I got more reviews! Yippee!!! Thanks for taking the time to review; it's
very encouraging to me.
Prophetess of Hearts: You're right about the Challenge rules stating that Harry's supposed to begin undergoing some progressive physical change on his birthday. When I started this fic, I knew he wasn't allowed to suddenly look different, but I forgot that the changes were supposed to begin on his birthday. Oh well, we'll see how this works out.
Now, enough of my chatter. This chapter is nice and long, so enjoy. Here we go, CHAPTER THREE!
The Meeting
The Great Hall was filled with its usual noisy chatter as students discussed how their first day of classes had gone. Harry, however, was relatively silent as he, Ron, and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"How come you were so late to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry?" asked Ron.
"Snape and I sort of got into an argument, and he gave me detention for this evening."
Which was partly true. Harry hated lying to Ron, but he wasn't yet ready to tell his best friend the details of his conversation with Snape.
"Trust Snape to give detention on the first day back to school," said Ron.
To Harry's great relief, Ron didn't ask him why Snape had made Harry stay after class in the first place. Hermione, however, looked as though she were about to ask Harry what Snape had wanted to talk to him about. Wanting to distract her, Harry asked, "So what did I miss in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
The ploy worked.
"It was really a very good class," said Hermione enthusiastically, and she began to relate to him everything Lupin had covered during the first half of class.
"Thank you, Professor Granger," teased Ron when she finally finished several minutes later.
"Eat something Harry, you're too skinny," fussed Hermione.
It was true. Having grown several inches over the summer, his taller stature made him appear quite bony. His face, too, had become more angular, the cheekbones prominent.
"Yeah, your face is getting so thin, it almost makes you look like Snape," smirked Ron.
"That's not funny!" protested Harry. "Here, see, I'll eat, if only so you don't compare me to Snape!" he continued, stuffing a large bite of shepherd's pie into his mouth.
"There you go, 'mione, all you have to do if you want him to eat is say he looks like Snape," said Ron smugly.
Hermione merely rolled her eyes.
Feeling suddenly weary, Harry set down his fork, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The room seemed to swim for a moment. Harry blinked. I must be tireder than I thought, he told himself.
Between all the chores his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had given him over the summer, combined with staying up all night to complete his homework, Harry had had precious few nights of decent sleep for the last two months.
Shoving the frames onto his nose, he blinked again several times. The room was still blurry. Maybe his glasses were dirty. Removing them again, he polished them on his robe. On a whim, he tried looking around without his glasses. What he saw caused his head to snap back with surprise.
His vision was sharp and clear without his glasses!
Heart pounding, Harry tested his vision with his glasses. Again, the room was blurry. Snatching them off his face, Harry looked once more. He wasn't imagining things. Inexplicably, his vision had corrected itself.
Suddenly he noticed that Ron and Hermione were staring at him oddly.
"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Is something wrong with your glasses?"
"I don't need my glasses any more! I can see fine without them!"
"But you've been wearing glasses for years," Ron pointed out, freckled face filled with skepticism. "Don't tell me your vision's suddenly corrected itself!"
"It's true! It happened just a minute ago!"
This was too weird. Harry had never heard of any instances in which someone went from being nearsighted to having perfect vision in the space of a few moments. Aside from ocular surgery, that is.
Hermione was staring at him thoughtfully. "Maybe this sort of thing has happened to other people before. I'll see what I can find in the library. In the meantime, it might be a good idea for you to see Madam Pomfrey."
"NO!" said Harry forcefully.
Ron and Hermione were taken aback by Harry's response. Noticing the expressions on their faces, he hastened to continue, "I mean, my vision's perfect now. If it had suddenly gotten worse, then I might want to see her, but there's nothing wrong with it now."
"Are you sure, Harry?" asked Hermione anxiously. "This could be really serious, you know!"
"Yeah, but my vision suddenly correcting itself is just one more weird thing about me that I'd rather people didn't know. After all, remember what happened when people found out I could speak Parseltongue."
Harry and Ron remembered all too well. Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts, had been famous for being a Parselmouth (someone who could speak to snakes). When the Chamber of Secrets was opened in their second year, most of the school had shunned Harry, believing him to be Slytherin's heir.
"Of course we do, O mighty and terrible Heir of Slytherin," said Ron in a deep voice, attempting to lighten the mood.
Harry forced a short laugh and managed, with a great effort, to direct their conversation away from himself and towards Quidittch. Ron, it seemed, would be trying out for the position of Keeper, as the former team captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood, had graduated. In the meantime, Hermione headed off to the library, muttering about doing some research.
Before Harry knew it, the last class of the day was over, dinner was finished (Harry merely picked at his food), and everyone had retired to their common rooms. Ron and Hermione wished him luck as, filled with dread, Harry headed off towards Snape's office.
By the time he was nearly at his destination, Harry's insides were a mass of knots that kept twisting themselves inside of him. His heart was pounding furiously. He didn't want to be here. What did it matter if Snape was going to explain his attitude towards Harry? It wouldn't change the potions master's behavior towards him.
Feeling faint, Harry leaned against the wall outside the door to Snape's office. Just calm down, he told himself. You can handle this, you've dealt with a lot worse. Pulling himself together, Harry knocked twice on the thick wooden door.
"Come in."
Harry entered, walking slowly towards the chair Snape indicated. He felt as though he were about to face an interrogator of the Spanish Inquisition. Then he noticed that Snape was staring at him oddly.
"What happened to your glasses, Potter? Take a seat, boy, you look as if you're about to faint."
"I'm all right. And I, er, don't know why, Professor, but for some reason I don't need my glasses any more. It just happened at lunch today."
"Very strange," murmured Snape, dark brows furrowed together in thought.
The teenaged wizard was rather surprised that Snape didn't grow angry or accuse him of lying.
"Now, Potter. The reason you are here is that you agreed to tell me how you received those injuries you've been trying to hide in exchange for my telling you why I act the way I do towards you. What I want to establish here and now is that nothing leaves this room. If you wish me to respect your secrets, kindly do the same for me. Agreed?"
Harry swallowed.
"Yes."
"So, then. Explain."
So Harry explained, stumbling at first, but eventually managing to pour forth his story coherently in the relief that he was finally getting it off his chest.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Harry had returned to Privet Drive that summer after the Triwizard Tournament as keen on avoiding the Dursleys as they were at hating him. The Dursleys, who were as muggle (non-magical) as one could get, despised Harry for being a wizard. They had, nonetheless, allowed Harry to keep his trunk and school things in his room, something they had only begun to allow the summer before.
"You be sure and tell that godfather of yours that you're perfectly all right, there's no need for him to come check on you," Uncle Vernon had said.
For three weeks, Harry was relatively undisturbed. He stayed in his room a great deal, sending several owls to Ron and Hermione. Given that the Dursleys usually treated Harry like a dog that had rolled in something smelly, the boy fervently hoped that he would be allowed to stay with Ron at the Burrow soon.
Unfortunately, three weeks after Harry had returned home, Dumbledore sent an owl with a letter saying that Harry should remain at the Dursleys for the entire summer, as Voldemort's return made going to Ron's too dangerous.
If Harry was upset about this development, it was nothing to how the Dursleys reacted. They had been hoping for a Harry-free summer, but now that was no longer a possibility. Furious, Uncle Vernon had insisted that Harry 'make himself useful,' loading his nephew down with a multitude of chores, most of which involved vigorous physical labour.
For example, a typical day's work for Harry included cleaning all the windows in the house (inside and out), washing the car ("It had better be spotless!), mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, and pruning the roses. As Harry worked, his whale of a cousin, Dudley, would laze around watching television and taunting Harry.
Harry usually ignored Dudley's taunting, and he was clever enough to make some scornful retorts of his own, most of which took Dudley an unbelievably long time to work out. But after several weeks of this, Harry's temper was stretching towards its breaking point. He finally snapped one afternoon towards the end of the summer, when Dudley made some particularly nasty remarks about Harry's parents.
"You know, it's a good thing Dad's making you work. If he didn't, you'd probably end up as shiftless as your good-for-nothing father."
Harry ground his teeth, willing himself to remain silent and keep his hands away from Dudley's fat neck.
"Yeah, your father was pretty worthless. I bet he only married your slut of a mother after he got her pregnant with you first. Probably wouldn't have married her otherwise."
That last remark was too much for Harry, who tackled his massive cousin and began pounding him furiously with his fists. This was no childhood scuffle. Harry had been beat up countless times by Dudley and his gang as a child, but he was no longer a child, even if he was not yet an adult.
Now the tables had turned, it was Harry beating up Dudley. Through a red haze, Harry was dimly aware of breaking his cousin's nose and blackening both his eyes. Dudley was crying piteously, tears mingling with the smeared blood on his fat face. Then Uncle Vernon was pulling Harry off of Dudley, while Aunt Petunia stood nearby wringing her hands.
"HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MY SON! YOU KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF HIM, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"
"Your son," Harry spat, "called my mother- his aunt- a slut!"
"It was no more than she deserved!" snapped Aunt Petunia.
Harry couldn't believe his ears.
"Quite right, dear," added Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry, a look of menacing glee on his face. "And you, boy. I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
The Dursleys had rarely beaten Harry, who was quite unprepared for the whipping Uncle Vernon proceeded to give him. With one beefy hand, he held his struggling nephew by the arm with enough force to bruise. With the other, he brought his thick leather belt- including its heavy metal buckle- down on Harry's skinny shoulders and back.
By the time Vernon finished, Harry's shirt was soaked with blood. Harry had fallen to his knobbly knees during the course of the beating, and now he was ready to collapse. Grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck, Vernon dragged a stumbling Harry to his room and pushed him inside. Despite the ringing in his ears, Harry could make out the sound of a lock clicking.
"Ha! And you can't magic yourself out, boy, or you'll be kicked out of that freak school of yours!"
I don't have to magic myself out, thought Harry dully. I'll just owl Ron…
But Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Sirius.
At the thought of his godfather, who was in hiding, Harry brightened. Sirius would have no problem dealing with the Dursleys. But then, Harry realized, if Sirius came in person to help him escape, he would probably be sighted and caught. Then he wouldn't just be sent back to Azkaban, he would be given the Dementors' Kiss.
Harry couldn't bear that thought.
Which left Hermione and Ron. If Harry owled Hermione and told her what had happened, she would probably have insisted that the authorities be notified. If he told Ron, then the entire Weasley family would know what had happened. Harry didn't want them thinking he was weak, asking for help. Besides, Dumbledore had said it was too dangerous for Harry to leave Privet Drive.
So Harry told no one. He stayed locked in his room for the next week. As she had done the summer he turned twelve, Aunt Petunia pushed small amounts of food through the cat flap in the door three times a day, and Harry was let out twice a day to use the bathroom. When his friends owled him, Harry insisted that he was fine, he just hated being stuck at the Dursleys'.
Finally, it was the week before September 1st. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had arranged to meet in Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies the day before the Hogwarts Express left. They would spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would escort them to King's Cross Station.
Uncle Vernon, glad to finally be getting rid of Harry, agreed to drop him off in London. And when Harry met up with Ron and Hermione, he hid the fact that his back and shoulders were still bruised and covered with tender scabs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Snape had remained silent throughout Harry's narrative. Harry, who realized he had been staring at the floor instead of looking at the man in front of him, raised his bright green eyes to meet Snape's glittering black ones.
After a long silence, Snape cleared his throat.
"I can imagine you'd rather not go to Madam Pomfrey," he said, sounding slightly awkward. "Now, I'm no mediwizard, but I've had some experience with injuries such as yours. I can't heal them, but I can at least clean them for you and give you a painkilling potion."
"Professor, you won't tell anyone what I just told you?" asked Harry worriedly.
"No. I promised you I wouldn't, and I won't. So, do you want those wounds cleaned or not?"
Harry hesitated. Snape was actually offering to help him?!? On the other hand, a painkiller would be a welcome relief. Deciding that he should take advantage of what was probably a one-time offer, Harry said softly, "All right, Professor."
Gingerly removing his shirt, he turned around so that Snape could clean the cuts on his back and shoulders. The older wizard inhaled sharply when he saw the state of the boy's back. The flesh was crisscrossed all over with angry red cuts, some of them still red and raw, others beginning to form scabs.
"Your uncle certainly did a number on you, Potter."
Harry merely grunted in response, then flinched as Snape took a cloth soaked with a potion and began cleaning the cuts.
"Hold still."
Harry scowled at the professor's stern tone, nevertheless making an effort to remain as motionless as possible. In silence, Snape finished cleaning the cuts with surprisingly gentle hands, and Harry put his shirt back on.
"Here," said the dark-haired man. "Drink this." And he thrust a small bottle containing a watery, greenish liquid into Harry's hand.
Automatically, Harry downed the lot. It tasted horrible, but he soon felt warmth spreading throughout his body, as if he had swallowed a mug of Butterbeer. The pain in his shoulders and back soon faded. He gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.
"Now," said Snape. "About why I treat you in class the way I do."
"Professor, what about my mother?"
Snape sighed, a look of grief and guilt washing over his thin face.
"Yes, your mother…"
TBC! I'm sorry to leave everyone hanging, but this chapter was getting to be awfully long. Besides, now you've all got something to look forward to. Please review! Your reviews are a major part of my inspiration for doing this fic; they mean a lot to me.
Next chapter: Snape's secret is revealed.
Prophetess of Hearts: You're right about the Challenge rules stating that Harry's supposed to begin undergoing some progressive physical change on his birthday. When I started this fic, I knew he wasn't allowed to suddenly look different, but I forgot that the changes were supposed to begin on his birthday. Oh well, we'll see how this works out.
Now, enough of my chatter. This chapter is nice and long, so enjoy. Here we go, CHAPTER THREE!
The Meeting
The Great Hall was filled with its usual noisy chatter as students discussed how their first day of classes had gone. Harry, however, was relatively silent as he, Ron, and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"How come you were so late to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry?" asked Ron.
"Snape and I sort of got into an argument, and he gave me detention for this evening."
Which was partly true. Harry hated lying to Ron, but he wasn't yet ready to tell his best friend the details of his conversation with Snape.
"Trust Snape to give detention on the first day back to school," said Ron.
To Harry's great relief, Ron didn't ask him why Snape had made Harry stay after class in the first place. Hermione, however, looked as though she were about to ask Harry what Snape had wanted to talk to him about. Wanting to distract her, Harry asked, "So what did I miss in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
The ploy worked.
"It was really a very good class," said Hermione enthusiastically, and she began to relate to him everything Lupin had covered during the first half of class.
"Thank you, Professor Granger," teased Ron when she finally finished several minutes later.
"Eat something Harry, you're too skinny," fussed Hermione.
It was true. Having grown several inches over the summer, his taller stature made him appear quite bony. His face, too, had become more angular, the cheekbones prominent.
"Yeah, your face is getting so thin, it almost makes you look like Snape," smirked Ron.
"That's not funny!" protested Harry. "Here, see, I'll eat, if only so you don't compare me to Snape!" he continued, stuffing a large bite of shepherd's pie into his mouth.
"There you go, 'mione, all you have to do if you want him to eat is say he looks like Snape," said Ron smugly.
Hermione merely rolled her eyes.
Feeling suddenly weary, Harry set down his fork, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The room seemed to swim for a moment. Harry blinked. I must be tireder than I thought, he told himself.
Between all the chores his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had given him over the summer, combined with staying up all night to complete his homework, Harry had had precious few nights of decent sleep for the last two months.
Shoving the frames onto his nose, he blinked again several times. The room was still blurry. Maybe his glasses were dirty. Removing them again, he polished them on his robe. On a whim, he tried looking around without his glasses. What he saw caused his head to snap back with surprise.
His vision was sharp and clear without his glasses!
Heart pounding, Harry tested his vision with his glasses. Again, the room was blurry. Snatching them off his face, Harry looked once more. He wasn't imagining things. Inexplicably, his vision had corrected itself.
Suddenly he noticed that Ron and Hermione were staring at him oddly.
"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Is something wrong with your glasses?"
"I don't need my glasses any more! I can see fine without them!"
"But you've been wearing glasses for years," Ron pointed out, freckled face filled with skepticism. "Don't tell me your vision's suddenly corrected itself!"
"It's true! It happened just a minute ago!"
This was too weird. Harry had never heard of any instances in which someone went from being nearsighted to having perfect vision in the space of a few moments. Aside from ocular surgery, that is.
Hermione was staring at him thoughtfully. "Maybe this sort of thing has happened to other people before. I'll see what I can find in the library. In the meantime, it might be a good idea for you to see Madam Pomfrey."
"NO!" said Harry forcefully.
Ron and Hermione were taken aback by Harry's response. Noticing the expressions on their faces, he hastened to continue, "I mean, my vision's perfect now. If it had suddenly gotten worse, then I might want to see her, but there's nothing wrong with it now."
"Are you sure, Harry?" asked Hermione anxiously. "This could be really serious, you know!"
"Yeah, but my vision suddenly correcting itself is just one more weird thing about me that I'd rather people didn't know. After all, remember what happened when people found out I could speak Parseltongue."
Harry and Ron remembered all too well. Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts, had been famous for being a Parselmouth (someone who could speak to snakes). When the Chamber of Secrets was opened in their second year, most of the school had shunned Harry, believing him to be Slytherin's heir.
"Of course we do, O mighty and terrible Heir of Slytherin," said Ron in a deep voice, attempting to lighten the mood.
Harry forced a short laugh and managed, with a great effort, to direct their conversation away from himself and towards Quidittch. Ron, it seemed, would be trying out for the position of Keeper, as the former team captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood, had graduated. In the meantime, Hermione headed off to the library, muttering about doing some research.
Before Harry knew it, the last class of the day was over, dinner was finished (Harry merely picked at his food), and everyone had retired to their common rooms. Ron and Hermione wished him luck as, filled with dread, Harry headed off towards Snape's office.
By the time he was nearly at his destination, Harry's insides were a mass of knots that kept twisting themselves inside of him. His heart was pounding furiously. He didn't want to be here. What did it matter if Snape was going to explain his attitude towards Harry? It wouldn't change the potions master's behavior towards him.
Feeling faint, Harry leaned against the wall outside the door to Snape's office. Just calm down, he told himself. You can handle this, you've dealt with a lot worse. Pulling himself together, Harry knocked twice on the thick wooden door.
"Come in."
Harry entered, walking slowly towards the chair Snape indicated. He felt as though he were about to face an interrogator of the Spanish Inquisition. Then he noticed that Snape was staring at him oddly.
"What happened to your glasses, Potter? Take a seat, boy, you look as if you're about to faint."
"I'm all right. And I, er, don't know why, Professor, but for some reason I don't need my glasses any more. It just happened at lunch today."
"Very strange," murmured Snape, dark brows furrowed together in thought.
The teenaged wizard was rather surprised that Snape didn't grow angry or accuse him of lying.
"Now, Potter. The reason you are here is that you agreed to tell me how you received those injuries you've been trying to hide in exchange for my telling you why I act the way I do towards you. What I want to establish here and now is that nothing leaves this room. If you wish me to respect your secrets, kindly do the same for me. Agreed?"
Harry swallowed.
"Yes."
"So, then. Explain."
So Harry explained, stumbling at first, but eventually managing to pour forth his story coherently in the relief that he was finally getting it off his chest.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Harry had returned to Privet Drive that summer after the Triwizard Tournament as keen on avoiding the Dursleys as they were at hating him. The Dursleys, who were as muggle (non-magical) as one could get, despised Harry for being a wizard. They had, nonetheless, allowed Harry to keep his trunk and school things in his room, something they had only begun to allow the summer before.
"You be sure and tell that godfather of yours that you're perfectly all right, there's no need for him to come check on you," Uncle Vernon had said.
For three weeks, Harry was relatively undisturbed. He stayed in his room a great deal, sending several owls to Ron and Hermione. Given that the Dursleys usually treated Harry like a dog that had rolled in something smelly, the boy fervently hoped that he would be allowed to stay with Ron at the Burrow soon.
Unfortunately, three weeks after Harry had returned home, Dumbledore sent an owl with a letter saying that Harry should remain at the Dursleys for the entire summer, as Voldemort's return made going to Ron's too dangerous.
If Harry was upset about this development, it was nothing to how the Dursleys reacted. They had been hoping for a Harry-free summer, but now that was no longer a possibility. Furious, Uncle Vernon had insisted that Harry 'make himself useful,' loading his nephew down with a multitude of chores, most of which involved vigorous physical labour.
For example, a typical day's work for Harry included cleaning all the windows in the house (inside and out), washing the car ("It had better be spotless!), mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, and pruning the roses. As Harry worked, his whale of a cousin, Dudley, would laze around watching television and taunting Harry.
Harry usually ignored Dudley's taunting, and he was clever enough to make some scornful retorts of his own, most of which took Dudley an unbelievably long time to work out. But after several weeks of this, Harry's temper was stretching towards its breaking point. He finally snapped one afternoon towards the end of the summer, when Dudley made some particularly nasty remarks about Harry's parents.
"You know, it's a good thing Dad's making you work. If he didn't, you'd probably end up as shiftless as your good-for-nothing father."
Harry ground his teeth, willing himself to remain silent and keep his hands away from Dudley's fat neck.
"Yeah, your father was pretty worthless. I bet he only married your slut of a mother after he got her pregnant with you first. Probably wouldn't have married her otherwise."
That last remark was too much for Harry, who tackled his massive cousin and began pounding him furiously with his fists. This was no childhood scuffle. Harry had been beat up countless times by Dudley and his gang as a child, but he was no longer a child, even if he was not yet an adult.
Now the tables had turned, it was Harry beating up Dudley. Through a red haze, Harry was dimly aware of breaking his cousin's nose and blackening both his eyes. Dudley was crying piteously, tears mingling with the smeared blood on his fat face. Then Uncle Vernon was pulling Harry off of Dudley, while Aunt Petunia stood nearby wringing her hands.
"HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MY SON! YOU KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF HIM, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"
"Your son," Harry spat, "called my mother- his aunt- a slut!"
"It was no more than she deserved!" snapped Aunt Petunia.
Harry couldn't believe his ears.
"Quite right, dear," added Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry, a look of menacing glee on his face. "And you, boy. I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
The Dursleys had rarely beaten Harry, who was quite unprepared for the whipping Uncle Vernon proceeded to give him. With one beefy hand, he held his struggling nephew by the arm with enough force to bruise. With the other, he brought his thick leather belt- including its heavy metal buckle- down on Harry's skinny shoulders and back.
By the time Vernon finished, Harry's shirt was soaked with blood. Harry had fallen to his knobbly knees during the course of the beating, and now he was ready to collapse. Grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck, Vernon dragged a stumbling Harry to his room and pushed him inside. Despite the ringing in his ears, Harry could make out the sound of a lock clicking.
"Ha! And you can't magic yourself out, boy, or you'll be kicked out of that freak school of yours!"
I don't have to magic myself out, thought Harry dully. I'll just owl Ron…
But Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Sirius.
At the thought of his godfather, who was in hiding, Harry brightened. Sirius would have no problem dealing with the Dursleys. But then, Harry realized, if Sirius came in person to help him escape, he would probably be sighted and caught. Then he wouldn't just be sent back to Azkaban, he would be given the Dementors' Kiss.
Harry couldn't bear that thought.
Which left Hermione and Ron. If Harry owled Hermione and told her what had happened, she would probably have insisted that the authorities be notified. If he told Ron, then the entire Weasley family would know what had happened. Harry didn't want them thinking he was weak, asking for help. Besides, Dumbledore had said it was too dangerous for Harry to leave Privet Drive.
So Harry told no one. He stayed locked in his room for the next week. As she had done the summer he turned twelve, Aunt Petunia pushed small amounts of food through the cat flap in the door three times a day, and Harry was let out twice a day to use the bathroom. When his friends owled him, Harry insisted that he was fine, he just hated being stuck at the Dursleys'.
Finally, it was the week before September 1st. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had arranged to meet in Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies the day before the Hogwarts Express left. They would spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would escort them to King's Cross Station.
Uncle Vernon, glad to finally be getting rid of Harry, agreed to drop him off in London. And when Harry met up with Ron and Hermione, he hid the fact that his back and shoulders were still bruised and covered with tender scabs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Snape had remained silent throughout Harry's narrative. Harry, who realized he had been staring at the floor instead of looking at the man in front of him, raised his bright green eyes to meet Snape's glittering black ones.
After a long silence, Snape cleared his throat.
"I can imagine you'd rather not go to Madam Pomfrey," he said, sounding slightly awkward. "Now, I'm no mediwizard, but I've had some experience with injuries such as yours. I can't heal them, but I can at least clean them for you and give you a painkilling potion."
"Professor, you won't tell anyone what I just told you?" asked Harry worriedly.
"No. I promised you I wouldn't, and I won't. So, do you want those wounds cleaned or not?"
Harry hesitated. Snape was actually offering to help him?!? On the other hand, a painkiller would be a welcome relief. Deciding that he should take advantage of what was probably a one-time offer, Harry said softly, "All right, Professor."
Gingerly removing his shirt, he turned around so that Snape could clean the cuts on his back and shoulders. The older wizard inhaled sharply when he saw the state of the boy's back. The flesh was crisscrossed all over with angry red cuts, some of them still red and raw, others beginning to form scabs.
"Your uncle certainly did a number on you, Potter."
Harry merely grunted in response, then flinched as Snape took a cloth soaked with a potion and began cleaning the cuts.
"Hold still."
Harry scowled at the professor's stern tone, nevertheless making an effort to remain as motionless as possible. In silence, Snape finished cleaning the cuts with surprisingly gentle hands, and Harry put his shirt back on.
"Here," said the dark-haired man. "Drink this." And he thrust a small bottle containing a watery, greenish liquid into Harry's hand.
Automatically, Harry downed the lot. It tasted horrible, but he soon felt warmth spreading throughout his body, as if he had swallowed a mug of Butterbeer. The pain in his shoulders and back soon faded. He gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.
"Now," said Snape. "About why I treat you in class the way I do."
"Professor, what about my mother?"
Snape sighed, a look of grief and guilt washing over his thin face.
"Yes, your mother…"
TBC! I'm sorry to leave everyone hanging, but this chapter was getting to be awfully long. Besides, now you've all got something to look forward to. Please review! Your reviews are a major part of my inspiration for doing this fic; they mean a lot to me.
Next chapter: Snape's secret is revealed.