You Didn't Have To

by cutie-tiger

Summary: Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley's, but, when rescued, won't tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.

Disclaimer: I believe it common courtesy to state that Harry Potter is not mine, and that this is purely fanfiction.

Chapter Two

Harry's work in the garden had, naturally, been deemed unacceptable by Vernon, along with the fact he had not completed his list of chores, so he was, once again, locked in the cupboard under the stairs nursing bruises, welts and many broken bones. He'd tried to fight back, he really had, but when you have a ten tonne muggle bearing down on you with a whip it can be quite difficult.

It had been worse this time. Vernon had been drunk, and not just drunk, he had been totally off of his rocker. He could smell it on his breath. He could also tell from how clumsy his movements had been. Vernon had come to drag Harry out of his cupboard to perform the beating, however, he had managed to bang his head on the doorframe. This did not body well for Harry, because it only served to enrage Vernon further, and the beating had been particularly vicious.

He had whipped Harry for a long time, aiming particularly for his head. Harry had been eternally grateful that he had thought to remove his glasses before his uncle returned home. After the beating he had dragged Harry up by the collar.

'Send off the first of those letters, boy, NOW,' he had practically screamed in Harry's face.

Harry had hastened to comply, stumbling out to the shed, wiping the blood from his eyes. He had nearly fallen into the shed, but had been careful not to let any blood get on Hedwig's snowy white feathers. He didn't want any of the Order to become concerned. He didn't want to be a burden to anyone and he certainly didn't want to return to Grimmauld Place, and face memories of Sirius. He told Hedwig she was a wonderful owl as he strapped the first of many identical letters to her leg and opened the door to let her fly out, she squeezed her talons on his arm as she took flight, almost as if she were telling him that she understood that he had to be strong.

That night he had slept fitfully, awakening often to dreams of Sirius falling through the veil. He knew that these were not dreams sent to him by Voldemort, but dreams sent to him by his subconscious, which would not let him forget, even in sleep, the fate which Sirius had befallen because of him.

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The following weeks of his holiday passed in much the same manner. Harry was woken up by his Aunt screaming in the morning and rolled over in a great deal of pain to grudgingly begin another day of hard labour, with only a beating at the end of the day as a reward.

Every day he prayed that his uncle had not been drinking, because on those days the beatings were always worse, and he was always more inclined to use the whip.

The Dursley's had seemingly decided that Harry was not worthy of their food, and he was having to survive on three pieces of bread and several litres of water a day. Harry could tell he was losing weight rapidly, there was no way he couldn't be with the amount of forced labour he was doing every day.

The only things that really kept Harry going were thoughts of Sirius, and determination that he would never get close to anyone or allow anyone to get hurt the way that Sirius had. As the days had passed with the endless chores he had attempted to decipher how he felt about Sirius' death, however, he had reached only one conclusion, and that was that his godfather's death had altered his perception of life, he now saw things differently. He could not identify quite how they were different, but he knew that something within him had changed.

Harry's nights were no more restful than his days. Every night without exception he would wake screaming, sometimes he would be gripping his thin rag in a death grip, sometimes there would be silent tears that he could not bring himself to shed in his waking hours running down his cheeks. He would never show the weakness of crying around anyone, it was a luxury he could not afford. He needed to become hardened to defeat Voldemort, to get his revenge on the one that had taken so much from him.

Every three days he would be sent out to the shed to send off another of the identical letters to Hedwig. He was always careful to get no blood on the letter or his owl. Every time he went to her she looked at him with mounting concern. It was almost as if she was begging him to ask for help.

But he couldn't, there was nothing he could do. This was his life.

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One particular night Harry could sense that something was different. He lay in his cupboard, waiting for the inevitable beating, trying to decipher what could be so much different about this particular day.

Then he realised.

Today was his sixteenth birthday.

If Vernon Dursley had remembered, he would not be impressed.

Harry soon realised he wouldn't have much longer to wait to find out, as he heard the front door click open. He could clearly hear his uncle stumble down the hall and could tell, without even smelling his breath, that he was utterly intoxicated. Within seconds his cupboard door was slammed open.

'Potter,' he breathed, it would have been almost like his deceptively calm tone, but it was worse, this tone spoke of utter malevolence, thinly veiled.

'Potter, Potter, Potter,' he continued. Harry was beginning to wonder what he was getting at.

'Potter, Potter, Potter,' be breathed, 'Happy Birthday, Potter.'

That was one of the last things that Harry had expected to come from his uncles mouth. He tried to hide his utter confusion while also biting back the fear he felt rise within him as he saw an extremely malicious smile adorning his uncle's face.

'I think it's time I gave you your birthday present, Potter'.

Harry new at this point that something was extremely wrong. Vernon Dursley would never give him a desirable birthday present. Dursley was breathing heavily, watching Harry with a twinkle of malice in his eyes, the complete opposite of the caring twinkle to be found in Dumbledore's eyes. Harry couldn't decide which eyes he was more scared of, those with a malicious twinkle, or those with glowing red slits. It was a tough call.

'I got you a lovely belt, Potter, with a nice large buckle'.

Vernon paused, as though waiting for a reply, Harry simply sat still, staring at him intently, hardly daring to even breathe. That belt was big, and the buckle was one of the biggest he'd ever seen, probably a good six centimetres across, and built very heavily. It would have easily set off the metal detectors at the airport. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew what it was for, and he knew that it would be painful, more painful, even, than the whip.

'Well, Potter, say thank you, accept your gift graciously,' there was now sort of an insane giggle coming from Vernon, he sounded as is he had completely gone round the bend. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he would die on this night.

Harry's Gryffindor courage chose that moment to rear up, and despite his protesting injury's, he drew himself up as tall as his cupboard would allow. He inclined his head.

'Uncle Vernon.'

'Say thank you, you ungrateful boy,' Vernon was now back to deceptively calm tone.

'No.'

It was a simple word, but it released a torrent of fury from within Uncle Verson. With a howl of rage he lunged into the cupboard, grabbing Harry by his shirt collar and forcing him backwards into his small cupboard. He began to hit him around his head, his knuckles colliding forcefully with Harry's nose causing Harry to fall backwards. Harry had heard and distinct crack, and, from the blood pouring out of his nose, it was easy to tell that it was broken.

Harry tried valiantly to struggle against Vernon, but in his malnourished and weakened state, there was no way he could fight against the big, beefy man. Vernon quickly began to beat him with the belt, and Harry cringed away. This belt hurt worse than anything he had been beaten with before. He could feel welts rising on his skin, could feel the buckle cutting through his flesh, drawing blood. He could feel the blood leaking from his body, and he could feel himself weakening as his head was banged repeatedly on the floor. When Vernon began kicking his chest, Harry distinctly felt a couple of his ribs snap, but could not dwell on it as he continued to put up his weak, ineffective struggle.

Mercifully, unconsciousness claimed him soon after Vernon moved to his chest, and when he realised Harry could no longer feel the pain he was inflicting he swung the door closed with a harsh bang. Vernon made it upstairs and washed all of the blood off, before hiding the belt and collapsing into bed beside Petunia.

Not one person in Number Four, Privet Drive, noticed that today was the day Harry was meant to have sent Hedwig away with the next of the letters.

This fact didn't escape Hedwig's notice, and when she realised that her owner was not coming, not even covered in blood, to send her to Dumbledore, she pushed her way through the shed door, that luckily Harry had forgotten to lock after his latest stint of forced labour in the garden. Had Vernon discovered this it would have almost certainly resulted in another beating for her young master.

That night Hedwig flew faster than she ever had, winging her way swiftly towards Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in search of help for her young master.

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Severus Snape was sitting in his chair at the head table, enjoying the solitude that came with being the first to eat breakfast in the early morning hours. During the summer holiday's the house elves served each of the remaining members of staff with whatever happened to appeal to the staff at that given point in time. This was not a very big task, because most of the staff spent the majority of their holidays with their family or staying at their summer residence only returning a week before the students. Only Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Hagrid, Trelawney and Sinistra were staying at Hogwarts over the break, along with the Headmaster, naturally, and, of course, Filch.

During his blissfully quiet mornings sitting alone to eat his breakfast, without the incessant chatter of hormonal brats, and without Minerva and Pomona continually attempting to make small talk with him so that he didn't feel left out, Severus would often reflect on just how nice quiet was, and would often call into question his reasons for being a teacher. He always came to same conclusion, that it was protection from the Dark Lord that he sought, yet there was always something, lurking just out of sight in his mind. This something was almost like doubt. He had maintained, throughout his entire adult life, that he disliked teaching, and could think of nothing less desirable than having to preside over a bunch of young brats with snot dribbling out of their noses.

But now, with the war escalating, and the Dark Lord becoming so bold as to enter into the Ministry of Magic, there was no question as to whether the war would be over, one way or another, within the following two years, probably even within the coming year. If, as Dumbledore so fully believed, the Potter spawn would be the one to bring the reign of the Dark Lord to an end, then his life as he knew it would be over. He would have to re-evaluate, he would have an opportunity to leave teaching for good. But could he do it? He was loyal to Dumbledore, he knew that, and he knew how hard it was to find a competent potions master, willing to teach classes filled with children with nearly no talent for the subtle art. There was another reason he didn't know if he would leave, but he wouldn't admit it. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, he had found some sense of stability within the old castle's walls. They had been there in hard times of his life, and had always shielded him from the worst of the backlash coming from public opinion of him. He didn't know if was ready to leave the place he had come to call his home. He remembered how hard it had been the first time, when he had graduated, having to leave the castle walls and never look back. As soon as he had been out of the protection, that very night, his abusive, drunken stepfather had had him marked. But he hadn't fought, he had been to distraught over losing his home, he had almost welcomed the pain of being marked as a distraction from his loss. It was that willingness to receive the mark at the time that made him such a good spy now.

Another reason Snape wanted to stay at the castle was the opportunity to shield other children from growing up in an abusive household as he had. Many children had been relocated to a relative or a friend's house, because of his careful, watchful eye. He was considered, by the other professors, to be the most knowledgeable person in the castle on the subject of child abuse. But he never went about it in a kind way. He didn't need the students thinking that he was going soft because he cared about them. It was in his job description, was the phrase he used to rationalise his actions to himself, it had nothing to do with being kind or sympathetic, the walls he had built around himself wouldn't allow that to happen.

Severus Snape believed he was cruel and heartless, because that was a way to protect himself. The walls he had built within himself to hide any emotions from the outside world were not dissimilar to the walls of Hogwarts, which hid him from the outside world.

Snape was startled out of his someone depressing musings by a commotion as an exhausted looking snowy white owl came flying through the Great Hall at top speed, winging its way towards the head table. He recognised the owl immediately, how could it be anyone but Potter's, but the odd thing was that it was carrying no letter.

Seeing Potter's owl wasn't an odd occurrence, indeed, it seemed to arrive just as he was leaving the Hall and Albus was arriving every three days. It was early than usual today, and not bearing one of the identical letters the Potter brat had been sending every three days. He, personally, was disgusted, that Potter could not seem to be bothered scrawling more than a few words every three days to let them know he was alright, he would have thought that the boy had used a duplicating charm if he hadn't known any better.

If it hadn't been for the fact that he was sure owls couldn't show emotion, he would have been sure that this one looked almost panicked and concerned, but that was ridiculous.

He steeled his expression as the owl flew straight at him, looking as if it was about to dive bomb him. This slowed the owl enough that it came to a stop before him on the table, but it still looked exceedingly anxious.

'What do you want?' he enquired in a harsh tone. He couldn't quite believe that he was asking a question of an owl. Potter's owl of all owls.

'If you have no message to deliver kindly refrain from entering the Great Hall and disturbing my meal at this hour in the morning,' again, why was he talking to an animal that was unlikely to understand a word he said?

This seemed to frustrate the owl, as she began to squawk loudly and flap her wings about in a frenzy, she began trying to pick at his hands to gain his attention.

'Kindly do not pick at my hands, owl, I require them for my profession,' he swatted at the owl gently, in an attempt to discourage her from any further hysterics. He began to scowl at the owl as it sent his glass of pumpkin juice flying across the table.

Albus, of course, chose that opportune moment to enter the hall.

'Severus,' he called, 'whatever is that awful racket?'

Severus didn't need to answer, as Dumbledore caught sight of Hedwig causing a raucous at the head table.

Hedwig had noticed Dumbledore's exclamation, and, seeing someone that she thought might hold a modicum more concern for the welfare of her human, she flew off quickly towards him. Holding up a hand to placate to frenzied owl, Dumbledore allowed her to land on his other arm. Hedwig paused briefly, to see if perhaps this wizard had worked out the reason for her behaviour.

'Severus, did she bring a missive with her?' asked Albus calmly?

'No, she just flew in here squawking and making a racket,' replied Severus.

'I wonder… She is an intelligent owl; it wouldn't have escaped her notice that young Mr. Potter sends us a note every three days. Is it possible something has happened to him and he was unable to call for help, so his owl has chosen to come in search of help for her master?'

Hedwig seemed to think he was on the right track, and she hopped up and down on his arm a couple of times, as if encouraging him.

'What?' sneered Severus, 'do you think Potter may, Merlin forbid, have a head-cold.' Hedwig bristled at this statement, looking at Snape with a scowl that would almost rival his, if it wasn't for the fluffy white feathers around her face.

Dumbledore's eyes hardened slightly, but he did not appear angry.

'You know Harry as well as I do, Severus, a cold would not keep him from anything. In any case, yesterday was his birthday, and he has no contact with the Wizarding World for a month now. I think it is high time we sent someone to at least check up on him, especially since he has recently lost his godfather, as you well know'.

Hedwig looked exceedingly relieved that Dumbledore had reached this conclusion, and looked up at him expectantly.

A/N: this is the end of chapter two. I worked hard to get this chapter ready, to prove some commitment to continuing this story. I won't promise daily updates, but I will try to make them somewhat regular. These first couple of chapters have been quite descriptive; the plot should start to move along a bit more after this now that the scene has been set. Thanks for taking the time to read my story. Feedback would be appreciated, but I won't base my next update on how many reviews I get.