly why even though it was obvious to everybody else, especially those who were not very fond of me." Snape paused, drank more, lit another cigarette and turned away from Harry, staring into the fire. "Two long horrible months in Spinner's end, alone, with my dying, hallucinating mother who towards the end, could only scream, swear and hate. We had no money and I couldn't even afford a decent funeral."

"How old were you?" Harry asked.

"I was twelve, Potter. After that summer, he sent me back to my good-for-nothing father who had never even come for her funeral."