Thank you for all the reviews – they were very helpful and supportive.

Hands up anyone else who is living permanently attached to their hot water bottle (or equivalent… although the idea of not having a hot water bottle, if you live somewhere cold, is rather frightening. Hugging a dog also works, but it does make it difficult to get anything done).

…

Harry rubbed at the crustiness that coated his eyes. He squeezed at his throbbing sinuses as he sat up, grabbed his glasses and jabbed his wand at the light, so he could see the clock. Ten o'clock, although whether that was morning or evening remained to be seen. There was light sneaking in under the curtains, so probably morning.

So, he had managed to sleep for nearly fifteen hours. He couldn't remember much of last night. He had woken up to find Snape hovering over him, forcing a burger on him, but hadn't managed to stay conscious long enough after eating for the man to actually talk to him. He didn't feel much better for the good night's sleep. It was like there was a shadow over his brain, trying to block out yesterday's events, but just succeeding in highlighting them more.

On the bedside table was a pot of peppermint tea with a stasis charm on it, a plate of toast, his nutrient potion and a note telling him to call Nippy if he needed anything. He was alone for the rest of the day, confined to bed on Madam Pomfrey's orders.

Suddenly feeling very alone and very aware that he was in the dungeons with the entire weight of the castle sitting on top of him, Harry pulled the covers over his head. He had messed up. Bad. Ron would never speak to him again. Hermione thought he was crazy. Everyone had heard him admit what Uncle Vernon had done… properly. Malfoy would make him life hell.

He rubbed his belly and tried not to wish it all away.

Curling himself up as tight as he could, and wrapped his arms around himself in poor imitation of a hug from Mrs Weasley. Harry let himself cry quiet tears.

…

"I trust you are feeling better," Madam Pomfrey asked.

Harry jumped within his cocoon, as the medi-witch appeared, followed by Healer Wilson, his friendly specialist midwife. She smiled at him, slightly too kindly, and he resisted the urge to pull the cover back over his head. He still refused to do more than peek out from behind the pile of blankets he had gathered around himself throughout the day. The only times he had got up were to go to the loo and find another soft blanket in the wardrobe, which seemed to have a never ending supply of the things. Nippy had popped in at intervals, squeaking at him to eat, but apart from that he had been left alone.

"How did you get in?" Harry asked, disorientated and too tired to bother about being rude.

"Professor Snape gave us access to his floo," Madam Pomfrey explained, setting down a big bag. "We didn't think you'd want to venture through the halls after yesterday."

Harry groaned and flopped back on his pillow. He didn't want to think about yesterday. Ever. Whenever moments of it flickered across his subconscious he was overwhelmed by renewed anger at the way his friends had behaved and stabs of guilt as he remembered Ron's face when he had said…

He wasn't going to think about it.

Healer Wilson bent over him and gently slid the covers back. "I just wanted to double check the baby was all right," she said. "Madam Pomfrey's tests show everything is fine, but we just thought it would be a good idea for me to check, just for your peace of mind. Plus, I think you're ready for a full scan!"

"Perfect," Madam Pomfrey said, far too chipper. "All parents love seeing their child for the first time and if Healer Wilson makes a copy of the image, you can add it to an album. It'll cheer you right up!"

Harry didn't respond, not even twitching a muscle. He hadn't thought about being able to see the baby. It hadn't come up before. If it was normal for parents to want to see their baby, did that mean he was abnormal? That he was going to be a bad father? He didn't know how to explain to them that there was no way he was going to look at his baby, because then it would just hurt all the more when he lost them. Hearing the heartbeat proved they were there. That they were alive. If he saw them… Rowan looked like a baby, even when he had been dead. What if that happened again? He couldn't face it, not after coming so close to losing them. Whatever the Healers said, he knew that was what had happened. They were just trying to be nice to him, to stop him feeling guilty for hurting his baby.

"Roll over onto your back, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey ordered.

Harry paused, but saw no way round it. He couldn't admit to them that he thought his baby would die, so what was the point? Then they would know what a bad father he was. He rolled onto his back, but shut his eyes firmly.

The heartbeat filled the room, strong and fast like always. Harry felt himself relax to the sound, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, even knowing that his little bump was definitely still there. He shivered as his shirt was charmed up, hating feeling so exposed. The heartbeat in his belly rose with his own.

"You're growing nicely, Mr Potter," Healer Wilson observed. "Everything seems in order. You have a very healthy baby. Now for a picture…"

The sound of a complicated wand swish reached Harry's ears and Madam Pomfrey cooed in the background. Still, Harry's eyes remained closed.

"Unfortunately only midwives are trained in this particular spell, Mr Potter," Healer Wilson said. "Madam Pomfrey will be able to let you hear the heartbeat, but you won't be able to see the live movements of your baby until next time I am here."

When Harry continued to lie there like a statue, she sighed and muttered a long spell.

"There's a picture, when you're ready," she said sadly, placing something on his bedside table.

As soon as he knew she had finished her examination, Harry yanked his shirt back down, flipped over so he had his back to them and burrowed into his mountain of blankets. There was no way he was looking at that picture. There was no way he was getting attached. It would just hurt more.

"I'll see you in two weeks, Harry," Healer Wilson said. "I'll be seeing you regularly, just to be on the safe side, so… if you ever want to talk about anything…"

Harry ignored her and she sighed.

He heard Madam Pomfrey and the Healer leaving.

"… must watch out for his weight."

"… still on the low side…"

"… thing I'm worried about most… depression…"

The floo flared and Harry was once again alone. Beneath the covers, he reached down to his hardened belly and stroked his bump, apologising for his cowardice as hard as he could, but never once turning to the picture.

…

Snape found him in the living room the next day. He had tried to stay in bed, but had suddenly been overcome with energy that forced him to jump up and go and do something. Harry had remained in his pyjamas, just pulling on a pair of bed socks and a jumper. He had been curled up in his spot, reading, for about half an hour when Snape came in and he just managed to straighten up by the time the dour man was level with him.

Snape looked at him down his nose. "I trust you are feeling better," he said after a minute.

Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he felt absolutely exhausted again and was now definitely regretting getting out of bed.

Snape pursed his lips at Harry's reaction. "You slept well?"

Not really. He didn't feel any less tired. "Yes, sir."

Snape didn't seem convinced, but took up his spot on the sofa. "You are reading."

It wasn't a question, as it was fairly self-evident.

Harry huffed, "Yeah. It's easier with my new glasses. The old ones weren't really any good for close up, or far away, but they did make things less blurry. It's nice reading without getting a headache."

Snape didn't answer him for a few long seconds after that. "That would, I imagine, be an improvement," he answered at length.

"Definitely," Harry said. He glanced at Snape out of the corner of his eye. "It's one of the ones from the shelf. Is… You said before-"

"That is fine, Mr Potter," Snape said. "All unsuitable texts are permanently warded against underage students. The rest you are free to browse at your discretion, so long as you treat them with care."

Harry nodded his thanks and gently placed the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the coffee table. Lyra had said it was her favourite book and, although it was a bit girly, he was enjoying it. Maybe Snape would allow him to take it into the bedroom. They sat in awkward silence for a while. Harry was beginning to consider good excuses for going back to bed when Snape finally spoke.

"I have been meaning to speak to you."

Harry cocked his head.

Snape paused again. Harry would almost say he was... uncomfortable.

"I-"

"I do not believe you have been entirely honest with us about the abuse you suffered," Snape said abruptly.

Harry bristled, "I have-"

"Mr Potter," Snape interrupted. "There is no way you can claim to have told us anything more than the barest outline of your experiences. And it is clear that you are not dealing with those experiences in an entirely healthy way."

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to stop his hands curling into fists. "What do you know about it?" he spat.

"More than you might think," Snape said, pulling Harry up short. He leant forward and looked Harry straight in the eye. "I know that the idea of talking is terrifying for you. That you have been taught since before you can remember that only pain comes from admitting what they did to you and however much you know you are safe, you still can't believe it. Believe me, Potter, I know that. I also know that you will not be able to even begin to move on from your relative's treatment of you until you confront it."

Harry stared at him, chewing on his lip. He thought he understood what Snape was saying but…

Snape still refused to break eye contact. It was like he was staring into Harry's soul.

"I will give you a choice, Mr Potter, and you will choose one of these options," he drawled. "This is non-negotiable."

"I could just walk out," Harry challenged.

Snape inclined his head, "You could. Guest accommodation can be made available to you in minutes, if you wish to leave. Feel free." He smirked, as if he didn't think that Harry could never do that.

Harry's eyes darted to the door, wishing he could prove the man wrong and walk out then and there, but his body sank further into the chair. He didn't want to go out there. He was safe in here, even if Snape was here. Whatever the man said, there were locks on his bedroom door…

"I could just go into the bedroom and lock the door. What would you do then? Break it down?"

Snape sighed and finally looked away. He looked a little deflated, although as snide as ever. "If you are that desperate not to speak, Mr Potter, I shall not force the point to your detriment. Your room is your own and I will not violate that."

A warmth spread across Harry's chest and he had to lower his head as his eyes prickled. Snape had said it was his room! His very own. He… what did that mean? This was just adding to the tumult in Harry's head. He couldn't go around relying on this man.

Snape tried to catch his eye again. "While you certainly have options to leave, should you really wish to, I would ask that you at least try and talk to me. I promise to try and make it as painless as possible for you. I will not throw you out. It was… wrong of me to imply otherwise," he grimaced at the almost apology. "I would be most grateful-" he gritted his teeth, "- if you would speak to me on the matter, or – If you would feel more comfortable – to a therapist."

Harry wrinkled his nose. Neither option was good. "I don't think I can…"

Snape nodded, as if he was expecting this. "I have some questions that I have prepared to aid you. It does not have to be in depth, but I would like you to…" he sighed heavily. "I would like to offer you an ear, should you need to talk in the future."

Harry stared at him. It was too weird. Snape was offering to have a heart to heart conversation with him! He bit his lip again, this time tasting the edge of metal that always came just before he properly chewed through.

Snape watched him for a minute. "The option of an official therapist is always available."

Harry shook his head. He couldn't talk to a stranger about this. However professional they were, they were sure to have heard of him before and he couldn't cope with someone who only saw him as The Boy Who Lived. You accuse Snape of many things, but falling for Harry's 'celebrity' wasn't one of them.

"I don't know if I can," Harry repeated. "But… I could try… I don't know…" his voice was miniscule.

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched and he produced a wad of parchment from under his journals.

"I do not expect you to say anything beyond what you find possible, but I would like you to try and answer these questions. It will help in the long run." There was no emotion in his voice. It was totally analytical.

Harry nodded, but shivered in the glow of the permanently lit fire. Snape looked around for something, before calling Nippy.

"Where are all the blankets?" he asked. He always had at least three in the living room.

"Theys be in Mr Harry Potter's bedrooms Master," Nippy squeaked. "Wes be moving thems into the wardrobe whens he bes needing them."

Harry blushed and quickly excused himself to fetch a handful of blankets, feeling especially foolish when he saw the Princess and the Pea style make up of his bed.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled, handing them over sullenly. He didn't really want to give them back, if he was honest. As much as it was embarrassing, he had felt safe and warm in his nest.

Snape looked at him oddly and handed the proffered covers back to him. "I merely thought you required greater warmth. And it might help you to make yourself comfortable."

Harry nodded and went back to perch in the armchair.

"You don't have to keep your feet on the floor at all times, Mr Potter. It would be easier for you and by extension myself if you were somewhat comfortable." Snape sighed, his voice bitingly gentle. "I saw you when you came in and am well aware that currently this is your home. It would do you well to treat it as such."

Harry wanted to scream that he had no idea what a home was and wasn't that why they were here in the first place? And how was he supposed to know what Snape did and didn't mind, since he never told Harry anything. Harry was playing along with the charade, because it seemed the easiest way of getting Snape to move on from whatever stroke had caused him to think that he could talk to Harry about feelings. That was all.

Instead of saying all this, though, he pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, all three blankets draped around him.

Nippy popped in with a pop of peppermint tea and popped out again with a smile. Harry didn't smile back, for once.

Snape poured them each a cup and placed one in front of Harry, but Harry didn't make a move to pick it up. He followed Snape's every movement with his eyes, but apart from that, didn't move a muscle.

Snape took a leisurely sip and settled back in his seat, before picking up his sheets.

"The criteria for physical abuse-"

Harry sat bolt upright. "What are you talking about?!" he demanded. "I thought we were talking about Uncle Vernon."

"We are," Snape drawled. "You refuse to categorise your experiences as abuse-"

"They weren't," Harry insisted. Snape glared at him and he blushed but still pointed out, "They didn't hurt me badly. I was fine."

"We have gone over this, Potter. I have read the report. You were not 'fine'."

"I was," Harry asserted. "The report… the spell must have exaggerated. I wasn't, like, fully abused." He rubbed the back of his neck. It didn't sound right, but he wasn't. Aunt Petunia had always told him what happened to abused children and it wasn't like he had never been allowed to go to school, or starve nearly to death, or been beaten to the point of going to hospital and whatever the report said, none of those things had happened. He knew what his Uncle had done was wrong, but the rest of it was just punishment that sometimes got a bit out of hand.

Snape just looked at him over his nose. "We will go through what abuse entails now. I want you to tell me, honestly, whether these things correlate to the way you were treated by your relatives."

Harry swallowed. He couldn't help but feel that this was rather like the quizzes Snape sometimes launched at them in class – those never ended well for Harry.

Snape's eyes flickered over the parchment and he began, "Were you ever hit, smacked, or slapped?" he looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry stuttered, his eyes wide. That was far too general, surely. "I- Well- Not really-"

Snape was unimpressed, "Again, I have seen the report, Mr Potter. Were you struck?"

Harry gulped, "I suppose."

"Very well, then," Snape nodded, marking the question with an obvious tick. "Were you ever punched or kicked?"

"No." Harry could be definite about that. Neither his Aunt nor Uncle were that overt… apart from a couple of times, but Uncle Vernon had been really angry those times.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your cousin?"

"Yeah, but that's not… That doesn't count."

"He was encouraged by his parents, was he not, even if they did not act upon the impulse themselves?"

Harry scowled, "Why don't you just answer the questions yourself, if you know all the answers?"

"Were you punched or kicked?" Snape repeated, ignoring Harry's displeasure.

Harry tried to convey as much hatred as he could in his stare, but he still gave a short, single nod. It was marked.

"Pinching, scratching or biting? Or was your cousin encouraged to?"

Dudley's gang had got bored in class. Another nod. Another mark.

"Shook or suffocated you?"

Harry flinched. "Ju- Just Uncle Vernon. If I… only in the guest bedroom," he whispered.

Snape paused and marked it down slowly, before continuing. "Scalded, or burned you?"

"Not on purpose," Harry said, sniffing. "I sometimes got burnt when I was cooking, but they never held my hand down, or anything."

"You should not have been cooking in the first place," Snape muttered. Harry shrugged and was relieved when Snape didn't mark it down.

"Hair pulling?"

Aunt Petunia. A mark.

"Spitting at you?"

"No." No mark. Dudley had spat at him a couple of times, but it was the one thing that Aunt Petunia scolded him for – it wasn't the sort of behaviour a young gentlemen took part in, Harry mentally scoffed at the memory.

"Throwing things at you?"

Harry barked a choked laugh, "Mr Weasley can answer that… Yeah, Uncle Vernon threw things." They rarely made their mark, and he just saw it as good training for avoiding bludgers. Snape still marked it down, though, even after he explained that. The man's mouth was definitely getting tighter.

"Did they ever make you swallow something that made you feel ill?" Snape asked.

Harry thought back. No… he didn't think so… "Sometimes they would give me leftovers that were a bit off, so they wouldn't go to waste," he admitted. "They would make me a bit poorly, but… I… I don't know if that counts."

Snape chewed the inside of his cheek, a bit like Aunt Petunia when she was holding back from gossiping in front of a neighbour. "Did they know it made you ill?"

Harry nodded. How could they not know? Aunt Petunia went out of her way to give him things she wouldn't let Dudley eat, which meant food that had gone bad. Snape marked it down. Harry relaxed minutely. He had always hated it when they did that and had always blamed him if he made a mess when he was sick from whatever they gave him.

"Did they call you names?"

Harry gaped at him. "That's not abuse!"

Snape frowned, "I must disagree with you, Mr Potter," he said silkily. "It is emotional abuse, which – before you contradict me – is most certainly an offense."

Harry stared at his hands. There was lots of stuff the Dursleys had said that he didn't want to talk about. No one had really asked him about it before. It wouldn't show up on the report.

"Yeah, they called me names," he confessed softly.

He found it oddly comforting that Snape's voice didn't change once. It was completely level, like they were discussing homework and nothing more.

"Would you care to elaborate?" Snape asked.

"No," Harry said. Snape stared at him, until he was squirming. Keeping his eyes planted on his lap, he eventually said into the silence, "Boy. Freak. I didn't know my name was Harry until primary school, although I definitely knew I wasn't a Dursley."

He saw Snape nod out of the corner of his eye, before the man looked down at the next point on his list, marking it off as if went, "Shouting at you, even when you hadn't done anything wrong?"

"All the time."

"Put you down."

"Yes."

"Ignored you, or left you out of things."

"I never went anywhere with them. They didn't want me to spoil it."

"Said or did things to make you feel bad about yourself."

"I ignored them. I knew they were stupid."

"But they were said?"

"Yes."

"Made you feel like you didn't belong."

"Yes."

"Gave you responsibilities you should not have had until you were older?"

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, slightly confused. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling like he was on an out of control broom again. He wasn't even thinking about his answers and they were just coming out and he could see the column of ticks growing.

Snape frowned, "Did they make you do things that your classmates at the same age would not have done?" Seeing Harry still looked lost, Snape sighed, "At what age were you first set the task of cooking for your relatives, for example?"

Harry tried to think. It was strange trying to put a date on something that seemed so naturally part of his life – it was like asking him when he had started walking, or talking.

"Umm… around four, I think. I was definitely doing it before I started school, but not long before… I burnt it on Dudley's first day."

"You are the same age as your cousin," Snape observed. "Were you not in the same year group."

Harry blushed, "Yeah, but I had messed up so… I started a couple of days late."

He waited for Snape to respond, but apart from his jawline stiffening again, he remained stoic. "That," he said sharply. "Would generally be regarded as an unsuitable responsibility for a child of four." He marked the point with a vigorous tick.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was strange, sitting here, going through such a clinical list of things that Harry had trained himself not to think about, let alone speak about, with Snape, of all people. As much as he hated being there with a passion and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but maybe it was strangely cathartic to be able to quantify his experiences. He hoped there weren't too many more questions, though – each one just brought back another aspect of the Dursleys and Snape's stony features didn't exactly help him feel any less vulnerable as the memories washed over him. He pulled the blanket Snape had given him tighter around his body and concentrated on the warps and cracks in the old wooden table.

"Did they ever treat you differently from your siblings," Snape continues briskly. "In this case, we can substitute your cousin for sibling."

Harry just nodded and swiped at his eyes. It had always been hard, having the picture of a loving family right in front of him and knowing he would never be part of it. Sometimes he had thought it was harder than when he was starving and serving up dinner. He didn't voice any of this to Snape.

"Did they put you in dangerous situations?"

Harry thought for a moment, but had to shake his head.

Snape reacted for the first time: he looked at Harry like he had gone mad.

"What?" Harry said.

Snape pursed his lips. "I am well aware, Mr Potter, that you have withheld vast tracts of your early life, but what insights I have been granted have included several incidences of endangerment."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "They never left me in the middle of a road. And they always let me back in from the garden by midnight. And-"

Maybe he had let too much slip then. Snape's hand tightened around his quill and for a second, Harry was sure it would snap, but Snape caught himself at the last moment and spent a few seconds, his eyes definitely not on Harry, fixing it.

Snape's voice was deadly quiet when he replied. "Explain."

For a moment, he opened his mouth, visions dancing in front of his eyes, of Ripper, Aunt Marge's bulldog, standing at the bottom of the tree Harry was hiding up, having had his heels and calves bitten through his trousers and his relatives laughing in the background; of finishing the weeding by the dim glare of the light pollution and neighbour's lights, because he hadn't finished fast enough during the day; of Aunt Petunia complaining that he was too filthy to be allowed in the house, after he had wet himself in his cupboard when they had refused to let him out all day and shoving him out of the door in his wet clothes…

Harry snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, his throat tight.

"Regardless," Snape said. "As I told you before, locking you in your room, or cupboard, could have been extremely dangerous in the event of fire."

"Could have been," Harry pointed out.

Snape ignored him, "Not getting you medical attention when you needed it… had you been a muggle, they could very well be up on charges of murder."

"But they're not," Harry muttered petulantly, crossing his arms. These were all ifs and buts, that didn't amount to anything. It was all hypothetical. His relatives may hate him, but they had never wanted to kill him.

"Can you think of no time when your relatives placed you in a situation where even you can admit that you could have been seriously injured or killed?"

Snape was doing that staring into his soul thing again and Harry hastily averted his eyes, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Nothing like that had ever… once again, Ripper snarling at the base of the tree floated into his mind.

He swallowed thickly and nodded once.

Snape tsked.

"A verbal answer, if you please, Mr Potter."

Harry glared and cleared his throat. "Yes, I can think of times," he admitted huskily.

Snape gave a self-satisfied not and marked it down.

Harry hugged himself.

Snape shuffled his papers. "Were they ever aggressive, or violent to other people in the family and you had to witness it?"

Harry was silent for a long minute. His thoughts felt sluggish and he was aware from the tapping quill that he was trying Snape's patience, however much the man was trying to hide it.

"Does that mean Dudley was abused, too?" he asked slowly.

Snape stilled his quill and stared down at his papers, as if maybe they held the answer. "You cousin was raised in a way that has warped his personality and skewed his concepts of right and wrong. Being exposed to regular violence and verbal abuse, even through it being rained on you… would certainly be traumatising for a young mind, even he didn't actively recognise it as such."

Harry nodded. "Will he get help?"

Snape gave his a hard stare. "I would imagine," he drawled. "Am I to take that as you were the only one subjected to violence in the household?"

"Yes," Harry said, "I think so." He wondered about Dudley, now that Aunt Petunia had been released and sort of declared a victim like him, would Dudley go back to her? He couldn't figure out if that would be a bad thing, or good. If Dudley went back, did that mean everyone would think Aunt Petunia was all right and Harry would be sent back too? Aunt Petunia had never been as bad as Uncle Vernon, but that didn't mean Harry wanted to live with her again. Ignoring all that, how did Dudley feel about him now? If he had hated Harry before, surely that could be multiplied by a million – after all, he had put Dudley's father in jail.

Snape broke through these thoughts with yet another question. "Were you ever prevented from having friends?"

"Yes," Harry answered simply. It was just a fact. He wasn't ashamed of that. "Ron was my first friend." His eyes stung at the thought that he had lost Ron through that stupid outburst.

He didn't have long to dwell, however, as somehow Snape still wasn't finished.

"I would like to discuss neglect with you now," Snape announced, pulling out another sheet. "Were you provided with clothes-"

"I had clothes," Harry said. It wasn't like the Dursleys had forced him to run around naked.

Snape glared him into submission. "Clothes that are clean and warm and shoes that fit and keep you dry."

Harry gritted his teeth. Snape had seen his clothes, so he knew none of those things happened. He shook his head, angry at being forced to admit how shameful his clothes had been.

"Were you given enough to eat and drink?"

Snape knew he was malnourished. He shook his head.

"Were you given protection from dangerous situations?"

They had already covered that.

"Were you given somewhere warm, dry and comfortable to sleep?"

Harry thought for a moment. He had actually quite liked his cupboard for a while – it was warm (what with the boiler being in there too) and safe, since no one else could fit in with him, and when he curled up just right, he had thought it was comfortable… before he experienced a Hogwarts bed.

Before he could express this, Snape butted in again.

"Somewhere where one does not run the risk of concussion from standing up, or suffocation in the event of the vent being closed." He marked it down with a glare, as if daring Harry to argue.

Harry frowned. Uncle Vernon had often closed the vent and he had never suffocated… so he had been lightheaded a few times, but-

"Were you given help when you're ill or have been hurt?"

Again, they knew about that.

"Were you given love and care from your carers?"

Harry scoffed.

"Were you given support with your education?"

Hardly. He had mentioned that already, he remembered from that horrible first night.

"Were you given access to medication if needed?"

Snape had already been so snippy about that that he didn't feel the need to do anything other than shake his head.

Snape shuffled the papers again. There couldn't be any more, surely!

"Now to discuss the sexual-"

"No!" Harry exclaimed.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "Can you quantify the abuse you suffered?"

Harry scrunched his eyes to try and stop the tears leaking again. "I know I was sexually abused, okay! We don't have to go over it."

Snape placed the parchments on the table at a precise right angle before turning to Harry. "Sexual abuse covers a wide range of scenarios, Mr Potter, all of which are appalling, but I don't know that you are currently capable of tell me what was done to you."

Harry scowled at his fists, ignoring the sick feeling curdling in his stomach.

"Do you know why I am asking you all these things, Mr Potter?" Snape said softly.

"Because you're a git who like to hurt me," Harry snapped. He held his breath as he waited for Snape to respond, sure that the dour man would storm out and release Harry from this torture… even if did mean that he was sure to receive a lifetime of detentions.

But Snape only sighed and answered his own question in his persistently annoying calm voice. "I am asking, because I do not think you understand what you have experienced."

Harry's eyes jerked up to meet his. "You think I don't know what I went through?" he demanded. "It was my life!"

"I am well aware of that, Mr Potter," Snape replied. "I do not, however, believe that you understand what was done to you. Even going through these things now you still refuse to fully acknowledge that what was done to you was abuse. That is not healthy."

"And wallowing in what happened is?" Harry rejoined.

"If it leads to acceptance, yes," Snape said tightly, still refusing to give into his annoyance at Harry's disrespect.

Harry scoffed.

Snape eyed him for a minute before asking again, "In what way were you sexually abused, Mr Potter? Or would you like me to turn to the list and give you the language and parameters to see what was done to you?"

"I know what was done to me," Harry growled.

"You refuse to-"

"I know what was done to me!" Harry shouted. "I know what was done and I know it was wrong and there was nothing I can do to change that now. It was my own stupid fault for not coming forward. I am not a victim."

"Nobody is calling you a victim," Snape said, as he impassively watched Harry gasp for breath.

"Really?" Harry laughed hollowly. "What do you call this then?" he pointed at the tick covered parchment. "What do you call the Prophet? You're all trying to make out-"

"Ignorant." Snape said. "I would call the Prophet ignorant. You are a child, who has been hurt. You were victimized-"

"So I am a victim?"

"It is a term. In the grand scheme of things a not very important one," Snape drawled, leaning back in his chair. "You do not allow it to define you."

Harry stared morosely at his hands again, growing increasingly bored of their shape.

"Nothing that happened was your fault," Snape murmured, causing Harry to look up once more. "You were a child in their care. It was their responsibility to treat you well and it was in no way your fault that they did not."

He kept saying that, but he didn't understand.

"They never wanted me," Harry said. "They didn't ask for me."

"And if a child was dropped off on your doorstep tomorrow, unannounced, unrequested and in far from ideal circumstances, would you treat it as you were treated?"

"Of course not!" Harry said, scandalised, dropping his hand to his bump.

Snape's eyes lit up in triumph, "And, pray tell, what is the difference?"

Harry mind blanked. It was like he had forgotten how language worked.

Snape continued, "You were just a baby when you were placed with that family and they did not even provide you with the bare minimum that any child – wanted or unwanted – needs. Not desires. Needs. That was not your fault. None of this, which is only an abstract outline of your experiences, is your fault and you are not responsible for their actions."

"I could have stopped it," Harry whispered. "If I had come forward…"

"You did come forward," Snape said. "You went to your teacher at Primary School and you were turned away. No one can blame you for being… scared after that."

"I wasn't scared," Harry bluffed.

"Self-preserving, then," Snape amended, with a quirk of his head that might have meant he was amused.

"I didn't think of it as abuse. I knew it wasn't right but…" Harry said so quietly Snape had to lean forward to hear it. "It was normal. It's not like I ever looked hurt and… I was different. I deserved different."

"They made you think that."

"If it was so bad then why didn't anyone see it?"

Snape had no answer for that. His face was steely and his black eyes expressionless, giving Harry no comfort, or answers.

Harry shook his head. "If I had come to you before… without the baby… even if Uncle Vernon hadn't... would you have helped me?" He needed to know. He couldn't shake the feeling that everything was being blown out of proportion because of the baby. It hadn't seemed that bad at the time – just how things were. And if things really were that bad, why had Aunt Petunia been released?

Snape waited until Harry's roaming eyes met his and waited some more until he was completely transfixed in the potion master's intense scrutiny. "Potter, despite what you may think of me, I would never allow a child to remain in an abusive home and, as we have established this evening, you were abused." Harry's gaze travelled down to the parchment again.

"Now, can you tell me what Vernon Dursley did to you?"

Harry held his breath. He tried to find that layer of numbness that had washed over him when he first woke up, when he hadn't even managed to think for a good two hours.

"He touched me," Harry swallowed. "And… and made me have sex."

Snape nodded, "That's very well done, Mr Potter," he purred.

"He… I didn't stop him," Harry choked.

Snape sighed, "We have just been through-"

"I never told him no," Harry insisted. "It's only… that… when you say no."

"That is simply not the case," Snape said harshly. "It is whenever intercourse takes place against a person's will. He knew you were not willing."

"I never told him-"

"You told him you were uncomfortable with the way he was touching you and he then manipulated you into believing that the behaviour was reasonable. When things escalated your magic attempted to protect you and, even without that, he knew you were not willing. He knew you were a child. Are a child."

"I'm not a child," Harry mumbled. He hadn't been for years. He ran a thumb over his bump. He couldn't be a child.

"Mr Potter, I want you to say the word."

"What word?" Harry tried.

Snape was having none of it. "You know which word," he said evenly. "You have refused to say it up to this point."

"Why is it important?" Harry sniffed, infinitely tired.

"Because you need to accept that is what happened, otherwise you will continue to in some way justify his actions."

"I can't," Harry moaned. "I don't want to."

Despite his whining, Snape's face remained remarkably soft. He watched as Harry squirmed and fought the truth, until he finally seemed to tire of the internal fight. "Mr Potter, what did Vernon Dursley do to you?"

Harry's breath came out in short, sharp pants. "He raped me."

Snape smirked, looking self-satisfied. Harry looked down at his lap, his eyes filling with tears again. He didn't want to think about this anymore. About the fact that his whole childhood was a literal nightmare, which he would be revisiting shortly. About the fact that the only family he had ever known had decided, somehow, to do those things to him. About the fact that his baby was from rape.

"I'm tired, Professor," he announced softly, rising from his seat.

"Just one more thing, Mr Potter," Snape stopped him, rising as well, after pulling something out from under his journals. "This is a diary," he handed Harry a plain, black, lined notebook. "It is warded so that none but you can open it, without your express permission. I ask that you write in it of your home life, or about how you are feeling. You need not show it to anyone, but the act of writing has been proven to be liberating in cases such as this. If you are unsure what to write, you may use this as a departure point." He slipped the tick ridden parchment into the book. "It will help you feel better."

Harry stared dully at the book in his hand. He had just been forced to talk about it and all he felt was hollow.

He turned his back on Snape without answering and moved silently to the bedroom door. He laid the notebook on top of the overturned scan picture on the bedside table and climbed into bed exhausted. He put his glasses on the bedside table too and rolled over with a sigh, not planning on getting out of his cocoon for a very long time.

While he would swear that it took him hours to get to sleep, Harry was unconscious when, three minutes later, Snape appeared at the door. He placed the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the crowded bedside table and draped the final blanket in the flat over the mountain, his face filled with sympathy and sadness, more expressive than any of the students would have given him credit for. It was a shame really. Harry would have found it quite interesting.

…

The dark, dilapidated house echoed with the sound of slithering as he glided along the floor, cutting a thin line in the inch thick dust that still hadn't been cleaned from the hallway. An icy breeze raced up through the rotting floorboards, making him shiver. As he entered the first lit room he had come across so far, he didn't even look at the occupants of the room, as he slid his way over in front of the fire and curled up, basking in the heat.

One of the people was cowering in the corner, but he didn't even bother to look over at the pathetic human, as that was usually where he was. He stretched out languidly, inching closer to where he knew the person was, until he was rewarded with a high pitched squeak, but soon tired of the game, preferring to be fully in the warm.

"They suspect, my Lord," a man said in a rather breathy, urgent voice. "They know the Cup was tricked."

"Are you being watched?" A high pitched, strange voice answered. A blast of cold air burst through the room, causing the fire to flicker and Harry to curl up even tighter in his pool of warmth.

"Everyone is," the first man said. "The boy has disappeared. No one has seen him, though they say he is still at the school. Maybe it would be a good idea to start thinking of alternatives? Think about how much sooner-"

"If he is still there and must fulfil the contract, then the plan is still in place."

"My Lord, he is being watched so closely and I have no access to the boy. Before it would have been impossible, now, there is no way we will retrieve him," the first man insisted.

Another icy gust sped along the floor. "You will find a way," the inhuman whisper replied. "Wormtail!"

"Master?" the snivelling wreck in the corner jumped.

"Milk Nagini. I will need feeding tonight."

Another whimper escaped the 'man', causing a thrill of disdain to pass through Harry's body. "Yes master," he squealed, in deference and disgust.

"And as for you…"

The cold voice from the chair breathed great rasping breaths as the floorboards creaked with someone's nervous shifting.

"… You have… disappointed me."

"Master-"

"Silence!" he sounded excited now. "You will fulfil your task and you shall cease your mithering doubts. Bring me the boy!"

"I will my Lord. I will. I am sorry for-"

"CRUCIO!"

Harry sat bolt upright, smothering a scream. He leapt out of bed and collapsed on the bathroom floor, willing his splitting headache and lingering dizziness to leave him. After a minute hanging over the toilet, he finally felt safe to sit back.

Ugh. His new pyjamas were soaked through with sweat and clung to him like a second, itchy skin. His head still felt like it was being cleft in two. He tried not to move his head and squeezed his eyes tight shut to block out the light. He felt horrible.

He had known that he would have nightmares after Snape had insisted they have that talk. Tendrils of anger clasped at him, as he thought of Snape's smug expression when he had spoken to Harry, as if he hadn't known what the effect would be. This was why Harry just ignored the Dursleys when he could. He didn't want to think about any of it, especially not in bed. Especially not with his head lolled back on the freezing bathroom tiles, when his head was about to open up and spill his brains over the floor and the world was spinning off its axis.

He shut off all thoughts and feelings on that cold floor, trying to rediscover his equilibrium, if he had ever had any, until it was possible for him to peel himself up and clamber into the shower without his head falling off, or his stomach contents falling out.

He managed to stand in the shower, water rushing over him, and tried to remember his dream. It had seemed so real at the time and frightened him half to death, it seemed, judging by how much his heart was racing. For life of him, he could not remember what it had been about. A creepy voice and dust… It had all been rather strange. Not something Harry usually dreamt about, he was sure, although it had seemed important.

Well, Harry thought. At least it wasn't Uncle Vernon.

…

All the criteria for abuse were taken from the Childline website. If you or anyone you know is experiencing the things described in this chapter, please visit . /info-advice/

I hope this chapter was better than the last.

Next update will be January 18th.

Now I have to go and do some work-y work, because (yay) deadlines. Just a reminder that reviews cheer me up