“What on earth are you doing out here?” Snape hissed, his nostrils flaring. “Are you truly mad?!”

Harry pressed himself up against the back wall of the alleyway, his heart beating frantically.

“Of all the foolish, impulsive -” Snape cut himself off and huffed loudly. “You could have been dead for all I knew! You didn’t inform a single person that you left the house! Do you have any idea how worried -”

Snape abruptly stopped speaking again, and looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He was obviously angry - furious, really. Harry was completely dead. He was really in for it now, wasn’t he?

“How did you even find me?” he whispered.

“I have my ways,” Snape said cryptically. He remained at the entrance of the narrow alley. There was no way to slip past him unless Harry ran past and ducked under his arms, but he expected Snape would grab onto him if Harry tried to do that. He braced himself for Snape to continue his angry rant, but for some odd reason, the man remained silent. That was unexpected. Shouldn't Snape have started in on a cutting lecture by now?

But Snape hadn't really reacted at all, yet. He was just staring at Harry rather intensely, with a slight frown tugging at his lips. It wasn’t an irritated frown, though - well, not entirely. In fact, Harry got the unmistakable impression that Snape was a bit confused, and trying to work something out.

No one spoke for a long time, until Harry dared to break the silence. “Can you just leave?”

Snape gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to allow you to wander Muggle London alone at night! Are you truly deluded? You are coming back with me immediately! What prompted you to engage in such an utterly foolish stunt?”

“I was trying to get away from you and Malfoy, actually,” Harry growled. He expected Snape to snap out a biting reply, but once again, he didn’t say a word. He just continued to stare at Harry with that odd, inscrutable expression.

Snape slowly took a step forward.

Harry plunged a hand into his pocket and pointed his wand at Snape. “Don’t! Stay back!”

Snape muttered an oath under his breath and slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture. The expression on his face morphed into something new - a look that was equal parts horrified understanding and dread. “Merlin’s beard, I’m not going to hurt you, Potter! Put the wand away, now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry challenged. His hand was trembling. “Forgive me if I’m not so sure about that.”

Snape seemed to deflate somehow. He sighed very loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me take a different approach, then. If you cast a single spell, the Ministry will once again swoop down onto you for a violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. I’m sure you would rather not risk expulsion for a second time this summer?”

Shit. Snape was right - Harry couldn’t cast any spells without getting thrown out of Hogwarts, could he? Harry certainly wasn’t willing to risk that, and that meant Snape was free to do whatever he wished here…

Harry bit down hard on his lip, tried to calm his shaky breathing, and slowly placed his wand back in his pocket. Snape nodded at him. “Thank you.”

"Oh, fuck you," Harry spat, trying to mask his terror with anger. It was easier, less vulnerable, especially when he felt so out of control here. He didn’t have a single thing he could do to defend himself against Snape, who was bigger, stronger, and had more magic at his disposal. Harry was shaking, and hoped it was too dark for Snape to tell.

"I'm really not going to hurt you," Snape repeated, and if Harry didn't know better he'd say Snape was the scared one. His eyes were strangely wide. "Potter, why do you think -"

“Leave me alone,” Harry whispered. He felt defenceless without access to magic, and Snape's repeated assurances weren't ringing true. He had to be lulling Harry into a false sense of security. “Please.”

“No. That would be dangerous and negligent.”

Harry hugged himself with his arms and tried to make himself as small as possible. He watched Snape like a cornered animal, prepared in case he tried to step forward again, but the man didn’t move an inch.

“So, Potter,” Snape drawled, not budging from the exit. “What exactly was the plan here, hmm? Did you even have one?”

“Yes, actually,” Harry said defiantly. “I was going to go to Hermione’s family.”

“Miss Granger, who is currently abroad with her parents?”

“She said they’d be back by now!” Harry protested, even though he wasn’t entirely certain if Hermione had returned from France or not.

“Well, you clearly misunderstood her,” Snape said. He tutted, and shook his head. “Her house is empty. It is also, I might add, half an hour by foot in the opposite direction to where you were walking. If this was your plan, you really need to sort out your appalling sense of direction…”

Harry didn’t respond to that final comment - he was too focused on the first. “You were at Hermione’s house? What?”

“I was looking for you.”

It was strange to think that Snape had been at Hermione’s house. Or that he even knew where she lived, actually. Where else had Snape gone while looking for Harry? How many places had he been before he ended up on this particular street? Harry had been out for a few hours by now.

“How about we go back to Spinner’s End so we can talk somewhere a bit more civilised than a dark alleyway?” Snape suggested when Harry's silence dragged on for too long. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, we’re going to talk, are we?” Harry said, his words positively dripping with sarcasm. “Or are you just going to read my mind?”

Snape exhaled loudly. “I was never actually going to do it, Potter!”

“You sure sounded like you were planning to!” Harry said indignantly.

“It was an empty threat to make you confess!” Snape said, the frustration in his tone clear. “When you still refused to say anything, I did start to realise I could have misjudged the situation, but by the time I came to speak to you about it you’d vanished!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Harry shouted. “You were going to go through my memories, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said or did!”

“That was wrong of me.”

Harry fell silent, his mouth hanging open with shock. Had Snape seriously just admitted fault?

“I had no reason to believe you a liar outside of my pre-existing prejudices," Snape continued, expression inscrutable. Only the slight tension in his jaw alerted Harry to how reluctantly this apology was being given. "I spoke to Draco, and he told me that he framed you for stealing the necklace so that you would get in trouble. I have been rather unjust, I fear.”

Harry didn’t respond to any of that. Snape was only now realising he’d been unfair? What a joke.

“Potter, come on,” Snape pleaded. "You obviously can't stay out here. You realise that, don't you?"

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked, the volume of his voice climbing. “You hate me, I know you do! Stop acting like you give a damn about what happens to me and leave me here! I’ll manage by myself. I always have.”

“No. I am not going to leave,” Snape said for the third time.

Harry just wished more than anything that Snape would stop staring at him the way he was. Normally, he glowered at Harry like he was a bit of scum on the toe of his shoe. Not anymore. The look he was giving Harry now was something softer, kinder, and Harry absolutely hated it. He didn’t know what it meant, and that worried him.

“Harry.”

He jumped slightly. Had Harry just heard that properly? Had Snape seriously just used his first name?

“I… I first met Lily in the park one day,” Snape said finally, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Harry stiffened, and strained his ears to listen. “We were both nine years old at the time. I instantly knew she was a witch, because she simply had the most wonderful magic. She used to grow flowers in the palm of her hand, or jump from the highest point off a swing and just float down… you have her eyes, you know.”

A look of great pain had now crossed Snape’s face, and Harry didn’t dare to speak as the man trailed off, turning his face away from view, hiding in the harsh shadows cast by the streetlights. Harry inhaled shakily, his chest tight, and waited, praying Snape would continue. He was hanging onto his every word.

“What I mean to say from all this," Snape murmured, downcast eyes lifting to meet Harry's, "is that your mother was one of the only true friends I ever had in my life. She was nothing but kind to me despite my many flaws, and I would be dishonouring her memory if I allowed you to rot on the streets in the cold. In fact, I already have been dishonouring her by treating you so unfairly, and I owe both Lily and you an apology. I’m sorry, Harry.”

That got his attention. Not only had Snape actually apologised, but he’d called Harry by his first name again. That had never happened before. He wasn’t hearing things, then…

What was going on here? What could have possibly prompted Snape to abruptly realise how horrid he was? Surely it couldn’t just be the necklace incident?

“I’d appreciate it if you came back to Spinner’s End with me so we can talk properly,” he said quietly. “Things are not going to continue in the manner they have for the past week, I promise you. Can you please just come with me already?”

I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Harry thought wearily. As much of a bastard as Snape was, he seemed pretty insistent that he wasn’t going to abandon Harry in this alleyway. Besides, even before Snape had shown up, Harry had been considering heading back. A house containing two people he hated was still a house, after all. Sleeping rough wasn’t all that appealing.

But still, Harry was so scared to go back to Spinner’s End. Even after everything Snape had said, Harry still felt like he was in a world of trouble, and that Snape would flip the switch and go ballistic as soon as he was back in the privacy of his own home. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were always lying when they promised Harry wasn’t in trouble. He’d learnt very quickly never to believe them.

“Harry?”

His first name again. That broke Harry out of the anxious loop of his thoughts for a moment. The usage of his name seemed to have the unique ability to gain Harry’s undivided attention when it came from Snape.

“If I do come back, will you tell me more about my mum?” he asked in a small voice.

Snape sucked in a breath and pressed his lips together. His eyes seemed overbright, but Harry convinced himself it was just a trick of the light. A moment later, Snape gave Harry a tight nod, intentionally not looking at him. “I will endeavour to, yes.”

Harry’s hope instantly died. That wasn’t even a real, sincere promise, and that one small tidbit would be all he ever got -

Snape noticed Harry’s reaction and his shoulders slumped. “You have to understand that this is a very difficult matter for me to discuss. That is the reason I reacted in the manner which you witnessed when you confronted me the morning after visiting with Maureen. Lily’s life and death is an area of great pain for me, and I struggle to speak about her.”

Oh. Harry hadn’t considered things from that angle at all. He’d automatically assumed that Snape’s refusal to talk to Harry about his mum had been entirely motivated by spite; that he hated Harry so deeply that he wanted to keep any last scrap of his mother’s memory away just to hurt him. Harry had never considered that Snape’s reluctance actually came from grief, of all things. Seeing this display of such deep, raw emotion which was currently written all over Snape’s face was incredibly humanising, but it also made a strangely guilty sensation squirm in Harry’s stomach.

“If it’s too painful for you, I don’t want to make you talk about her -”

“No.” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “That is not what I meant. I will talk to you about Lily if you return with me now, I am simply asking for a bit of patience in the matter.”

“Well yeah, of course.” Harry would take any scrap of information about his mum that he could get, even if it took Snape a little time to manage it. He honestly couldn’t believe Snape was offering this at all.

Snape outstretched a hand, palm facing up. “Shall we return, then?”

“Fine,” Harry said reluctantly, rubbing his hands across his arms to try and suppress his shivers. He could do this - if he was going to hear stories about his mum at last, he would try again at Spinner’s End. That could make it worth it.

“Splendid.” Snape was visibly relieved. “I will now take your arm to Apparate us back, then.”

Harry stood frozen in place as Snape slowly walked down the alley towards him. He reached his outstretched hand and gently took hold of Harry’s bicep. Even though Harry knew Snape was going to take his arm, he still automatically tensed up. Adrenaline was pumping through him, and he felt jumpier than usual. He was relieved when Snape didn’t comment, but that strange, unidentifiable emotion that had been stirring in the depths of his eyes throughout their entire conversation seemed to intensify.

What was going on with Snape tonight? Why wasn’t he shouting and raging at Harry for running off after he’d been explicitly warned against it? Why was he being so… nice?

Moments later, Harry’s surroundings vanished, and he was once again overcome by the unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tight tube that he was entirely too big for. When it was finally over Harry’s legs crumpled out from under him, and it was only Snape’s steadying grasp of Harry’s arm that stopped him from toppling to the ground as he gasped for air, struggling to force down the looming nausea.

“You don’t Apparate often, do you?” Snape remarked.

Harry shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “No…first time was with…with Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Snape corrected absently, but it was clear his mind was far from the conversation. He was currently scanning the streets closely. “Come on, let’s go. It's not safe out here.”

He began to walk, casting nervous glances into shadowed corners as they made their way out of the side road Harry had Apparated into with Dumbledore the week before. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Snape hadn’t let go of his arm, but didn’t dare ask the man to. He supposed he wasn’t trusted to walk along by himself without doing another runner, and was scared asking to be released might make Snape finally explode and snap back to his usual angry self.

What the hell had Harry been thinking, agreeing to come back here? Had he suffered a temporary lapse of sanity?

A mounting sense of fear rose in Harry as they walked along, drawing closer to the house. What was Snape going to do to him when they got back inside? He’d clearly been looking for Harry quite intensively, and was surely furious that Harry had interrupted his evening… Perhaps Snape was just hiding it, waiting to flip out and smack Harry as soon as they were out of the watchful eyes of the neighbourhood. The Dursleys had been the same way. They’d never hurt Harry publicly, but in private…

Harry tried in vain to look for an escape, but how could he get away with Snape holding onto him? He was screwed. He’d had one runaway attempt and had completely and utterly butchered it.

All too soon, they reached the front door of Snape’s house, which Harry was escorted inside of. Snape locked the door behind him with his wand, and Harry’s mouth went dry. No escape. He was stuck in here with no way out…

“Go into the living room and wait for me,” Snape ordered, oblivious to Harry’s growing panic. “We still have a lot to talk about."

Talk. Yeah, right. Harry sat himself on the piece of furniture situated farthest from Snape’s usual high-backed armchair. The professor didn’t come in right away, which only worsened Harry’s anticipatory dread. Was Snape getting a cane to beat Harry with, or something worse? Some magical tool of punishment that inflicted pain Harry couldn’t even begin to imagine?

But when Snape finally walked into the room, causing Harry to jump a little, he was simply carrying two opaque white pots, each no bigger than the palm of his hand, which he set down on the coffee table before taking a seat in his armchair. He examined Harry closely with his dark eyes. They were like two black tunnels - you didn't have a clue what was happening on the other side.

“Before we discuss any of this running away business, I have something quite important that I need you to explain immediately,” Snape said, leaning forward slightly. “You see, when Draco informed me about the circumstances which forced your departure, I also found out something else. A secret that you’d asked him to keep from me.”

A sudden wave of nausea hit Harry as he realised what Snape was referring to.

“He’s lying,” he said quickly, desperately. This was worse than any of his nightmares. Snape couldn’t know about the bruises, he couldn’t. He was too smart, he’d easily put it all together!

“How can you know that Draco is lying if you haven’t heard what this secret is?”

Damn. Harry was really panicking, and it was making him sloppy. He had to think, he had to think quickly and come up with something convincing, but his brain was full of fizzling static and the words weren't coming -

“According to Draco,” Snape said carefully, “he walked into your bedroom a few days ago and saw a series of strange injuries on your back and torso, which you seemed very defensive about. Can you explain to me how you sustained these contusions?”

“I - I fell out of a tree,” he lied.

“Why would you feel the need to go to such drastic lengths to hide a tree-climbing accident?” Snape asked, giving him a piercing look. It felt as though he could see into Harry’s very soul. "Cease with the lying, Potter."

“I’m not!" Harry said desperately, digging his fingernails into his forearms, "I’m not lying!”

“You are,” Snape said quietly. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t. As I said to you earlier, I have no reason to distrust your word or to brand you a liar at the moment, and I would not like for that to change.”

That was completely unfair. This wasn’t lying, it was Harry doing what he had to so the Dursleys never found out how dangerously close to the truth Snape was!

“You informed Draco that you were involved in a biking accident, which is where you claimed the injuries came from,” Snape added, rhythmically tapping one finger against the arm of his chair. “Not that he knew what that was, of course… I doubt that’s what really occurred, however.”

“Malfoy doesn’t know what a bike is?” Harry asked blankly.

“No, he does not. Don’t change the subject,” Snape said sternly. “I need you to tell me what actually happened to you.”

“Nothing’s happened!” Harry shouted. Maybe, just maybe, if he screamed it loud enough, Snape would finally give up and let it go.

“These injuries can’t have appeared out of thin air,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “There has to be some sort of explanation, and I demand to hear it. What happened, Potter?"

“It’s none of your bloody business what happened to me!” Harry protested, glowering at Snape. “I’m fine, he’s exaggerating, so just leave it!”

“It is my business, as a matter of fact,” Snape said coolly, steepling his fingers, “and your reluctance to explain is only confirming my suspicions. As the person with authority over you currently, I need to ensure you are safe. Tell me what happened to you, and tell me now.”

Despite Snape’s stern tones, Harry was undeterred. He knew that any amount of irritation Snape was feeling was nothing in comparison to what would happen to him if he ratted out the Dursleys. “I - I got into a fight. Back in Little Whinging.”

“No, you didn’t!” Snape made a frustrated noise, got to his feet and began to pace.

“I did!” Harry said, praying the man would believe him. “I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to get in more trouble!”

“What have I said about falsehoods?” Snape hissed, halting his movement across the living room. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Harry. His face was even sterner than it had been the time Harry had thrown a firework in Goyle's cauldron to steal Polyjuice ingredients. “I know you’re not telling the truth, it’s written all over your face!"

He took a few steps forward, and crouched down so his face was level with Harry's, so Harry had no choice but to meet Snape's dark, fervent eyes. "Your reluctance to explain coupled with your general behaviour over this past week has told me almost everything I need to know, do you realise that? Now are you going to say what we both know happened here, or do I have to come out and say it for you?”

“You don’t have to say anything because there’s nothing to say!” Harry’s heart was pounding in his ears as the situation continued to spin further and further out of his control. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t -

“Harry,” Snape said in that awful, gentle voice, using his first name once again. “Your relatives were the ones who hurt you, weren’t they?”

Harry didn’t respond, he could feel himself shaking, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, not meeting Snape’s eyes, because he knew. Snape, of all people, knew Harry’s darkest secret.

“I need you to tell me, Harry,” Snape said in a strained voice. “Am I right?”

Wordlessly, finally, he nodded, barely registering the way Snape crumpled in on himself after his confirmation, too consumed by the torrent of his own emotions. After all, what was the point in lying anymore? The truth was out, it was weighing down on Harry’s shoulders like heavy chains, and he didn’t know how he was expected to carry it.

And now Snape knew that Harry was pathetic, that his relatives hated him. What if he told all the Slytherins? What if Snape used it as a weapon in his arsenal of verbal taunts? Harry didn’t think he could bear that, he just couldn’t. What was he going to do now? Harry couldn’t breathe, it felt like his chest was caving in on him and there wasn’t a single molecule of oxygen travelling to his head, he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die -

“Take a deep breath,” Snape said. He’d put his hands on Harry’s forearms. When had that happened? “Breathe in and out with me.” Snape started inhaling and exhaling in a very exaggerated manner. “Copy me.”

At first, Harry thought it was slightly stupid, because nothing could ever dislodge what felt like a rock sitting directly in the centre of his chest. He copied Snape all the same, though, since Harry thought if he couldn’t get his lungs to start working properly soon, he would collapse.

To his immense shock, Harry was wrong. Eventually, somehow, his breathing slowed and his heart calmed, leaving Harry feeling a lot less like he was going to die, yet incredibly embarrassed. He yanked his arms away and stared at a fixed point on the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible while he waited for Snape to taunt him somehow over that spectacle. Shockingly, he didn’t say a word. He just kept watching.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered eventually, utterly mortified.

“There is no need to apologise,” Snape said briskly. Harry couldn’t read his face because he refused to look up until the fierce burning in his cheeks died down. “This sort of discussion would send anyone into a panic attack, I believe. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

A panic attack? Harry had never heard his weird breathing problem referred to as such before. He supposed that made sense as a descriptor, since whenever Harry couldn’t breathe, the sensation was accompanied by a feeling of all-consuming anxiety and dread. Filled with a sudden rising disgust with himself, Harry slumped back into the sofa, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't believe that had just happened in front of Snape. How completely and utterly humiliating…

But what happened now? Where did you even go after something like this got brought out into the open? Harry felt well and truly sick to his stomach.

At long last, Snape cleared his throat. “I need to see these injuries.”

“Oh, hell no!” Harry said, throwing himself to the other side of the sofa and putting his arms up defensively, feeling the fear flood straight back.

“Harry…”

“No!” he hissed. “I’m fine, just leave it!”

“I can help,” Snape said, gesturing to the pots on his table. They had to be potions, then. “And I need to look at them so I can properly ascertain their severity. Diagnostic Charms can only take you so far.”

I’ve been here ages, now, they barely hurt anymore!” Harry lied.

“I cannot allow you to remain hurt without doing something about it,” Snape said, moving closer. “The injuries could be infected, or something that can’t heal without medical intervention -”

“Why do you even care?” Harry shouted, terror and disgust practically choking him. “You’ve been nothing but awful to me the whole time you’ve known me, what’s changed?! Why do you suddenly care about any of this?”

He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that this was Snape he was shouting at. A sudden surge of anxiety hit him. What on earth was he thinking? Harry was almost certainly getting on Snape’s last nerve, especially since he’d just run away, and he was only making things worse, getting himself into more trouble. What was Snape going to do to Harry now?

Snape seemed to notice Harry’s anxious reaction and his shoulders stiffened. “You won’t be in trouble for getting upset. In fact, if shouting at me makes this process easier for you, feel free to carry on.”

“There isn’t going to be a process because you’re not seeing them!” he said angrily. “It’s not like I’m on death’s door, it’s just a couple of bruises! I’m fine!

“I need to see them so I can be assured of that and treat the injuries as needed,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “I have a duty of care, you realise? I promise you that I will be as quick as possible.”

“I don’t want to.”

Snape sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. “Do you want me to try and track down Madam Pomfrey so she can do it instead? I believe she is currently holidaying in Ibiza, but she would in all likelihood come over here and -”

“I don’t want her seeing anything either!” Harry protested hotly.

“Your choice is either myself or Madam Pomfrey,” Snape said firmly. “You get to decide who, but somebody has to look at these injuries and treat them.”

“I hate you,” Harry growled, bunching his hands into fists.

“You can hate me all you like, but it does not change what needs to happen,” Snape said tonelessly.

“You’re a stupid bastard, and you can fuck off.”

That sort of disrespect normally would have made Snape completely lose it, which is what Harry desperately wanted to happen. He knew how to deal with Snape when he was angry, not when he was like this. To his immense shock, Snape’s expression didn’t even flicker. He remained collected as he expectantly waited for Harry to choose.

“How the hell are you so calm?” Harry demanded, slamming his palm onto the sofa arm as his frustrations boiled over. “You’ve spent all week having a go at me if I so much as look at you funny, and suddenly you’re in complete control of your emotions? How?!”

“Occlumency,” Snape said simply.

Harry frowned. “Ocky-what?”

“Occlumency,” Snape repeated in a flat voice devoid of inflection. “It’s a form of mental arts I am currently employing which assists me with emotional regulation.”

“Oh." Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I’ve never heard of that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to have,” Snape said. Harry couldn’t work out if that was meant to be an insult or not. “If you’d like, I can tell you more about it after your injuries have been seen to.”

Harry groaned. “They’re really not that bad! Just drop it already!”

“I am not going to drop it!” Snape said fiercely. “Harry, I understand this is the last thing you want to happen, but nonetheless, it is happening. This is by no means a pleasant matter for either one of us, and I would also like for this to be done with, but I cannot let this go until I make sure your health is attended to. Dragging this out is not going to make this any easier, so I would highly recommend you stop fighting me and make your decision. Would you like me to deal with your injuries, or would you like me to try and find Madam Pomfrey so she can do it?”

Harry pressed his lips together and stared at his hands, which were trembling. He knew, deep down, that no matter how much he railed against Snape there was just no getting out of this. He was going to make Harry show someone, and now all there was to do was to decide who.

His immediate instinct was to ask for Madam Pomfrey, but Harry had to dismiss that idea rather quickly. If she was on holiday, he’d feel terrible about dragging her away to deal with him. Besides, she didn’t know about the Dursleys right now, but Snape did. Harry would really prefer to limit the number of people who did and didn’t know about his home life. Right now, it was only Snape, and Harry would vastly prefer to keep things that way.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You, then.”

If Snape was surprised by Harry’s answer, he didn’t show it. “Alright. I need you to remove your shirt.”

Harry nodded, biting down on his lip so hard it drew blood. He hated this so much, but he just needed to get it over with. Just do it, like ripping off a plaster. It was over more quickly if you didn’t drag it out, right?

But it was so difficult for Harry to motivate his hands to move to his shirt and pull it off over his head, leaving his overly skinny frame and the half-healed injuries that marked it visible to Snape’s prying eyes. He felt so awfully, horribly exposed, and screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at Snape; Harry was terrified of seeing pity if he dared to do so.

Snape didn’t say anything at first. Harry eventually opened his eyes but didn’t look at the other man. While Snape cast some sort of spell, which made a piece of parchment appear in the air next to him, Harry focused his attention on a small smudge of soot on one of the skirting boards by the fireplace. It looked a little bit like a star.

Finally, Snape took a deep breath in. “Come forward and sit on the ottoman so I can apply this healing salve and some bruise balm. It will get rid of these bruises and end any residual pain.”

His tone was calm and clinical. Harry breathed out - that was almost bearable. He stood up from the sofa and settled himself on the ottoman with his back to Snape, staring at the ugly curtains dully while Snape opened the white pots sitting on the coffee table. The lids clicked as they popped off.

He flinched as Snape’s fingers started rubbing something cold into a bruise on Harry’s shoulder, but he was very gentle. Still, Harry was unable to relax. He dug his fingers into the ottoman and stared off, wishing he were anywhere else, doing anything else, hating it even more when Snape took him by the shoulders and turned him around to heal the bruises on his ribs. Harry had to look at Snape, then, but there was no pity, or disgust, or anything, really, on Snape’s face, which was a blessing. It was a blank mask, and Harry could almost pretend like he was staring at the empty, lifeless face of a doll instead of Professor Snape, a man he hated who was currently dealing with Harry’s darkest secret.

And Snape was right - his potions helped. Harry wasn’t in pain for the first time since he’d left Hogwarts for the summer. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be able to move his body without gingerly working around a sore injury. Harry rolled his shoulders, marvelling as his skin didn’t tug painfully between his shoulder blades from the scab that had formed over a large scrape that he’d gotten when Dudley had shoved him into the corner of a table. He could take a deep breath in without the bruise on his ribcage from a door handle Vernon had shoved him up against throbbing unpleasantly. It was remarkable.

Once Snape was done, he pressed the pots into Harry’s hands. “Are there more injuries below your waist that you’d like to go and take care of in the bathroom?”

Harry nodded mutely, grateful for this one modicum of privacy amongst everything.

“Come back when you’re done,” Snape called as Harry walked out of the room, shirt clenched tightly in his fist. “I’ll be up to check on you if you don’t. Our discussion isn’t over.”

Of course it isn’t, he thought bitterly. Was this torment ever going to end?

When Harry had taken care of the last couple of injuries, he donned his shirt again. It stuck to his skin where Snape had applied his salves. God, Harry did not want to go back down there. He considered hiding in the bathroom, but Snape had said he’d be up to check on Harry if he took too long, and he didn’t want that to happen, either…

Reluctantly, Harry walked back into the living room with the pots in his hands, passed them back to Snape and sat back down on the sofa with his knees folded into his chest. Snape moved from his armchair to sit on the other end of the sofa, too close to Harry for comfort. The air was thick with tension.

“This has been going on a while, I presume?” Snape asked.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Harry muttered. “You’ll just use it against me.”

“I would never use this against you.”

“Oh, really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “After the way you’ve treated me? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, sir.”

Snape sighed heavily. “I deserve that. You have no reason to trust me, of course... I can promise you, however, as someone who has had similar life experiences as you, I would never use this against you. Never.”

That caught Harry off guard. “Similar life experiences?”

Snape hesitated, and took in a halting breath. “My father… well, my father was a deeply unpleasant man.”

“Oh.”

Harry immediately understood what Snape was alluding to, and tried not to look too visibly shocked. Why would Snape tell Harry, somebody he utterly despised, something that personal? The only explanation Harry could think up was that Snape genuinely wanted Harry to trust his word; so much so that he’d tell Harry something so private.

But why? Why did he care?

“I really do understand what you’re going through, Harry,” Snape said earnestly. “And I will keep your confidence. I thought you should know that, if it helps you feel more comfortable speaking to me."

“I don’t want to talk at all,” Harry whispered. “It won’t help, it just gets you in more trouble.”

Don’t ask questions. The most important of Aunt Petunia’s rules, which Snape was breaking. You just didn’t speak of these things! They were private!

“How would it get you in more trouble?” Snape asked, leaning forward.

“It did the last time I told someone,” he said, thinking all the way back to the flurry of social services when he was six, and the subsequent starvation and cupboard confinement. Harry wasn’t stupid enough to get himself into that kind of trouble again.

“Rest assured, nothing you say here will get you in trouble with your relatives,” Snape said. “I am simply aware of the fact that these things fester if they aren’t addressed, so talking would be beneficial to your mental health. Additionally, I require some kind of detail about their treatment of you so I can ensure you do not ever have to return to live with them.”

The hope blossoming in Harry’s chest was almost sickeningly cloying. “Are you serious? I might not have to go back?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Snape growled. His calm exterior wavered for a moment, to be replaced by a look of dark, seething hatred. For the first time in his life, Harry could sit here and feel truly certain none of that was aimed at him, though. “I have removed children facing similar circumstances from their homes, Mr Potter, and I should be able to do the same for you if you simply provide me with the necessary evidence. The Dursleys are additionally at a significant disadvantage due to their status as Muggles, which will stack the deck against them in any sort of legal battle.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t fight to keep me,” Harry said with an odd, slightly hysterical chuckle. “They can’t stand me, I think they’re more likely to throw a party or something…”

Snape didn’t reply to that - if anything, the slightly dangerous edge he had to him intensified. “As I said. Simply tell me what you experienced under their appalling rendition of care, and I can start the process.”

Harry wanted to, he really did. But overshadowing the hope of escape was an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and weariness. The emotional toll of the night was too much, and Harry had an awful burning sensation behind his eyes that alarmed him to potential oncoming tears. Snape couldn’t see him cry - he’d already seen enough of Harry’s emotional baggage for a lifetime. Besides, Harry didn't trust Snape, he just couldn't, and so he couldn't bring himself to talk about anything to do with the Dursleys.

“Can’t we do all this another time?” he asked finally, struggling to push down the surge of feelings. “I’m really tired, sir, I’d just like to go to my room and rest…”

“Very well, but I think it would be best for you and Draco to remain separate for the time being,” Snape said. “He’s currently in the bedroom either contemplating his actions or sleeping, as it’s rather late. He will be sufficiently punished for his absolutely abhorrent behaviour today, I can assure you.”

Harry scrunched up the hem of his shirt and stared at the floor.

“Something’s wrong,” Snape said flatly.

“No, it’s nothing -”

“What?” Snape’s voice cut across him. “Tell me, now.”

“Just - don’t be too hard on him, alright?” Harry mumbled. “What he did was bad, but…”

Something unpleasant settled over Snape’s features. “You seem very convinced I am going to hurt either you or Draco.”

Harry cringed. “I don’t mean it like that, I just -”

“You meant it in exactly the way I interpreted it,” Snape said through gritted teeth. His shoulders were tense. “Do not lie to me. You think I’d treat the two of you in the same manner as those despicable Muggles.”

“It’s just on my mind, obviously!” Harry hissed, shrinking back slightly from Snape. His tone was utterly venomous, and he looked like he wanted to punch something. “And you get kind of scary when you’re angry, okay? You can’t blame me for thinking you might do something!”

Snape sighed heavily, and some of the anger faded from his face. A general air of haggardness replaced it. “Considering our history and your upbringing, you’re right - I cannot blame you whatsoever.”

Considering your upbringing. Harry grimaced, his emotions surging to almost unmanageable levels once again. Snape knew about his upbringing. It was positively unbearable to contemplate.

"Harry."

He was never going to get used to Snape using his first name. The man came closer and fixed him with a fervent, intense expression. "Let me make this clear to you now. I am not going to hit you or cast any sort of spell to hurt you, no matter how angry I am. I haven't done it this week, have I? There has been more than one instance where I was rather furious, too.”

"You put a Silencing Charm on me this morning," Harry muttered, crossing his arms. He was still rather cross about that, even if it hadn’t actually hurt, per se.

Snape glanced to one side. "Not my best decision, I will confess. I regretted it rather quickly, which is why I came out into the garden to remove it as soon as you left the kitchen. I apologise, and give you my word I will not cast that on you again."

Harry's jaw dropped, despite himself. That apology had come surprisingly easily…

And in a way, that Silencing Charm had saved his bacon. He had been seconds away from calling Snape a series of very foul and rude names that certainly would have merited a worse punishment than being unable to talk for ten minutes.

"I understand it will take time to realise that you are safe here," Snape said in a strangely calm and measured voice, "so for now, I will simply give you my word. I will not be violent towards you or Draco, no matter what you do or how angry I am. It completely goes against my principles."

Harry nodded, pushing down the choked sensation in his throat. Why did he have to be so emotional tonight? What was wrong with him?

"If I'm not allowed in the bedroom, where do I sleep?" Harry asked in a small voice. He was desperate to get away and be alone.

"You will use my bedroom for tonight."

“What?” Harry’s jaw dropped. “But where will you sleep?”

“Here,” Snape said, gesturing to the sofa.

“No, you don’t have to do that!” Harry said, feeling slightly horrified. “I can sleep on a sofa - I fall asleep anywhere, it’s really fine…”

“I’d rather be downstairs so I can hear if you try to leave again, Potter,” Snape said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Harry’s cheeks flushed - clearly his runaway attempt had not been forgotten…

“We’ll certainly be talking about that in the morning,” Snape said sharply, “and the rest. But for now, you need to eat something, and then have a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry mumbled. Whenever he got upset, his appetite vanished.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Snape said, pointing at the door. “This is non-negotiable. Come on, into the kitchen.”

Defeated, Harry stood up and followed Snape out into the kitchen and sat back as the man prepared a sandwich for him. His shoulders slumped, and he ran one finger over the nicked and scratched wood of the table.

To his horror, Harry felt tears begin to pool in his eyes. Harry didn’t even know why he was crying, specifically. He just felt consumed by a vortex of grief, and terror, and worst of all, hope, a desperate, yearning hope that his hellish summers at the Dursleys stood a chance of being over forever, all while the desire to believe that Snape was telling the truth about helping him was battling against the natural distrust he had for the man. All of it was just too much, and Harry couldn’t hold the emotions inside him anymore. He pressed his lips tightly together to try and hold back the tears, but despite his best efforts, a few spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. Before he had time to wipe them away, Snape turned around from the kitchen counter. He froze, staring at Harry with what could only be described as alarm. It would have been a little funny if Harry didn’t feel so utterly wretched.

Harry ducked his head as Snape started walking over, not wanting him to see any more embarrassing outburst of emotions while he did his best to blink away the remaining wetness in his eyes. Snape placed the plate of food down in front of Harry and tapped the kitchen table with his wand. A box of tissues appeared, which he slid towards Harry.

Mercifully, Snape didn’t say anything, positive or negative. Platitudes would have been lost on Harry, either way - nothing in the world could make him feel better at that moment. Snape somehow seemed to understand that. He stood silently behind Harry while he viciously scrubbed at his face with a tissue before struggling through the sandwich. He took deep, gasping breaths in a vain attempt to regain control of himself so no more tears would escape, and scrunched the tissue up into a crumpled ball in his fist. When Harry had at last finished eating, the food tasteless and chalk-like in his mouth, he stood up and walked over to the bin to throw the ragged tissue away. Harry didn’t return to the table straight away, though. Instead, he stared into the pitch black garden beyond, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter tightly, trying to squish all of his emotions into a small box he could lock away in the darkest recesses of his mind. His eyes ached.

“Are you ready to go upstairs?” Snape asked after about a minute.

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak as he turned around to follow Snape through the hallway and up the staircase. There was no light coming from the gap beneath Malfoy’s door; he was probably asleep, then.

Snape pushed open the door to the one room in his house that Harry had never entered - Snape’s bedroom. Harry had been expressly forbidden from going in here at the beginning of his stay, so it felt completely wrong to step foot across the threshold.

When Snape turned the lights on, Harry’s immediate thought was that this place did not look lived in. There were no decorations, no photographs, no haphazard piles of papers. The whole room was really quite spartan with just a bed covered by a plain white duvet, a wardrobe and a dresser. The emptiness reminded Harry a little of the spare bedroom at Privet Drive, which was rarely used outside of Aunt Marge’s sparse visits.

The spare room that Harry may never see again if Harry’s summers in Little Whinging were really, truly coming to an end.

Harry sucked in a breath and dug his fingernails into his palms. No matter what Snape claimed, he just couldn’t truly believe that was going to happen. Harry had already asked Dumbledore at the end of first year if he could live elsewhere, and he’d refused Harry’s request because of that blood protection that kept him safe from Voldemort. Harry had even told the bloody Minister for Magic himself that he never wanted to go back to Privet Drive, and he’d also dismissed Harry immediately. No one ever cared enough to actually help Harry when he did ask, so what was the point in asking? He’d bet Snape would give up by tomorrow morning.

No one ever cared. No one ever bothered, and they never would.

“I’ve conjured some nightclothes for you,” Snape said, interrupting Harry’s musings. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

He didn’t move immediately - he was watching Harry still, and irritation surged through him.

“You don’t have to hover,” Harry snapped. He felt very embarrassed over the tears, and anger was far easier to manage than mortification. “I’m not an invalid.”

Snape nodded. “Of course not. Well - goodbye, then.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as Snape was gone, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. Finally the tears flowed in earnest, and he didn't bother to try and push them down this time. He was very good at crying without sound after all those years at Privet Drive, and Harry thought he'd earned the right to a few tears. After all, this had quite possibly been the worst day of his life.

Unseen by Harry, a box of tissues appeared on top of the dresser. He convinced himself they'd been there all along.