Disclaimer: I sadly do not own anything from the Harry Potter world!

A/N: This idea came to me whilst I was listening to songs on Youtube. I hope you enjoy!

I've got more on my mind that I've never told

I've got pain that you've never felt

I've got the scars, I can deal with it on my own

I've got stories that I'll never tell

But maybe it's just as well

'Cause you don't know me

You don't wanna know what's real

And I'm not sorry

For who I am

For what I feel

'Cause you don't know me

Allison Iraheta - You don't know me

Thirteen year old Harry James Potter, the boy who lived, stared down at his chess pieces in deep concentration, chewing thoughtfully on his lip as he pondered over his next move. His opponent, Madame Poppy Pomfrey, flicked her wand in the direction of the board, silently moving her piece to its assigned position. The game was merely a distraction for young Harry while they waited for his test results, in fact Poppy couldn't remember the last time she had played a game with her patients, and her eyes had never even seen a muggle chess board before. But Harry insisted it was much easier to play than the wizard version and wouldn't require her full attention, not to mention it was quieter. For once Harry had the undivided attention of an adult, someone that actually cared about him, not like those relatives of his. He wasn't supposed to end up with them, in all the letters he'd read left by his parents, not once had there been mention of him moving in with muggles, but of course he had no say in the matter, he rarely ever did.

Jumping his piece over Poppy's, he pushed hers to the side, grateful that in this version the pieces didn't get smashed in two. It was nearly the end of term, and his chest constricted painfully at the thought of returning back to the hell hole he had called his home from the age of one. His left hand absentmindedly went to the chain around his neck where his parents wedding rings hung, as close to his heart as they could get. He'd found them while cleaning out the Dursley's attic, in a wooden trunk that could only be opened by his handprint. "Not long now dear, then you can go get packed, I'm sure you're missing that family of yours." Shrugging his shoulders, he ignored the painful feeling in his stomach at the mention of his impending doom. At least the bruises faded before his annual check-up with the medi-witch, and glamour charms would work if all else failed, they hid the scars at least. It was wrong to lie, he knew that. But in this instance he supposed it would be alright, after his uncle had made him swear not to tell. He'd made it through the first three years of secondary school without a soul finding out, though the house-elves did help with that. They cleaned up his bed most nights, and made quick work of washing the sheets during the unfortunate accidents that sometimes happened as a deterrent against his uncle's cruel ways at night. It still haunted him hundreds of miles away. A small portion of his mind screamed for him to tell, to stop his ongoing conflict at the hands of his caregiver. That small portion was always overruled by a bigger part of his brain, the part that loved to remind him of what his uncle had said.

Nobody would believe him if he tried. It was his fault anyway, everything was. It had been drilled into his head from the age of one, and after twelve years, it had become just a normal part of life. The rules were the worst at home, so many rules. Too many to count on even both hands. The consequences for breaking said rules were unspeakably horrendous, but there's only so many times you can be hit with a belt buckle before it stops hurting, before you can just block out the pain. His professors must think it strange that he's the only student in the entire school to apologize even when it wasn't his doing, and that he's always first to clean something up, before they'd even asked for volunteers, old habitats die hard it seems. In detentions with Snape, he can clean a classroom worth of caldrons in under twenty minutes without magic, he rarely ever used magic outside of class time. Letting out a soft sigh, he shook away the haunting memories, pushing another piece across the board. He'd make sure they couldn't send him back, if it was the last thing he did.

Professor Severus Snape, commonly referred to as the greasy dungeon bat, swept along the stone corridor at top speed, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Why the headmaster had sent him to babysit the Potter brat in the hospital wing was anyone's guess, they clearly despised each other. Snape couldn't stand the arrogant way the golden boy held himself, too proud to ask for any help in his lessons, too proud to do anything, even magic. He never defended himself, merely waited for a teacher or fellow student to jump to his rescue, like he was much too good to even associate with the bullying scum of the earth, one of which just so happened to his godson. Too much like his blasted father, and those eyes, Lily's eyes, followed Snape with an eerie hollowness, as if they didn't feel, as if they didn't live. Which in itself was a stupid assumption, the damn boy probably had every game under the sun. It wouldn't surprise him if McGonagall's favoured Lion was spoilt to the high heavens, even more so than Draco, which was no easy task.

Slipping unseen into the nauseatingly sterile wing, he pressed himself into the shadows alongside his house rival head, Professor Minerva McGonagall. The child and Poppy appeared to playing some kind of muggle game that looks suspiciously like chess without the moving pieces, what was the fun in that? Potter, the thought of even thinking the boy's first name made him shudder, pushed his wooden piece in the path of two of Poppy's knocking them off to the side. She flicked her wand in the direction of the peculiar board, taking out a solitary knight of her opponent's. Snape couldn't tear his gaze away from the precise precision the teen used when calculating his next move. Those emerald orbs swept uncertainly over the remaining pieces, a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes hovering slightly on his lips before vanishing, the usual scowl settling back in its rightful place. Hopping over the remaining pieces in a slightly hypnotic manner, he knocked down the king, finally meeting the gaze of the medi-witch. "Checkmate!"

"Professor?" Snape's head shot up, how long had the boy known they were standing there?

"Yes dear?" Rolling his eyes at the sickly sweet tone his colleague used, he stepped from his place against the wall, dropping down onto a nearby bed. "Would you be able to give this to Hedwig please?" Harry's voice was uncertain, his eyes cast down at the bed sheets.

"Of course, I must hurry off to the feast anyway so it's no problem." Taking the letter from the pale boy, she waved off his thanks, disappearing out the door with a stern look to Snape. "Wouldn't you rather be at the feast sir? I'm fine with Madame Pomfrey." Stretching out his legs, he sent the boy a withering glance, itching to wipe the almost arrogant look off his former enemy's son's face. Poppy quickly intervened, rescuing the child from his Professor's wrath. "The results are in, and I'm afraid it's bad news."

A/N: So what did you think? Feel free to review and let me know how it was! If there's anything I can improve on let me know.

See you next post! :)

nicholosaur