“I guess it all started last summer.”

Harry turned his head away as he began, speaking to the wall rather than his Professor.  

“It was never as bad before then.  They locked me in Dudley’s second bedroom and put bars on the windows because they found out I couldn’t do magic over the summer.”  At this, he risked a glance at Snape, whose face was still impassive.  Harry shivered, looking away again.  “They...they fed me once a day, through a cat flap in the door.  Ron and the twins figured out something was wrong and they broke me out with their dad’s flying car.”

He hesitated, biting his lip.  This was much, much harder than he had thought it would be.  He couldn’t seem to prevent himself from trembling, and a large part of him was begging to stop, to ignore his Gryffindor courage and just obey the rules.  “I guess I kinda underestimated how mad they’d be about it.  I thought they’d cool off a bit while I was at school, and things might go back to normal.”  He saw a flicker of displeasure cross the Professor’s face, and he looked away.  “I mean, it was never really normal, I don’t think, but back to the way it used to be, I guess.”  There, that was probably more satisfactory.  His voice grew quieter as he continued.

“When I got off the train, they just kind of ignored me.  They insulted me a lot on the way, but, well, that’s normal for them.”  He felt his face growing red and looked away, embarrassed and shaking with nerves.  That’s the easy part.  How am I supposed to talk about the hard stuff?  Harry’s bravery seemed to be depleting with every word, leaving him shaking and unable to look away from his hands, or the bed, or really anywhere except Snape’s face. 

Severus was reeling, and he knew the worst was yet to come.  Locked in?  Bars on the windows?  Fed through a cat flap?   He almost would have preferred a clean-cut case of family violence; those injuries were far easier to heal than the mental and emotional pain that Potter (Harry!) was describing. 

Just then, he realized that Harry had stopped talking.  The boy was clearly struggling with the tale; his face was flushed, and he kept opening his mouth, as if to continue, and then closing it again without a word.  Severus felt a stab of pain in his chest as the small boy seemed to close in on himself, as if trying to hide.

"Go on," he urged quietly, making a valiant effort to keep his fury at the child's treatment from showing in his voice.

Harry sat upright with a bit of a jerk as he was dragged out of his nervous musings. Right.  Talking.  

"Um."  Why was this so hard?  Oh, right, because I’m NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THIS.  

"Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired, Potter."  The automatic, snarky response was actually a relief; at least there was something normal to make this feel real, instead of like a very uncomfortable dream.  Harry let this comfort him for a moment before abruptly realizing that if it was real, he was actually doing this.  Talking.  To Snape.  Which was terrifying on so many levels.  Well, I guess it can't get much worse at this point.  He already knows it's bad, since you were stupid enough to flinch earlier.  

"Well.  We...we got through the door, and my Uncle took my trunk again, but this year, he didn't lock it up under the stairs..."

The Professor’s hands clenched into fists, but he remained silent, so Harry continued.

“That’s what they did last year, so I couldn’t, um, ‘bother them with my freakishness’, I believe they said.”

This isn’t going to go over well.

“They were mad enough about last summer that they decided to...theydecidedtoputmebackinthecupboard.”  

“What?”  The voice, while surprisingly calm, was as menacing as Harry had ever heard it.

Harry winced.  “They...decided to put me back in the cupboard, sir...”  His voice trailed off, and he stared nervously up at the irate Potions Professor.  

A moment passed, then:  “Explain.”  

Harry gulped audibly.  “Well, you see, sir, I used to sleep there.  In the cupboard under the stairs.  Until I got my Hogwarts letter.”  There was no response, so he reluctantly continued.  “Then they put me in Dudley’s second bedroom because they thought someone was watching us, but since the Weasleys broke me out last year, I guess they decided it wasn’t secure enough.”  

Still no response.  The silence stretched for a few more moments, then Snape spoke.

“Are you telling me,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “that you slept in a cupboard all summer?”

“Um.”  Harry looked away, feeling his face go red again.  “Yes?”  And for about ten years before I knew I was a wizard.  Funny, that part didn't seem to have registered yet.

Snape stood.  Harry flinched.  Neither of them looked at the other.  After a moment, the Professor stormed away, throwing the door to Madame Pomfrey’s office open.  A startled shriek pierced the air as he stalked in, but it was abruptly cut off, likely by a Silencing spell.   Harry could almost feel the Hospital Wing shaking.  A few minutes later, a disgruntled, slightly red-faced Snape reappeared, and the medi-witch’s guilt and irritation were palpable as she slammed the door behind him.  Harry couldn’t help raising an eyebrow, and the Professor’s mouth thinned into a hard line.  He sat down on the chair next to Harry’s bed again, and Harry got the distinct impression that the man had been venting, raging in the next room.  On his behalf.  It was an odd feeling.

“Pott-”  Snape sighed.  “Harry.  Why have you never mentioned this to anyone?”

Harry shivered.  Talking is bad.  Telling is very, very bad.  He didn’t say that, though. No use inviting more questions, after all.  Questions are bad, too.  “It’s fine,” he said monotonously. “I’m not weak.”

Unfortunately, that probably went over worse than admitting the truth would have.

“This is not about real or perceived weakness, Potter-- Harry!  You foolish child, why would you insist on hiding something that could get you killed?”

Harry blanched.  “It...It wasn’t that--”

“Don’t you dare tell me it wasn’t that bad.”  Harry shut up, and Snape continued, fury flashing in his eyes.  “It clearly was that bad.  If you had gone another few hours without medical treatment, it may well have been too late.  You’re severely malnourished, you had several infected wounds that will take time to heal, and we can’t even give you any more potions-- even for pain-- for a while because you’ll essentially overdose because of how much magic we’ve had to use on you!  It is that bad, Pott--Harry, and I will not let this charade of yours go on!"  

Harry flinched away, closing his eyes and silently begging for him to stop, but the Professor was on the warpath.  

“I understand that your entire perception of normal family dynamics is likely warped beyond repair, but this cannot happen!  Surely even you can comprehend that.  Child abuse is a criminal offense, Potter!  Merlin only knows--”

“I’m not abused.”  It came out as a petulant whine, and Harry cringed even as he said it.  What’s with me and not saying things the way I want to today?  

Snape just glared at him, obviously not planning to dignify the statement with a response.  “Merlin only knows how you’ve gone this long without anyone realizing how bad it was.  You should have been out of that house long ago.”  

Harry felt a glimmer of hope at that.  Leave the Dursleys?  But then he remembered.  

“But Dumbledore said I had to go back.  I asked him last year if I could stay at Hogwarts for the summer.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Snape corrected automatically.  Then he looked confused.  “He said what?”

Harry just sighed.  This was going to be a long day.  And just think, he reflected bitterly, I haven’t even gotten past the cupboard yet.

“I asked him if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer.  He said no.”  It really wasn’t that big a deal, was it?  Clearly, the Professor thought it was, though.

“Potter,” he gritted out.  “Did you tell him what was going on in that house?”

Harry hesitated.  “I told him they hated me.”

Professor Snape just closed his eyes.

Severus desperately needed a headache draught.  While ranting and raving to Madam Pomfrey ("How did you not notice?  He practically lives in the Infirmary!") had done wonders for the tension he'd been feeling, it had only been a temporary fix at best.  He let out a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"Harry.  Surely you realize that the Headmaster thought that a bit of an exaggeration."

The boy just hunched his shoulders, looking away. Severus felt a pang of guilt, recognizing the gesture; not only had many of his battered Snakes done much the same when frightened, he had seen it in Potter himself, when he had loomed over the boy in Potions class or detention.  I should have recognized it.

"Most children tend to exaggerate perceived wrongs, child.  It is no wonder the Headmaster sent you back to them if that is all you said."  He kept his voice gentle and soothing as he reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from Harry's eyes.  The boy flinched away, but not as violently as the last time Severus had attempted to touch him; fearful green eyes met his, and he slowly moved his hand forward the last few centimeters to reach him.  Harry was tense, nervous, but only a tiny whimper revealed his fear.  Severus was about to admit defeat--for now--and retreat, when the boy slowly began to relax, trembling but unwilling to pull away.

"Good boy," he murmured softly and encouragingly, the corners of his mouth twitching up a bit in the closest thing to a smile that could get past his shields.  The fear and tentative hope and trust as the child leaned slowly into the touch was heartbreakingly pitiful.  "That's it, go on, it's okay," he continued, rubbing small circles with one finger against the boy's temple.  Merlin, he looked desperate; Severus wasn't sure he'd ever met a child who craved and feared human touch as much as Harry obviously did.  Has anyone ever held him?  Comforted him?  Lily, how much more has your child been deprived of?