Memories by ChemPrincess

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. How was he supposed to react after finding out that Snape, the scariest professor in Hogwarts, was once a vulnerable little boy, was mistreated by his own father as a child?

Sure Uncle Vernon had cuffed him on the head a couple times, Aunt Petunia had tried to hit him with a frying pan a few times but he was too fast for her. But they had never hit him, not like that anyway, no matter how much they hated him. Only Dudley and his cronies had ever hit him when he was a kid, but most of the time he was too fast for them to catch.

He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the fact that Snape used to be a child, that he had a father and a mother. He couldn’t imagine any of his teachers being children.

Harry quietly made his way towards the Christmas tree, where Snape was looking for… he had no idea what, maybe something, anything that could help them get out of the snow globe.

Snape was moving the gift boxes, that were by the Christmas tree, out of his way. There was nothing under them. Harry wondered what was inside them?

Harry yelped, jumping back when he saw Aunt Marge’s bulldog, Ripper, leap through him. His hand reflexively went to his chest, as if that could stop his heart from beating out of his chest and yelped again when he felt pain flare through his palm.

He looked at where Ripper was bounding after his younger self. This time Harry didn’t do anything to prevent what he knew was about to happen. There was nothing he could do, like Snape had said a few minutes ago.

He just watched helplessly as young Harry ran around the Dursley’s backyard as fast as his little legs could carry, to get away from Ripper. He stopped at the fence, tears welled up in his eyes as he couldn’t find anywhere to go. Ripper kept coming at him, his loud bark seeming to resonate.

Harry closed his eyes briefly in defeat as he saw the small boy climbing the fence. The boy jumped over the fence when Ripper was seconds away from biting the boy’s leg.

The view shifted and suddenly Harry and Snape were looking at the other side of the fence, where Little Harry was curled on the ground, sobbing in pain. His right hand was at an awkward angle.

Suddenly the Christmas tree was back, the lights blinking brightly, snow still falling. Harry frowned, why did the memory stop? Why didn’t it show what happened next, if the purpose of the cursed snow globe was to show their worst memories and make them miserable?

Harry remembered what had happened after that, Mr. Ainsworth from next door had come running towards Harry after seeing him fall off the fence. He had called Aunt Petunia and offered to take Harry to a hospital, in his car. Aunt Petunia had agreed and left Dudley with Aunt Marge so she could come with them.

She had held Harry in her arms while Harry had cried all the way to the hospital. Accepting the comfort she had offered.

But when they had arrived home from the hospital, she had sent Harry to his cupboard without looking at him twice. He had just assumed that she had sent him away so that he could get some rest. Not understanding until years later that she had just been pretending to care about her nephew in front of Mr. Ainsworth.

He felt his heart twinge at the thought. He had been so pathetic, so naïve, thinking that she loved him despite the way she treated him.

Why wasn’t that included in the memory they just saw? Not that he wasn’t glad that Snape couldn’t witness that painful moment.

“Mr. Potter?” Snape said.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, he hadn’t realised that he had closed them. Snape was looking at him, his face carefully blank.

“Yes, sir?”

“Was that a real memory?”

“Um.. yeah it was. That was Aunt Marge’s dog, Ripper. Though she is not my Aunt. She is Dudley’s aunt.”

“I see.” He said eyebrows pulled together in thought, already looking away from Harry.

“How are your hands?” Snape asked.

“Huh, it’s fine. I mean that was years ago, it’s healed by now.” Harry replied, looking dumbly at the man.

Snape glared at him sharply.

“Of course, it’s healed, you dunderhead. I was talking about the burn on your hands.”

Harry flushed, his face burning in embarrassment. He just showed the man his hands, palms up.

“We need to get out of here before they get infected.” Snape said.

“How do we do that?” Harry asked.

Suddenly they were in another memory and Harry was looking at another younger version of Snape.