“Didn’t I warn you, boy, never to tell anyone?” Uncle Vernon hissed, menacingly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry whimpered, cowering before the figure looming closer.

“And what did I say would happen if you ever said anything?” The shadowy silhouette came into focus just above him, and he could see the belt that Uncle Vernon was caressing in his hands.

“But I didn’t--”

“Don’t talk back!” Uncle Vernon shouted, backhanding him across the face.

Then Harry started feeling the sting of the belt on his back, and as always he could not move away. He realized at some point that his arms were tied in front of him rather than behind, but he did not have time to ponder this strange occurrence as just then his Aunt and cousin were suddenly in before him.

“How could you think anyone would care?” they mocked him.

“This is how a freak like you should be treated!”

They continued to taunt him as Uncle Vernon rained down lashes on his back for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his control broke as the pain mounted, and although he knew it would only encourage his Uncle to strike harder, he screamed.

xxXxx

Snape went to bed late that night, pondering the contents of Harry’s letter and how best to proceed. As he drew back the covers to climb in, he heard a sound. Pausing to listen, he waited a minute or two before he heard it again, what sounded like a muffled scream. He hurried to the guest room, where he found Harry curled into a tense ball, his fists stuffed into his mouth as he whimpered.

“Potter!” he called out, then amended, “Harry! Wake up!”

When further calling had little effect, he hesitated. He remembered Harry’s violent reaction the last time he had woken him from a nightmare, and was trying to avoid shaking him awake again. Eventually, he knelt down and began rubbing his back, saying, “It’s ok, Harry, you can wake up now, it’s ok.”

Finally, Harry seemed to relax a bit. Unsure whether he was awake, Snape kept rubbing circles and speaking.

After a minute or two, he heard a tentative voice ask, “Professor?”

Snape stopped instantly and moved around to the end of the bed as Harry struggled to sit up, blinking up at him.

“You were having a nightmare,” Snape explained. “I thought it best to wake you.”

Harry looked somewhat confused, but said nothing as he gave a small nod.

“Would you like some dreamless sleep?” Snape asked, unsure how best to proceed now that Harry was awake.

Harry shook his head ‘no’ very firmly, his eyes somewhat wide in the dim light.

Snape frowned. “Do you think you will be able to return to sleep tonight?” he asked.

Harry hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head, looking down at his hands.

Snape looked too, then came back around to the side of the bed and reached for Harry’s hands, examining the knuckles in the light filtering in from the hallway.

“You are bleeding,” he commented, looking up to gauge Harry’s reaction.

Harry shrugged and tried to pull his arms back, but Snape did not let go. He drew out his wand and muttered something over Harry’s hands, and when he released his arms, Harry saw that shiny new skin had formed over his most recent bite marks.

Snape was eyeing Harry when he looked back up from his hands. “Do you often bite your hands when you have a nightmare?”

Harry shrugged again, and Snape rolled his eyes. “A verbal response, please,” he stated with some annoyance.

Harry looked back down at his hands in his lap. “Yes, sir. When I can’t use a silencing charm.”

Snape nodded as understanding dawned on him. “To muffle the sound,” he clarified.

Still not looking up, Harry nodded.

After a brief pause, Snape asked curiously, “Why do you not wish for dreamless sleep?”

Harry shrugged again. “I don’t think it works properly for me, sir. When Madam Pomfrey gave it to me, I still dreamt for a bit before I woke up.”

“Ah,” Snape said, imagining what Harry was not describing -- those seemingly long moments before waking when he was trapped in the nightmare and unable to wake. “That is a known, though rare, possibility with dreamless sleep. No one knows exactly why it works like that for some people, though the current theory is that it occurs in people who tend to have especially vivid dreams.” He thought for a moment, then asked Harry, “Do you know the Muggle game called English draughts?”

Harry looked up, surprised. “Yes, sir. I’ve never played it though, sir.”

Snape nodded. “I find that it is an excellent game when one cannot sleep. It keeps the mind occupied, but it is easier to play than chess when one is tired.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Harry’s lips. “I’m not much good at chess, sir.”

Snape beckoned to him. “Come. I will explain the rules and we will play in the living room. You should not have too hard of a time sliding the pieces, and I can help you when you need to jump them.”

A few hours later, finally heading to bed in the wee hours of the morning, Snape found himself once again pondering how best to proceed. Harry had been tight-lipped throughout the many games that they played, unwilling to speak about his nightmare, what had caused it, or the letter he had given to Snape before bed. He knew that Harry’s relatives were mistreating him, there was no other logical explanation, but removing Harry from their care would be much smoother with some real evidence -- something more than old scars of which Harry was unwilling to admit the cause. Moving him was complicated enough, but he would likely at the least need Harry to admit to being mistreated to move the process along. Snape knew that the process would be difficult for Harry, especially since Snape had essentially forced Harry into exposing his relatives’ treatment of him when he saw his back. The cupboard might be enough to convince Dumbledore, but the sooner Harry admitted to the mistreatment, the sooner they could begin the real legal battle. He knew that Harry was likely afraid of his relatives, and also on some level probably unwilling to admit the extent of the abuse to himself. He would need to find a way to gain Harry’s trust, to be gentle enough to coax Harry into talking. He had done it with a few of his Slytherin students over the years, found a way to tame his barbed tongue, gain their trust, and help them through the process; could he do it with Harry Potter, after all of their history? His opinion of Harry had already -- startlingly -- changed. Could Harry’s opinion of him, his hated Potions professor, change?

xxXxx

After the two had finished a rather bleary-eyed breakfast the next morning, Snape led Harry out into the living room. They sat in what had become their usual seats, and Snape faced Harry.

"We need to discuss your letter, Harry," he began slowly.

Harry looked down at the coffee table between them, avoiding Snape's eyes. "What about it, sir?"

“Harry,” Snape thought for a moment, then sighed. “What did you think of sleeping in a cupboard, when you were younger?”

Harry shrugged, but gave no verbal reply. Uncle Vernon’s threats rang in his ears, and the mantra of ‘not supposed to tell, can’t tell anyone’ circled around his mind.

Snape waited for a moment, but when no elaboration was forthcoming, he switched tactics. “Do you know that if a child is being mistreated, hurt or neglected or denied basic needs, by their caregivers or another person in their life, if authority figures such as a teacher find out, that child can be taken out of that situation? Their caregivers will no longer be able to hurt them. It does not matter what those caregivers have threatened. But unfortunately, the child can only be protected if the situation becomes known, which usually requires the child telling someone. All too often, children stay in such situations because they are afraid to tell -- afraid of their caregivers, or too embarrassed. But you know that it is nothing to be ashamed of, of course, and if they will tell someone, they would have no reason to be afraid anymore of their caregivers.” Snape paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Harry?”

Harry nodded, still staring determinedly at the table.

Snape nodded shortly. “I am heading back to the lab today. I want you to write something again while I am gone.”

A while later, Harry sat at his desk staring at the blank piece of parchment in front of him. He shivered to think of what Snape clearly wanted him to do. He knew what Uncle Vernon would do if he found out he had broken his rule, the rule that had been ingrained in him from such a young age: never tell what goes on at 4 Privet Drive. Besides, they had also convinced him that this treatment was fitting for a freak like him, and that no one would care anyway.

And how could he tell Snape, of all people? The man who had constantly belittled and taunted him for the past few years? How could he tell him something so… shameful? But then… at least he probably wouldn’t blow it out of proportion as some might. And he had been pretty good, surprisingly good, the past few days. And the thought of never having to see the Dursleys again, which Snape had so heavily hinted at… He shuddered as a vision of Uncle Vernon’s purple face swam in front of him.

But where was his Gryffindor courage? He had a glimmer of hope before him. Surely he could steel himself for the task. How bad could it be?

So with grim determination, Harry set the quill on the page, its tip poised to write, and began dictating.

xxXxx

Dinner was a tense affair for Harry. He fidgeted nervously throughout the meal, and could not stomach even his usual small portion. Snape was surprisingly patient with him, even excusing him early with less than half of his plate cleared. He left for his room immediately, and stared at the paper he had left on his desk, wrestling with his fear. Could he trust Snape? Could he trust that he would take him from the Dursleys, that he would not mock him with this information? And had he told enough, enough to get him away from the Dursleys? What would the Dursleys think, would they fight to keep him? His heart fell a bit, though he could not imagine why, when he realized that they likely would let him go easily.

A little while later, Snape was helping Harry in the bathroom when they heard the floo flare and a familiar voice call out. They finished up quickly and headed out into the living room, Harry’s face flushed with embarrassment but Snape remaining his usual impassive self.

“Ah! There you are, my boys!” Dumbledore called merrily as they entered the room. “How are you getting along? We missed you at the Christmas feast.” His twinkling gaze rested on Harry.

Harry turned even more red. “I’m fine, sir. We were just-- we were--” He was searching for an explanation when Snape intervened.

“We considered attending the feast, but decided that the situation would be too embarrassing,” he explained smoothly. “Headmaster, since you are here, there is a matter which I would like to discuss with you. Harry, would you mind going to the guest room for a bit?”

Harry, guessing at the subject of the discussion, reluctantly left the room. As he dragged his feet down the hallway, his fear and curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he paused in the doorway to his room, listening.

“Some things have come to light this past week which have led me to question the suitability of Potter’s current guardians,” Snape was saying, speaking slowly as though considering his words carefully.

There was a pause. “Oh?” Dumbledore asked, his voice light but with an undertone of concern.

“I caught a glimpse of some scarring on his back. He was reluctant to discuss it, but I am not unfamiliar with that pattern of scars.” Snape’s tone was sharp.

There was a tense silence for just a moment, then Dumbledore asked, “Like yours?”

Like Snape’s? Harry thought. What did that mean? Did Snape have scars like his? He heard no answer from Snape; he presumed he gave a nonverbal reply.

After a moment, Dumbledore sighed heavily and asked with an edge of weariness in his tone, “Is there anything more I should know?”

“He has been understandably reticent on the subject,” Snape began, “but he has spoken of some of his treatment there. Things that I believe he thought we already knew or would not be a big deal. The fact that he felt comfortable enough to speak of growing up with a cupboard as a bedroom, of being given endless chores and told he needed to earn his keep through them, of being locked up without food as punishment… I wonder how much more there is, given that he told of those pieces so quickly. And they are bad enough.”

Harry frowned. Was it really that bad? It wasn’t, was it?

Dumbledore sighed again. “I have failed you both, it seems. I concentrated so much on keeping Harry safe from all in the magical world that might harm him, I did not even think…” He trailed off, then spoke again after a moment, “This will not be an easy legal battle. How much more has he told you? We will need as much information as we can get to take him away from his relatives. I will ensure that we succeed, of course, leaving him with them is not an option. But it will be much easier if we knew the extent of it.”

Harry heard the rustling of Snape’s robes, then his voice. “It is a difficult subject to broach. I do not want to push him too far before he is ready. But you are right, we do need to know, for his safety.”

Harry thought Dumbledore’s voice sounded a bit firmer, a bit more like his usual strong self as he replied, “I trust you completely with this task, Severus. There is no one better.”

Harry heard the headmaster leaving by floo again and quietly crept over to his desk and sat in it, trying to look like he had been there all along. He had just settled when Snape appeared in the doorway.

Snape was, of course, well aware that he had neglected to put up a silencing spell. He had been hoping that Harry might overhear their conversation, and that doing so may help him trust a bit more, perhaps even help him to feel like he was more in control of the situation. Seeing the thoughtful look on Harry’s face, he knew that he had heard the conversation and it had given him much to consider. Though Snape also hoped that he did not think too much about Dumbledore’s question regarding his own scarring.

Snape was pleasantly surprised when, after he had helped Harry into his pyjamas, Harry pushed a letter towards him that had been sitting folded in a corner of the desk. He then scampered over to his bed and got in, lying with his back to Snape to discourage further conversation. Taking the hint, Snape doused the lights and left the room without saying a word, taking the letter to his customary chair by the fire to peruse.

xxXxx

The next morning, after a quiet breakfast, Snape again led Harry out to sit in the living room. He watched Harry closely as they sat across from each other, noting the faint circles under his eyes. The night before he had once again calmed Harry down after one of his nightmares, this time awakening to the alarm of the monitoring charm he had thought to put up in the guest room the day before. He was concerned about the apparent frequency of these nightmares, not only because Harry certainly needed the sleep, but also because it spoke to the stress Harry’s mind was under.

“Would you be willing to try talking about your letter, Harry?” Snape asked when they were both settled. He had brought out the board for English draughts once again, thinking it might help the conversation run a bit smoother and keep Harry calmer.

Harry looked down at the coffee table but nodded, shifting his feet a bit.

Deciding to start with something that would hopefully be a bit easier, Snape asked, “So your relatives have you do a lot of chores when you are home?” He moved one of his pieces forward.

Harry shrugged but nodded again, and sliding his piece forward as well.

“Does your cousin Dudley do any chores?”

A shake of the head answered in the negative, confirming Snape’s suspicion.

“What sort of chores do they usually have you do?” Snape prodded as he made his next move on the board.

Harry shrugged again, but answered verbally, “All sorts, I guess. Cooking, cleaning, weeding.” He slid his piece onto the next square somewhat absentmindedly.

Snape nodded as he considered the board. “How do you usually spend your free time while you’re there?”

Harry frowned as if thinking hard. “Er, in my room, I guess.”

“You mentioned that you were locked in your room sometimes. When does that usually happen?” Snape was careful to keep his expression neutral as he looked up from the board after making his next move, watching Harry’s reaction.

Harry squeezed his hands between his knees, seeming a bit agitated, but responded, “If I do something wrong, or if there’s company over, or sometimes just on the weekend…” He trailed off, realizing what he was admitting, and glanced up at Snape through his fringe briefly before fixing his eyes back on the game board.

“How long do they usually leave you there?” Snape asked as he jumped Harry’s piece.

Harry swallowed. “Er, never more than a week, I think. Usually just a couple of days.”

“And how often do they usually feed you or let you out to use the bathroom while you are locked in there?”

Harry hesitated, and Snape was afraid for a moment that he would get no more answer than a shrug. They had each made two moves before Harry finally opened his mouth and said, “Sometimes it’s about once a day.”

“And other times?” Snape asked quietly.

A brief hesitation, then Harry answered, “They leave me a bucket.”

“And food?” It was currently Snape’s turn, but he was watching Harry rather than contemplating the game before him.

Harry only shook his head mutely, squeezing his hands so tightly with his knees that Snape briefly wondered if he might cut off his circulation.

Switching to a hopefully slightly less difficult topic, Snape moved his next piece and said, “You mentioned something about hand-me-downs from Dudley? How many of your clothes would you say were bought specifically for you, or how many fit you properly?”

Harry frowned again. “My trainers fit ok.” He slid one of his pieces over quickly.

“Were they bought for you?” Snape questioned, jumping another of Harry’s pieces.

Harry shook his head. “No, but I bought my school robes, those were specifically for me.”

“Is that all? You own no other article of clothing that is not a hand-me-down?” Snape asked as Harry moved another piece.

Harry shrugged, his face coloring a bit.

Seeing Harry’s embarrassment, Snape decided to broach a different line of questioning. He slid one of his pieces, looking deep in thought, then asked, “Do you have nightmares regularly?”

Harry looked up at that, a bit startled, but nodded as he slid a wooden piece across the game board.

“How often, usually?” Snape queried, steepling his fingers as he surveyed the board before him.

Harry shrugged while he watched Snape make his move. “Maybe once a week.”

“Have they been more frequent lately?”

Harry moved slowly as he reached for his next piece, finally sliding it with his fists and nodding at Snape’s question.

“Do you have any idea why?” Snape asked as he jumped another of Harry’s pieces.

This time Harry froze for just a second while reaching across the board, then seemed to be trying to look nonchalant as he shrugged and moved his piece.

Snape decided to let it go, and the rest of the game was passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.