The next morning, Snape entered the guest room at 7:30, where Harry was just beginning to stir. He steeled himself for what he was about to do.

“As it is Christmas morning, you may forego changing out of your pyjamas until after breakfast, if you wish.” Snape looked a bit strained as he added, “I know that you are tired so you may go back to sleep until 8:00.”

Harry looked surprised, but nodded. He flopped back onto his pillows and seemed to fall back to sleep almost instantly.

Snape ended up leaving him to sleep until nearly 8:20 before he re-entered the guest room and shook Harry awake. He noticed that Harry flinched a bit at his touch, but he seemed to gather his wits rather quickly, and followed Snape to the table quietly.

They passed what seemed to Snape like a rather pleasant breakfast -- quiet, without the inane chatter about presents that he had expected on Christmas morning. Once they had finished, he addressed Harry.

“The house-elves brought your presents here last night, they are in the living room by the fire. Would you like to open them now?” He pointed to the small pile of presents in the corner of the living room. He had been surprised by the size of the pile, and watched Harry carefully for signs of disappointment.

Harry’s eyes lit up as he caught sight of the pile, but he glanced at Snape as though wary of a trick. “Yes sir, I’d like that.”

Snape inclined his head, gesturing to the living room, and Harry scampered out to sit in front of the fireplace. Snape followed at a more sedate pace, hovering in the doorway as though unsure of where he should go.

Harry swung his arms gently at the presents, carefully knocking his pile of gifts into a wider spread so that he could read the tags of each. He swept the lumpy package from the Weasleys toward him first, grinning to himself at what he expected was inside. He paused once he had maneuvered it into his lap.

“Er, sir?” he began tentatively. “Do you think… I’m not sure I can open them myself. Do you think you could… er, help me?”

Snape’s expression was unidentifiable as he said, “I would suggest that you try yourself first. You have other options besides your hands.”

Harry nodded, a bit surprised at Snape’s civility and helpfulness, despite the fact that his answer was negative. He thought for a moment, then began clumsily ripping the brown paper apart with his toes, pulling out a Weasley jumper, which he asked Snape to swap on over his pyjamas for him. Harry proceeded through the rest of his presents in a similar manner, though he did have to ask for Snape’s help with Hagrid’s present, as it had been tied up with some lumpy-looking twine and he could not break the knot with his teeth.

xxXxx

About an hour later, Snape reduced Harry’s bindings to a stage two. While Harry was rolling his shoulders in relief, Snape cleared his throat and began, “If you would like…” He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I would be… willing to take you to the Christmas dinner in the Great Hall tonight. That is, if you wish. I know that it might be a bit embarrassing to be seen being fed by your Potions Master. But…” He paused, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. “If you desire it, I am willing.”

Harry looked up at his professor, shocked. He knew that the situation would be embarrassing for more than just him, and he was surprised that Snape would willingly offer. Touched by the gesture, Harry nodded and said, “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Snape inclined his head a bit. Changing the subject, he said, “I think it is high time that we give you a bath. You are beginning to stink.” He sniffed his hooked nose, touching it briefly as though holding himself back from pinching it closed.

Harry might have found this gesture comical if he were not so horrified by the idea. “But sir! Can’t we just use a freshening charm again? Why do I need a bath?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Freshening charms only work for so long. There is no substitute for a real bath, and you have not had one in a week. You do not want to show up to Christmas dinner stinky and greasy.”

“You should talk…” Harry muttered under his breath, and instantly knew it was a mistake.

Snape looked thunderous. “You will take a bath, Potter,” he snapped. “Stop acting like a child. You will get in that tub, willingly or not.”

Meekly, Harry complied, deciding it was better to give in while he still had some amount of control over the situation rather than forcing Snape to spell him into the tub. He trailed behind his professor as they headed to the bathroom, his heart thudding in his chest.

Snape turned the taps on to begin filling the spacious tub, then turned around and raised his wand towards Harry.

Harry took a quick step back, raising his arms slightly as though to shield himself. He raised wide eyes to Snape. “Aren’t you going to turn your back, sir?”

Snape leveled a stern stare at him, biting out, “I see little point as I will need to help you bathe anyway.”

Harry drew his arms close to himself, as though he wished he could hug himself around the middle. “I can do it myself sir.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You are trying my patience, Potter.” He looked up. “Fine.” He strode to the door and pointed his wand back over his shoulder, waving Harry’s clothes off of his skinny frame. “I expect you to be in the tub by the time I return with your clothes,” he stated, and left the room.

Harry quickly stepped into the tub, treading carefully so he would not slip, and lowered himself onto a submerged bench so that only his head and neck were above the water.

When Snape re-entered the room, he was holding up a pair of worn, baggy jeans with holes in the knees and a scruffy t-shirt. “Are these the only clothes that you own?” he demanded, still angry over Harry’s earlier behavior.

Harry shrunk further into the water, but then his temper flared. “So what if they are?” he shot back.

Snape glared at him, then heaved a frustrated sigh. “We will save that discussion for later. You need to take your bath.” He picked up the soap and moved towards Harry, but Harry backed to the other side of the tub, remaining under the water.

“I said I could do it myself,” he protested, his tone defiant.

Snape rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then slammed the bar of soap onto the ledge of the tub. Harry was idly surprised that the bar did not break. “Fine. You may try,” he allowed.

Harry warily returned to that side of the tub. Without allowing his shoulders out of the water, he reached his hands up and slipped his forearms around the soap, squeezing to hold it in place. Then he sat back on the bench and began scrubbing under the water.

Snape almost looked amused underneath his anger as he said, “Potter, that will never work.”

Harry shot him a look, then gasped and grimaced, an expression that was an indication of pain to Snape’s keen eyes.

Concerned, Snape snapped out, “What is it, Potter?”

“Nothing, I just dropped the soap. I’ll get it.” Harry was about to duck his head under the murky water when Snape stopped him.

“Wait, Potter.” Snape fixed him with a stern look. “Accio soap.”  The soap zoomed out of the water and into Snape’s hand. “Stand up,” he commanded.

“I said I could do it!” Harry argued, his face flushing with anger, though his wide eyes seemed to speak of a different emotion.

“And I let you try. You obviously are having difficulties, so I will help you. Now, stand up. I will not ask you again.”

Slowly, and with a faint tremble that did not go unnoticed by Snape, Harry stood while facing his professor, until the water was just above his belly button.

Snape scrutinized Harry for a moment, noting that he was skinnier than he had realized while he considered where the pain he was hiding may have come from. He then ordered, “Stretch your arms out.” When Harry complied, he took ahold of one of his forearms, causing Harry to stiffen. He twisted the arm carefully to examine the inside of the forearm, and found red, chapped skin there.

Still looking at Harry’s arms, Snape asked, “This was from the rubbing?” He glanced up to see Harry’s nod, then continued, “Why did you not inform me?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s fine.”

Snape released his arm. “Another subject we will be discussing after your bath. Turn around please and I will soap your back for you. You are certainly never going to be able to reach there.”

Harry shook his head, his expression defiant, but his body was still trembling.

Snape sighed again. “I will only be soaping your back. Once I finish I will cast a mild sticking charm to two sides of the soap so that it will not slip out from your grip, and you may clean the rest of you while I turn around.” Snape’s expression darkened. “I will not ask you again, Potter.

Slowly, Harry turned around, his trembling increasing.

Snape nearly dropped the soap when he saw Harry’s back. Suddenly, pieces were fitting into place in his mind. Harry’s flinching at an unexpected touch, his nightmare, his alternating meekness and defiance, his testing and breaking of rules and boundaries, his hiding of his own pain, his independence…

Abuse.

The word seemed to fill his mind, crowding out all else for a moment. What had those Muggles done to him? How could no one have noticed? How could he not have noticed -- he who was sworn to protect the boy?

“Potter.” Harry flinched mildly as Snape addressed him. He softened his tone as he continued, “How did you get these scars on your back?”

“I… I…”

Harry’s mind had gone blank as soon as Professor Snape had asked him to turn around. Think, think, Harry! He screamed at himself mentally. Come up with a story, an excuse -- something! You’ve fooled people before -- you’ve fooled him before! Just say something, anything…

Snape noted that Harry’s trembling had increased as he stuttered out a response from between chattering teeth, “I… I f-f-fell…”

Before he could stop himself, Snape sarcastically sneered out, “Yes, I’m sure you fell repeatedly onto the same long, thin object.”

Harry twitched a bit at Snape’s tone and hunched in on himself, but remained stubbornly silent. Snape sighed and softened his voice. “Come. Let’s get you clean first.” He soaped down Harry’s back, had him turn so he could soap up his arms, and then spelled the soap, left it on the ledge, and turned around.

Harry took a moment to come back to himself after Snape had turned around. His trembling began to ease somewhat as he finally scooped up the soap and began scrubbing himself. It’s not so bad, he thought to himself. I can still save this, he doesn’t know anything yet, I can convince him…

But convince him of what? No one had ever seen his scars before -- even the boys in his dormitory thought he was just a bit shy about changing in front of them. Snape was right, what else could his scars possibly be?

xxXxx

A half an hour later, Harry and Snape sat across from each other in the living room. Harry was clean and dry, aside from his damp hair, and bundled in a large, fleecy blanket on the loveseat, a cream having already been applied to the irritated skin of his forearms. Snape was leaning back in his armchair, his body language the picture of nonchalance, but his eyes did not quite hide his concern and anger.

Snape was deep in thought as he observed the nervous boy in front of him. He needed to find out the truth of the matter. He was certain it was Potter’s relatives who were mistreating him -- who else could it be? And he was quite certain he recognized the lash marks on his back as coming from a belt. While there were not so many, Snape would estimate such an incident likely happened a handful of times, he knew that such treatment did not spring from nowhere. If Potter had been hiding scars like these, what else could he have hidden for these past few years? He needed to get the truth from him, get some evidence he could bring to Dumbledore to take Harry away from those people.

“Would you care to try explaining your scars again?” Snape began. “Perhaps the truth, this time?”

Harry remained silent, worrying his lower lip between his teeth while he stared stubbornly at the carpet.

Observing the fear that was showing beneath the facade of defiance, Snape suddenly felt as though he were looking in a mirror that was reflecting himself at that age, hiding and apprehensive of being discovered while simultaneously dreading never being discovered.

“It’s ok… Harry. You’re safe.”

At the use of his given name, Harry looked up and met Snape’s eyes, his defiance cracking and beginning to fall.

“I… I c-can’t…” Not supposed to tell. Can’t say anything. Can’t tell anyone. The mantra filled Harry’s mind.

“It’s ok, Harry.” The name fell more easily from Snape’s lips as he watched the terrified teenager trying to hold himself together. “Let’s start with something small. How do you feel towards your relatives?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly a secret. “I don’t particularly enjoy it there,” Harry said, his voice sounding small to his own ears.

Snape nodded, encouraging him without seeming eager. “And how do they feel about you?”

That wasn’t a secret either, right? “They don’t like me either.”

“How do you know they don’t like you?” Snape asked.

“Well…” Harry thought for a moment. “They ignore me a lot.”

“What else?” Snape queried, his voice calm, unconcerned.

“Um… They don’t like to bring me places.” That couldn’t be a secret; Mrs. Figg had watched him enough times when he was younger.

“Where do they leave you when they go out then?”

“They used to leave me with Mrs. Figg sometimes,” Harry answered. He fidgeted a little.

Snape nodded. “And now?”

Harry’s face turned white. No. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t.

Snape watched as Harry began to tremble again, and hurriedly said, “That’s all right, Harry. You don’t have to answer that now.” Snape thought for a moment, then asked, “How else do you know they don’t like you?”

“Er… They don’t like to spend money on me, I guess.” Anyone could see that from the state of his clothes.

Snape calmly questioned, “What sort of things cost too much money for them to spend on you?”

“All kinds of things, I guess. Gifts, outings, clothes, food--” Harry stopped, horrified at his slip. He glanced up at Snape through his fringe. Had he noticed that last item?

By the look in Snape’s eyes, he had. “Food, Potter?” He struggled to keep the anger from his expression.

“Yeah, ya know.” Harry shrugged, trying to hide his trembling. “No supper as a punishment. That sort of thing.”

Snape did not look convinced, but he let it go. “What else did they deny you?”

“Er…” They already knew about this one, right? His Hogwarts letter had been addressed there, after all… “Well, they didn’t want to give me a bedroom for a while, until after my Hogwarts letter came.”

Snape’s eyes looked icy, even if his expression was studiously impassive. “And where did you sleep, then?”

Harry shrank back, but answered the question. “In the… in the cupboardunderthestairs.”

Snape closed his eyes. “Where, Mr. Potter?”

“The… the cupboard under the stairs sir. But… the school knew that, my Hogwarts letter was addressed--”

“The letters are addressed automatically,” Snape interrupted him, his eyes flashing open.

Harry gulped. Automatically? They hadn’t known that? Oh no. He was in so much trouble…

Suddenly, Harry felt very tired. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and forget everything that had happened since Snape had made him take a bath. “Sir? May I go to my room now?”

Snape’s expression softened once more. “Yes… Harry. That will be fine.” He stood up as Harry did and reached forward to unwrap the blanket from his student’s shoulders, noting but not mentioning Harry’s flinch at his raised arm. He watched sadly as the child shuffled away, his shoulders rounded and head down.

xxXxx

Some time later, Snape knocked quietly on the open door to the guest room, a tray of food balanced in one of his hands. He took in the tiny pile of gifts lovingly stacked in front of the trunk, his heart panging just a bit, then turned his attention to the small lump in the center of the bed. Harry was curled up into a tiny ball, just his messy hair and closed eyes peeking out from beneath the blankets. He was fast asleep.

“Harry,” Snape called gently, stepping forward into the room. Harry’s eyes opened slowly. When he caught sight of his professor, he sat up and began shifting his legs over to the side of the bed, looking curiously at the tray Snape was carrying.

“No, you don’t need to get down. I didn’t think you would be up for the Great Hall, so I had the house elves bring some of the feast here for you. I thought you could eat in here, if you’d like. Or,” he added hastily, “if you would rather, we could still make it down for the feast.” The usually stern professor looked suddenly unsure of himself.

Harry shook his head, a mixture of bewilderment and wonder in his eyes. “No, here is fine.”

Snape nodded and brought the tray over to the bed as Harry scooted himself up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Snape began feeding Harry, but he noticed that, although Harry usually looked uncomfortable while being fed, he seemed particularly so just then.

“Is something wrong… Harry? You seem uncomfortable. Are you in pain?” Snape’s eyes clouded a bit in concern.

“No, no I’m fine,” Harry insisted, not meeting Snape’s gaze.

“I remain unconvinced of the truthfulness of that statement, Potter. Care to try again?” Snape scolded him mildly.

Harry sighed. “I just feel a bit like a… an invalid, right now. Being fed in bed.”

Snape frowned. “Would you be more comfortable at the table? We can move, if you would prefer it.”

Harry gave him a small smile. “No, it’s ok… just feels a little strange.”

“I would imagine that being taken care of may feel a bit strange to you,” Snape said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Harry colored. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Harry, but that is the point. You should not need to. You are still a child.”

“I am not a child,” Harry snapped.

Snape looked a bit sad. “I know, Harry. But you should not need to be an adult, not yet.” Harry shrugged, glancing away, and Snape continued, “You do realize that the way they treat you is not normal, don’t you, Harry?”

‘They treat me fine,” snapped Harry. “I’m fine.”

Snape growled, “They do not treat you fine. From what you have said and what I have seen, they are neglecting you and abusing you. That is not fine.”

“I’m not abused,” Harry mumbled.

Snape gave a bitter smile. “I don’t think either of us is convinced of the truthfulness of that statement.”

Harry gave him a measuring stare, but said nothing.

A few minutes later, Snape spoke up again. “I see the house-elves sent up wizard crackers. I would not be completely opposed to pulling one with you, if you desire to.”

At this, Harry cracked a grin, and Snape silently vowed to make that wonderful look appear on Harry’s face more often. “Sure!” he said, enthusiastically.

xxXxx

“I will be at the lab for most of the day today,” Snape stated somewhat suddenly. It was the next morning, and Harry and Snape were just finishing breakfast. “Usually, when it is discovered that a student’s home life… leaves something to be desired, I recommend that they write down their experiences. I find that it generally makes it easier for them to share later.”

Snape saw that Harry was eyeing him warily, but with some interest. He continued, “I would have recommended this for you, but in your current predicament…” he trailed off for a moment, then resumed speaking, “I have a quill that will record for you as you dictate to it, verbatim. It works similarly to a Quick-Quotes Quill, but is perhaps a bit simpler. It is slightly less ideal than writing, but as I will be gone the entire day barring meals, I was hoping you might be a bit more comfortable.

“You may write however you wish. You can write it as a diary, as a letter, as a list, an accounting. No one need ever see what you write, the important part is to admit it to yourself. You can even write two versions if you wish, one for you and one for someone else you wish to confide in.” Snape surveyed Harry, watching his reaction.

Harry, still looking wary, asked, “And what if I have nothing to say?”

“Then I suppose you have nothing to say. You may write about whatever you wish. However, I do request that you spend at least some time writing today. The subject matter is up to you.”

Harry looked thoughtful, but nodded.

An hour later, Harry sat in front of a blank piece of parchment, the quill poised on the page in front of him. At first, he had been a bit angry at Snape's insistence that he write something down; what was he supposed to write? But now, he thought that maybe, if he could just get Snape to understand... something... whatever it was that he wanted him to understand, maybe he would drop it. He was still feeling raw from his carefully-guarded secrets being discovered, and he wanted to protect those he had left. But maybe it would feel good to talk about it at least to himself? He didn't have to show Snape...

“This is stupid,” he mumbled, then watched in awe as the quill wrote This is stupid. “That’s so weird!” he chuckled, then all-out laughed when the quill transcribed That’s so weird!

“Ok.” He thought for a moment. “I’m still not saying it’s abuse, but I guess there are a few things the Dursleys do that I don’t really like…”

xxXxx

That evening after dinner, Harry walked over to where Snape sat in his armchair, a small length of parchment pinned between his elbows.

“This is for you, sir,” he said quietly, then fled to his room.

Snape looked down at the parchment that he held clutched in his hand.

Dear Professor Snape,

The Dursleys gave me Dudley’s second bedroom after I got my Hogwarts letter. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs before that. They used to lock me in there sometimes as a punishment, but that’s no different really than other kids being sent to their room, is it? Just my room was under the stairs. No that sounds stupid, can you scribble that out? No, I guess you’re not a very smart quill, are you? Oh well.

They give me a lot of chores too, but lots of kids have chores. They don’t make Dudley do any, but that’s because he doesn’t have to earn his keep. I cost them so much money, so I have to do something to pay them back. It just makes sense.

Harry

Snape’s expression almost would have looked like a smile, if one did not know better. It was a start, he thought.