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Chapter 7

It was strange, Harry reflected, how one could be exhausted beyond belief without even realising it. So used to waking up early every day, he was, that the heaviness of his eyelids came as a complete surprise when next he woke. He couldn't move. In fact, he couldn't even produce a sound of any sort. His brain was still much too befuddled with sleep and was slowly pulling him back into the darkness. Harry would like nothing more but to withdraw into nothingness when he heard the low whisper of voices nearby.

"This is unacceptable, Headmaster. Forgive me for saying you are out of your mind."

Whoever had spoken was hissing with nothing but malice. How very brave they must be to speak to Dumbledore in that tone of voice. He was the headmaster, right? Hmmm, Harry wasn't entirely sure anymore.

"I assure you that I merely want what's best."

"For whom?" That angry hiss again. Surely, Dumbledore did not deserve such malice. If it was indeed him.

A sigh resounded, followed by a silence that lasted long enough for Harry to almost drift back to sleep. When he exhaled, his warm breath touched his fingers, which he now realised were curled onto the pillow next to him.

"Would you take a good look, Albus?" The voice was getting a bit louder and a lot less respectful. Harry thought he could almost identify it and flinched inwardly at the stern sound, recognition almost within his grasp.

"This is not what's best for anyone!"

"I need to consider many things, Severus," came Dumbledore's tired voice. Neither man was still whispering and Harry's befuddled mind slowly crept back into consciousness.

Severus. Snape? But he's supposed to be pretending to be Dudley. What's Dumbledore doing at the Dursleys?

"He was nearly beaten to death!"

Realisation hit Harry as if he was slapped in the face. His eyes shot open almost as if it had been entirely involuntary and his panicked gaze focused on the empty chair sitting next to his bed. Somewhere behind his back, Snape was engaging Dumbledore in a rather heated discussion, both of them seemingly unaware that Harry was still there.

They're talking about me! Oh, Merlin, this is bad. What do I do now?

"While I never knew that they were capable of such violence, surely you understand the necessity of the wards now more than ever," Dumbledore said. His voice almost had a pleading quality to it and Harry wondered who he was trying to convince. And of what.

"He has to go back, eventually."

Ah, so that's it. Well, no surprise there.

"No," Snape said, sounding resolute.

"I needn't remind you that Voldemort has, in fact, returned," Dumbledore said. This time, he sounded authoritarian and rigid.

Snape growled and Harry clenched the thin blanket with his left hand. "I am aware of the circumstances," Snape spat. "But you'll forgive me if I don't see the merit of keeping him alive just so some muggle can kill him!"

That's a bit exaggerated, really.

Harry was slowly becoming aware of the pain that was gradually spreading through his limbs once more. As if it hadn't ever really been gone but was giving Harry the time to properly wake up before disturbing him again. It was as good a reason as any to make his awakening known, really. He shifted a bit and pushed himself upright, refusing to show the difficulty that took him. The two arguing men stopped reprimanding each other as Harry bravely met their gazes.

For a moment, it seemed as if no one knew just what to say. The silence was hard on Harry's nerves and he swallowed thickly, wanting more than anything to break through the uncomfortable mist of quiet that seemed to hang in the hospital wing.

"Good morning," Harry attempted weakly, though the darkness outside should have been a hint that morning had not yet come and wouldn't for a while. Snape scoffed and crossed his arms while Dumbledore moved to sit in the previously unoccupied chair.

No transfiguration into something more comfortable? How very unexpected.

"It's not yet morning, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling kindly. "But since you're up, would you mind telling us how you feel?"

I'm only up because neither of you could keep your voice down.

"I'm okay," Harry replied, shrugging despite the pain. "And don't worry. I understand that I need to go back."

It's not as if I really have anywhere else to go. And I certainly do not need to be pitied.

A low growl emanating frustration and anger erupted from Snape's throat and Harry couldn't help but stare at him.

"That's not an option," Snape spat through clenched teeth. "Would you look at the state you're in?"

"Oh, this?" Harry asked, making light of the situation. "It's nothing really. It probably looks a bit harsh to wizards such as yourself but this is just the muggle way of disciplining their children."

The white-hot rage on Snape's face was enough to make Harry flinch back but the strangled sound of agony in Dumbledore's throat was worse.

"Potter!" Snape spat. "I'm certain that I know not whether you truly believe that or if you're simply lying but I assure you that I know enough about muggles to know that that is not true."

Harry huffed in frustration. He looked at his arm that was wrapped in a tight bandage and clicked his tongue in dismay. What was Snape even trying to accomplish, really?

"Does it matter?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. "I have to go back there anyway. I heard the headmaster." Harry cringed a bit when the volatile pains started wracking his body and pulled the covers up to his chin to try and hide his trembling form.

"Harry –" Dumbledore started only to be interrupted by Snape.

"That will not happen," Snape said angrily. "I have had enough of your Gryffindorian outlook on this situation." His sharp eyes seemed to reprimand both Harry and Dumbledore with that statement. Harry couldn't help but feel disgruntled about that. He was only trying to accommodate Dumbledore, after all.

"Severus, this had nothing to do with –"

"Albus," Snape interrupted again. "When I came to you earlier to report the muggle's strange behaviour, I agreed with you to keep him there despite their ill treatment of the boy. Even though my instincts screamed at me to not do so."

"And yet, you brought him here," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Only because I came back to find your precious golden boy locked in a shed, dying on the floor."

"It wasn't that bad," Harry tried again. Snape's response to that was a murderous glare.

"I want to make one thing clear to you, Harry," Dumbledore said sternly. "What your relatives did is absolutely abhorrent and inexcusable. Were the situation not as dire as it is, I—" Dumbledore sighed and seemed to try and compose himself before continuing. "I will talk to them about this and set them straight."

Sure, throw some gasoline onto the fire, why don't you?

Snape snorted. "Perhaps I should just deliver him to the Dark Lord and get this over with now," he suggested sardonically. "It would save us all a lot of trouble."

"Severus!" Dumbledore chided but Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He knew it wasn't supposed to be funny. He really did. But the idea of Snape delivering him to Voldemort just to save him from the Dursleys seemed entirely ridiculous. Maybe Voldemort would invite him for tea and whisper kind assurances into his ear. Would he have snuggly blankets for comfort? The pink kind complete with tassels.

"Does something amuse you, Mr Potter?" Snape asked coldly. His arms were crossed in that closed off sort of way as he stared at the young Gryffindor. His posture was rigid and his glare unyielding. It was very strange to consider that this man, in particular, seemed so intent on removing Harry from the Dursleys.

Realising that he was expected to respond, Harry shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm just a bit tired, I think."

"And rightly so," Dumbledore said resolutely. With agility beyond his years, he righted himself and made a show of straightening his robes. To Harry, it felt as if he was reluctant to leave. He startled a bit when Dumbledore put a comforting hand on his shoulder and was glad to see that the man chose to ignore it. "You've been through a lot today, Harry," he said.

Harry did his best not to respond to that. Today. As if the treatment he endured was exceptional rather than common. Instead, he forced his expression into one of resignation and nodded.

"Get some sleep," Dumbledore continued. He gave Harry's shoulder a light squeeze before locking eyes with Snape and inclining his head towards the door.

Harry didn't reply. He was too tired to make polite conversation and respect the rules of proper decorum. He noticed that Snape was staring at him and narrowed his eyes at the man. He might have taken him out of that house for now but that didn't give him leave to regard him as if he were some rare potions ingredients. It was nothing short of creepy, really.

He wasn't the one to break eye contact. Instead, Dumbledore took Snape by the elbow and dragged the man with him. Snape scoffed at that but allowed himself to be led out of the hospital wing.

That's right. Go brew some midnight potions, or something.

"Good night, Harry." Dumbledore's voice sounded overly cheerful and positive. It was plain to hear that he was putting up a front. Or rather, Harry hoped that he was. He certainly hoped that Dumbledore didn't take pleasure from his situation.

No, he wouldn't.

Finally alone with his thoughts and coherent enough to get them lined up, Harry was struck by an awful realisation.

They know. They really know! Not only Snape does, but now Dumbledore does as well!

Somehow, it seemed worse that the kindly older wizard knew of Harry's situation. Snape would assess the situation logically and take away nothing but facts and data. What he did with those was an entirely different question, perhaps, but the truth of the matter was that Harry could count on the man to at least not regard him any differently.

But Dumbledore…

Dumbledore cared about Harry. Of that, he was fairly certain. Almost certain. And if he did, surely he would feel bad about this entire situation. Harry could see it in those dejected blue eyes, as well as the sad quiver of his left hand. It had been there, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

Harry drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as best he could without hurting himself too much in the process. He rested his cheek on his knees and stared at the unoccupied chair once more.

Perhaps Dumbledore didn't really care after all. After he had rejected Harry's pleas to stay at Hogwarts after first year, he imagined that was because the man didn't know the full story. Harry hadn't exactly been forthcoming back then or ever since so how could Dumbledore possibly have known.

He should have known!

That's right. Albus Dumbledore was supposed to be the most powerful wizard of his age. Even Voldemort feared him. He always knew everything about everyone so how could Harry's situation have slipped past him?! It was ridiculous if you thought about it.

Harry grit his teeth and buried his fists into his blankets, clenching the material as hard as he could as the cloth was stretched taut between his hands, on the verge of ripping apart.

Just like Harry was.

Dumbledore left him there! He left him on the doorstep of a pair of muggles who already had their own son to take care of. They already had a child they loved. How could Dumbledore have ever thought that Harry's intrusion would be welcomed? The entire notion was beyond preposterous! Had there really been no one else?

Did he even try someone else or did he want to be rid of me?

It seemed to Harry that with his name, anyone in the wizarding world would have taken him in. They would have liked him for his name at first, sure, but given time, these hypothetical people might even have grown to love him. Unless what the Dursleys had been telling him his entire life was true, of course.

'No one loves a freak.'

The blanket finally ripped from the force it had to endure, stretched in Harry's rage. A bit startled, he dropped the blanket and stared at it. Who was he kidding? If even his own family couldn't love him, no one else would have been able to either.

I'm a freak.

Even in the wizarding world, he was everything but normal. He was a Parselmouth and a permanent target for Voldemort. He was now a tri-wizard champion and the reason the dark wizard had been resurrected. His scar was the most obvious anomaly. The bounty he received after his mother died for him. A lousy reward that was, if you asked Harry. He would much rather have his mother and father back. Surely, they would have loved him.

No. No one loves a freak.

Dumbledore didn't care. Why would he? Why should he? There were hundreds of children attending Hogwarts and Harry was but one of them. He probably would have visited any child that wound up in the hospital wing. The only difference? Another child in the same situation would probably be saved. Dumbledore would open his arms and embrace them, telling them it would be alright. Telling them that they were safe now. But not Harry. Never Harry.

Because Harry had a higher purpose. Because Harry was a target. Because Lord Voldemort wanted Harry Potter dead.

And Vernon Dursley? He merely wanted Harry incapacitated. Belittled. Kept small. Not dead, though. Not on purpose, in any case.

In a fit of rage, Harry grabbed one of the armrests of the chair and tossed the wooden contraption roughly across the room, as if it had slighted him in every way possible. It hit another bed with a very loud clattering noise and Harry glared at it as if the racket had been the chair's fault entirely.

Harry felt his eyes prick and pressed his palms against them. He would not cry. He had been through much worse. And really, this shouldn't surprise him in the least. He never expected anyone to take him away from the Dursleys. Not really.

Then why do I feel so disappointed?

When no one seemed to come running after Harry had made so much noise, he wondered where Madame Pomfrey was at. He sighed and crawled back underneath the blankets. He was angry because he was in pain. That was all. Tomorrow, everything would look a lot better. Tomorrow, he would be able to smile and brave his troubles with all the courage that was expected of a Gryffindor. Of Harry Potter.

But just for tonight, in the solitude of the hospital wing, he could allow himself a small respite. He hugged his pillow to himself and bit his lip to keep himself from making too much noise.

A teardrop escaped him and moistened the pillow ever so slightly. It was soon followed by others. Harry's shoulders shook as the hopelessness of the situation crushed him.

If only for tonight.


When Harry next woke, it was no longer dark out. The sun had just begun to rise and was covering the hospital wing in a golden sheen, using the large windows as a gateway. Harry rubbed his eyes and grabbed his glasses. No sounds besides the ones he produced himself could be heard. Harry guessed that it was still fairly early. He sighed and grabbed his wand which was placed next to him on a bedside table.

"Tempus."

It was a little past six. Normally, Petunia would be banging on his door to get started on breakfast right about now. Vernon could not be late for work, after all. Dudley would sleep for a few more hours. Or he would if he wasn't currently staying at St Mungo's.

Aunt Petunia must be so worried.

Again, Harry couldn't help but feel bad for the woman. When everything was said and done, she had still taken him in, despite really not wanting to. She had kept him safe from the likes of Voldemort and quite honestly, had only had bad experiences with magic since the moment Harry had started becoming... freakish.

Harry looked at his hands, staring as if they were about to sprout mushrooms or something. Or perhaps more likely, would start to ooze with magic.

"Mr Potter," a familiar voice drawled.

Harry looked up without moving his head, managing what he imagined was to be a rather nasty glare. He did not want to speak to his Potions Professor. He didn't even want to see him. Especially not after everything he found out.

"Refrain from glaring at me right this instant," Snape snapped. "Unless you want me to spell your expression into one that is more to my liking."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please," he replied. "As if Dumbledore would allow that."

He's allowed for many things, already.

"Must you be this obstinate first thing in the morning?" Snape asked. "You realise that my idea of a perfect summer holiday does not include you in any shape or form."

"The sentiment is entirely mutual," Harry replied calmly even though he was fuming on the inside.

Snape's lips receded into a thin line as his eyes narrowed at the boy sitting seemingly casual on the hospital bed. Harry did his very best to look as if he didn't care one bit about what Snape might think of him but that look of loathing and disgust was really pushing Harry's mental limitations.

But Snape didn't say anything scathing in return. Nor did he violently advance on Harry like Vernon or Dudley would do.

Instead, he asked a question that might have seemed insulting but was voiced with an even tone that, for Snape, seemed almost friendly. "Why do you feel the need to provoke people so much?"

Harry groaned inwardly. So you've noticed as well?

But he didn't say that. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow in a bad imitation of the man standing before him and smirked. "I'm sure you can think up a sufficiently unflattering reason yourself," he said in a tone of voice that could be used to describe the weather.

Snape's upper lip curled and Harry was reminded of the fangs of a vicious wolf he had seen at the zoo, once. Unwilling to be intimidated, Harry sat up a bit straighter and challenged Snape with another glare.

"As insufferable as you might be, Potter, I am not willing to discuss that with you at this moment," Snape then said. He withdrew a few potions from his inner pocket that just had to have been magically expanded and placed them unceremoniously on Harry's bedside table.

"Take these," he said sternly.

The man crossed his arms and fixed Harry with a rather piercing glare. For a moment, Harry was seriously considering disobeying if only to see what reaction he might provoke. After all, Snape seemed surprisingly subdued for now. With the things Harry had said so far he surely would have expected some sort of reprimand. Something worse than snarky comebacks. Sure, he couldn't exactly take points right now but, Merlin, the man hadn't even raised his voice yet.

But Harry reconsidered. As fun as antagonising Snape might seem at this moment, he would be sure to regret it later. So he picked up one of the potions and struggled a bit to uncork it. Snape just watched him, his expression neutral and his posture stoic. Harry felt a little bit like a fish in a fish tank but refused to show that he was uncomfortable with Snape's scrutiny.

Eventually, he managed to uncork and drink all potions, not even stopping to wonder what they all did. It soon became clear that one of them was a pain reliever, though Harry was determined not to show Snape the relief he felt after he downed it. The man smirked nonetheless and Harry glared again. That man was able to read people like an open book. It was hardly fair.

Why is he lingering?

Sure enough, Snape made no move to leave, even after the potions were gone. He didn't speak either. He just stood there, looking at Harry. But the malice and disgust in his eyes was less than it usually would be. It wasn't gone at all, but it was less obvious.

"Can I help you?" Harry finally asked a bit rudely.

"Since our little subterfuge is over, you will address me as sir or professor once more, Potter," Snape drawled.

"School isn't even in session," Harry protested defiantly.

"Nevertheless, you shall treat me with the respect I deserve," Snape pressed.

Harry scoffed but didn't reply anymore. Instead, he made a show of straightening his blanket, wincing slightly when he was reminded of the tear he made.

"As careless with school property as ever, are you?" Snape asked slyly.

"It was an accident," Harry grumbled in protest. He expected Snape to argue with him but was surprised when the man drew his wand and cast a quick reparo, instead. He was even more surprised when Snape walked over to the chair that Harry had carelessly thrown across the room, and without so much as an accusatory glance, put it back in its rightful place, taking a seat as he did. He then steepled his fingers and leaned forward, fixing Harry with a piercing glare.

"Potter," he then said. "Don't you desire to leave the despicable environment those muggles provide you with?"

Harry was taken aback by the overtly direct question but quickly recovered. "It doesn't matter," he replied, adding a sir when Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"I asked what you desire," Snape said more plainly.

Harry huffed in frustration. "It's not possible, sir," he replied, feeling exasperated that Snape wouldn't get it through his thick skull. "There are reasons why I can't leave."

"Do you wish to leave, though?" Snape asked again, his tone ridiculously patient.

Harry glared at Snape but the effort was half-hearted at best. He swallowed thickly when he felt his chest constrict somewhat and clenched his fists underneath the blanket, where Snape wouldn't be able to see. "I. Can't," he said, enunciating his words clearly.

Snape sighed and leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to stave off a headache and not succeeding.

"Potter," he then tried again, much to Harry's consternation. "Judging by the abysmal essays you occasionally choose to fling on my desk, I can see that the details of the English language are sometimes difficult for you to grasp."

You absolute git!

"Let me make it clear to you that I am not asking you about the possibilities here. Nor do I expect you to come up with solutions to problems that you, quite frankly, have no idea exist. The question I pose you is a simple one. One that can be answered with a simple 'yes' or 'no'."

Snape ran a hand through his greasy hair and it struck Harry that he seemed exhausted. Had the man even slept last night? A glance at the empty potion vials on the table had Harry frowning. Just how freshly-made were those potions?

"I will ask you one more time, and I expect you to give me a satisfactory reply," Snape continued, his cold eyes sending a warning that Harry fully understood. "Do you wish to leave your relatives?"

Harry grit his teeth in an effort not to let his anger get the best of him. But when Snape kept looking at him, expecting an answer, one he already should full-well know, he broke.

"Of course I do!" He yelled. "Do you think I enjoy being beaten up every which way to Sunday? Well, I don't! I don't particularly care to be left at the mercy of my uncle, especially now that they are aware of what happened to Dudley, but there's nothing I can do! Happy?!"

Harry was breathing heavily after his outburst and clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying more.

He met Snape's gaze briefly, to check just how much the man was gloating. But he wasn't. There was no smirk, no obvious mirth and no mocking sneer. Snape's lips had formed a thin line that could rival even McGonagall's most sour expression and the look in his eyes was one of determination.

"No," he finally responded evenly. "I am most decidedly not happy."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he just started plucking at some invisible lint on his bedding.

"You should tell the Headmaster," Snape then spoke. "By simply rolling over, and saying that you understand his position, you're not exactly making it clear that you wish to leave. Yes, he's probably aware that you do but if you express your desires plainly –"

"I already did," Harry interrupted coldly. "It didn't matter in first year so I don't see how it would matter now."

A low, growling sound escaped Snape. It sounded so unnatural that Harry almost chuckled. He probably would have if it weren't for this mortifying situation.

"Are you telling me," Snape said, sounding absolutely enraged, "that the headmaster was aware of your situation?"

Harry looked up, surprise colouring his gaze. He tilted his head slightly to the side as he regarded Snape. "Of course," he then said, as if that were obvious all along. "My Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, you know?" Harry then groaned when he realised what he had said. Sure, Snape might have seen this one beating and temporarily rescued him from what was probably a bad situation, but that didn't mean he should just go ahead and spill all of his secrets.

"Also," he continued in the hopes that Snape would ignore his slip up. "At the end of first year, I asked Dumbledore if I could stay at Hogwarts instead of going back. But, well, you know the result."

"Did you tell the headmaster why you wished to stay here?" Snape asked, his voice still dangerously low.

Harry shrugged. "I told him they don't like me very much," he replied quietly. "My relatives, I mean."

Snape cleared his throat and Harry got the odd feeling that the man felt decidedly uncomfortable. Well, that made two of them. "If it were up to me, you would not be required to go back there, Potter. Ever," Snape said. His tone of voice was completely sincere and Harry couldn't help but smile at that.

"Thank you, sir," he replied. "But unfortunately, it is not. And for whatever reason that I am yet to be explained, I have to go back."

"We'll see about that," Snape growled. He brusquely got up from his seat and narrowed his eyes at the gravely injured boy. "Since my healing skills are not exactly up to par with those of Madame Pomfrey, I expect you to remain here for at least another week," he said in a very business-like tone.

So Madame Pomfrey really isn't here.

"I will convey your feelings to the headmaster and urge you to do the same. Don't be roundabout about it either. Just tell him directly that you don't, under any circumstances, wish to go back."

"But –"

"If you do this, Potter," Snape continued as if he wasn't interrupted. "And he still sends you back, despite your pleas, I assure you that I will find a way to have those muggles keep their hands to themselves. If need be, I will take up lodging in your home as well. But this time, I will be myself."

Harry's eyes couldn't possibly grow wider as he took in his Potions Professor's earnest offer. "But sir," he said after he got over his astonishment. "You hate me. Why would you do that?"

"My reasons are my own, Potter," Snape snarled. "And you would do well to not tug at a gift broom's bristles."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, momentarily placated.

Snape nodded sharply and turned on his heel, ready to make a sweeping exit. But right before he crossed the threshold, he paused and released a long-suffering sigh.

"I don't hate you, Potter," he said. "I may not fawn over you as your fan club would, but I never hated you."

Before Harry could reply to that, the Potions Master stalked off in a swirl of robes, leaving him absolutely dumbfounded.

Polyjuice?

Harry snickered to himself, despite the heavy circumstances weighing down on his heart. Just the idea of Snape sitting down with the Dursleys at breakfast, asking Vernon to pass the salt made him giddy.

I wonder how he likes his eggs?


There you are. I wonder how you all feel about this chapter. Don't forget to leave me a review, please. It works wonders for my motivation. I will try to keep up the double updates for now but I make no promises. See this as a trial run of sorts. Expect the next chapter on Friday, in any case.