1.04 Harsh Truths

It was Snape who was holding out a potion when he woke, and not the elf. "I thought Trippy was supposed to do this," he said groggily as he took the vial.

His face was pinched, as if annoyed. He wondered if maybe that was just his face. One of his teachers had a really mean looking face but she'd been nice.

Mrs. Figg had a harmless looking face. Harry wondered what would happen to her cats. He wondered if she'd any family, and if they were sad. She looked like she didn't have any—she lived all alone, and he'd never seen any visitors over.

And now she was dead because someone thought he was evil—

"Elves aren't doctors."

"Can they be?"

"I believe I already mentioned their use to you."

Harry found his tone rather cold, but he didn't care much for elves either, and so downed his potion in silence. Maybe Snape had been hurt by an elf once too.

"The Headmaster Dumbledore, he said my aunt was trying to 'keep me from harsher truths?' What did he mean?"

"Later, Potter."

"It's my parents."

"I am well aware, and that is why I do not wish to do this now. You are recovering from a painful experience, and exposing you to—"

"They said my father was a drunk," he said on an impulse. His head was lowered as he said it, but then he looked up at Snape. The man looked just mildly unsettled. Harry pressed his advantage. "And that my mum was—just a—that she shouldn't have married him," he finished, his cheeks reddening as he considered that perhaps he'd given out too much information. Oh, but he desperately wanted to know, and the truth couldn't possibly be worse than this—

Snape pinched his nose with closed eyes. "Do not interrupt me in the future, Mister Potter." Harry bit his lip, waiting with hopeful, unblinking eyes. "Your parents, among others, were fighting a dark wizard. They were killed by him."

His mouth gaped open slightly as he processed this. "So my parents were—good?"

There was an odd twist to Snape's lips. "Yes," he bit off.

Harry's hands sought out the scar on his forehead. "Where did I get this?"

"Your family really didn't tell you anything, did they, Potter?"

"They told me I got this in a car accident."

He huffed, a look of extreme displeasure on his face. "The wizard was trying to kill you, Potter." He paused, as if waiting for something. "Your parents tried to stop him."

It was a while before Harry could recover enough to close his mouth. When he did, he whispered, "What was the wizard's name?"

Something shifted in the man's eyes. "We call him You-Know-Who."

The absence of a name made it more terrifying. "Why was he trying to kill me?" still in that soft voice, as if he couldn't believe the words he was saying.

"You don't need to know."

Snape said those words with seemingly no effort, but Harry jerked back. "But—"

"Suffice it to say that he tried to and failed, and you got that scar as a result."

Again he rubbed at his forehead, at the spot where apparently, he had a leftover symbol of his parents' death at the hands of— "What was his name?"

"Voldemort."

Harry mouthed the words with a solemn awe.

Snape was watching him, he noticed after a while, very carefully. "The men who took you were his followers. They're called Death Eaters." And then, "That's enough for today. Sleep now."

Harry numbly lay back down.

Voldemort.

Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater.

His parents were good people, and they were killed, and he was almost killed too.

Harry went through everything Snape had said, rewinding them again and again till he couldn't think anymore.

Trippy would amble into the room whenever Harry awoke, and wait patiently at his side in case he needed anything. It was around noon the next day that Harry was lying awake in bed, and finally decided he couldn't go to sleep. He got up, pulling off the covers, and, Trippy's watchful eyes following him, made his way to the hall. There was a dining table at one end, and at the other the walls were lined with books, with a sofa in the corner. He stood beside it, looking up at the titles. Most of them he couldn't understand at all, but then one caught his attention—'Protective Spells'. He pulled it out carefully, and lowered himself on the sofa and began to read.

The heavy footstep of Mister Snape made him look up. The man was striding towards him, frowning. Harry closed the book, stiffening in fear.

"Mister Potter. Being in my house does not give you leave to go through my belongings," Snape said, coming to a halt some feet away from him.

He flushed. "Sorry. I was bored."

Snape smirked. "I do apologize for not providing ample entertainment. I imagine you had a great many toys in your house to keep you from boredom."

"Not—not really—"

"Speak up, Potter."

He raised his head. "Not really, sir. But I had a lot of work to do."

Snape was regarding him as if he were a particularly interesting insect. "What kind of work?"

"Oh—just, cleaning the house, cooking, tending to the garden."

"And this took up your entire day."

"Well, no, I had school."

The interesting-insect look increased, and then died away suddenly. "I apologize, Potter, but no matter how much you might miss it, I cannot put you to work. You are still recovering." Then he paused, and pulled out a book from a lower shelf with a flick of his wand. "Read this." He held out the book, but before Harry could take it, he pulled it back suddenly and said, with an increased glint in his eye, "You are not to soil, crease or damage this book in any way, Potter. Nor are you to take any books from here without my permission." Harry nodded, and the book was slipped into his hand.

"Sir?" Harry said as Snape made to walk off. "Does Mrs. Figg have any family?"

"No."

He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was good, he supposed, that there was no one who would be upset by her death—but that she didn't have anyone who would care about her enough to miss her when she was gone—

"Her parents passed away many years ago. She doesn't have siblings, nor did she get married."

"Oh. Were they killed by Voldemort too?"

Snape flinched. "Do not say the name."

"Sorry. You-Know-Who."

"They were not. Dragon pox. It's a fatal disease in the magical world."

Oh.

"I didn't realize you were close to the woman."

He shook his head automatically. "No, I wasn't. She was kind of annoying, really—" but she was dead now and what kind of a jerk was he being talking about her like that, "—but she was pretty harmless, and s—" sweet? No, she wasn't sweet! Well, compared to the Dursleys, maybe… "—she had a lot of cats. What happened to the cats?"

"She had pictures of cats, Potter. She didn't have any real cats."

Oh. But then who were the pictures of?

Snape was looking at him as if deliberating something. "Potter, Mrs. Figg had been assigned to watch over you by Dumbledore. She knew you were a wizard."

Harry could only stare blankly. That woman, to watch over him? "What was she doing with a shoelace?"

"It was a Portkey. We use it to travel. She was trying to get you to safety."

He couldn't speak; he just stood there, gaping at Snape, who sniffed. "Close your mouth, Potter." Snap. "You've been out of bed for long enough." Harry wanted to protest, but he could feel his eyes drooping. "Go back to bed."

He walked back, albeit reluctantly, and lay under the covers. Trippy followed him in with a tray of food that he half-heartedly jabbed at. He lay awake for a while, wondering if Snape would come with his potions, and then he fell asleep.

And he had his first nightmare.

He dreamt he was back in the garden, screaming at the white masks to let them go! He was tied down in the cellar and they took his blood, all of it, and he died there, only he didn't die, he came back, and then that pale boy was staring at him saying, my father, my father, my birthday, and the blonde lady was looking down her nose at him.

Then Mrs. Figg held a wand to his throat. You killed, you killed!

Potter.

Mrs. Figg tightened his chains. You killed, she said, her eyes wide open and her arm stretched out and frozen

Potter! Wake up!

He gasped and jumped bolt upright, nearly hitting Snape on the nose. "Sorry," he said, automatically, and then again, with more feeling, "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

Snape was looking at him thoughtfully. "Was that a nightmare?"

That hardly needed pointing out.

"The cellar?" He nodded. "Ah." He stared a little more, and Harry was about to tell him to please stop, that was disconcerting, before he said, "I wasn't sleeping."

He tilted his head in confusion before he understood his meaning. "You don't sleep?" He'd already suspected he wasn't entirely human, but that would be additional proof.

He looked mildly amused. "Potter, I am overseeing your well-being, not the other way around."

"Okay. Do you often not sleep at night?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"None of your concern."

"Do some potions need to be made at night, or something?"

"Are you trying to keep talking so you won't have to go to sleep?"

He flushed.

"We have potions for nightmares, Potter."

"Really?" Although, come to think of it, it was really a sensible thing to make potions for.

"You have been administered a small doze every night since you got back. Today was the first day you slept without. Taking them daily for long periods of time is not recommended."

Harry twisted his fingers together. "So I can't take them anymore?"

Snape was tracing his lips with a finger thoughtfully. "We will have to see. If they persist, I shall give you some occasionally. Now go to bed."

Harry worked up enough courage to blurt out, "Did you know me when I was a baby?"

Snape had just turned, and now he wheeled back slowly, staring at him. "What makes you think that?" with honest curiosity in his voice.

"The Headmaster told me he knew me, so…" he shrugged.

"I've never met you before."

"I thought I did something to you when I was younger and that's why you don't like me."

He looked at Harry with a blank expression on his face. "I can't imagine why you would think that."

"Did you hate my parents?" His aunt and uncle didn't seem to like his parents either, and they didn't like him because of his parents.

He was glaring at him now. "No, just your father."

He swept out of the room and shut the door behind him in a not-quite-bang-but-pretty-close.

It was two days later when he decided that this time, he could jolly well walk himself to the bathroom. He slipped out of bed, slowly, and walked out.

Mister Snape was sitting at a table, going through a newspaper. He looked up when he saw him. "What are you doing?"

"Washroom?"

"Where's Trippy?"

Snape lifted his fingers without waiting for a reply, but Harry called out, "Wait! I thought I could try by myself for once."

He looked like he was going to disagree, but then he gave a jerky nod. Harry gratefully entered the bathroom. He managed to get through his entire routine without any fuss, and left the bathroom and into the room where Mister Snape was sitting, and that is when his legs decided to give out from under him and he fell to the floor.

There was a scraping noise as Mister Snape yanked his chair back and got up, but by the time he'd reached Harry he was already getting to his feet. "I'm fine."

"Yes, I can see the evidence of that."

"It—it's been a while since I've walked." He didn't mean to, but he looked up. Snape's eyes still had that not-happy look.

"I imagine it's also the effect of lowering your potions doses." Snape removed his hand from where it had been holding Harry's shoulder. "Go to your room."

"I feel fine. Shouldn't I practice walking?"

"You're still weak. Go to your room."

He did feel wobbly in the legs. So he went to his room. Snape followed him in, and took out a vial as was his habit every three to four hours.

"You could just tell me what to take and when to take it and I could just take it," he said.

He smirked. "Allow you to self-medicate? What a brilliant idea. I monitor your health and give you potions accordingly."

"You're a doctor?"

"We call them Healers here, and no, I'm not. I am a Potions Master."

He yawned. "So you're like, really good at potions?"

He looked down at Harry. "Yes," he said, with a smirk playing about his lips. Or a smile, he wasn't sure which.

"Why do you hate my father?"

The smirk died away, replaced by a look of anger so quickly Harry nearly cried out. That look was carefully wiped away too, and then it was just Snape with a wooden look on his face, taking the vial back. "Later, Potter."

"You said he was a good person, that he fought Voldemort—"

"I never said he was a good person, Potter."

"You said he fought—wait, so he wasn't?" Somehow this was even worse than when Aunt Petunia had told him his father was a drunkard.

"I imagine most of the people you'll meet will say he was," Snape said, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury.

Harry stared at him. "And you?"

"I never got along with your father, Potter. The feeling was entirely mutual. We despised each other."

"Why?"

"Because—" the word seemed to explode out of Snape "—he was an arrogant, spoilt, impertinent little—" he stopped. With what looked like herculean effort, he said, "Go to sleep, Potter."

In a daze, Harry said, "Okay."

Just when Snape was at the door, Harry piped up, "Was he a Mudblood?"

He wheeled around. "Do not say that word, Potter!" he said, his voice several decibels louder than normal.

Harry was starting to get seriously confused. "Okay. Why?"

"It's an insult, Potter, it's what they call—How did you know that word, anyway?"

"Draco Malfoy called me that."

Snape's eyes seemed to fall out of his head. "What did you say?"

"Draco Malfoy. He called me that."

"Yes, I heard you the first time. When did you see Draco Malfoy?"

"In the cellar."

"Potter," he said through gritted teeth. "Please explain in detail how you came to have an encounter with Draco Malfoy."

Harry told him. Snape listened in silence. "And you did not speak of this to the Headmaster and me, why?" he asked.

He shrugged. "I didn't know you wanted to know."

Snape huffed. "Is there anyone else you saw?"

"There was a woman. Narcissa."

Silence. Snape was eyeing Harry with a completely blank look. "You saw Narcissa," he said flatly.

He nodded.

"What did she say to you?"

Harry's hands fisted unconsciously at the memory. "She asked me if I missed my parents," he mumbled at the bedsheets.

"What, Potter?"

"She asked me if I missed my parents, sir," he said loudly, looking up and glaring at Snape.

He was relieved to see that for once, Snape didn't look like he wanted to turn Harry into a bug. "Did she say anything else?" Harry shook his head. "Did you see, or hear, anything else."

"There was a house-elf, Dobby. And one of the men called the blonde man Lucius."

Snape looked at him sharply. "You heard him say that?"

"Yes, sir."

"How smart of you to keep this information to yourself, Potter," he said with a sneer.

Anger flared up inside him. "Well, it's not like you asked, sir."

"How incredibly like your father you are. He too never took responsibility for his actions."

"He died to save me," Harry said, quietly, because Snape looked very close to losing his temper and Harry didn't want that.

"I suppose that makes him a hero in your eyes," Snape said, with a glint in his eye.

"It makes him my father who d—"

"But mark my words, Potter, before he was the noble father who sacrificed his life for his son, he was a proud, insolent student, pranking and bullying anyone who caught his attention."

Harry felt like someone had emptied a bucket of ice water on him. "I don't believe you," he said quietly.

"You would prefer your fantasy to the truth, of course. Much easier, to think a—"

"I was lied to once before, about my parents. I'm not going to accept what anyone says again."

"Do not interrupt me, Potter," he said with a soft hiss.

Something snapped inside of Harry. "Let's call the Headmaster, then, ask him what he thinks of my dad! Whether he was an arrogant little jerk like you make him out to be or not!"

"We will do nothing of the sort," Snape said after a pause. "The Headmaster has far more important matters than a little boy's opinion of his parents to see to."

Harry sat, his chest rising and falling fast, stubbornly looking away from Snape. "I don't know what you mean by me being like him, anyway," he said. "I've never even met him. I know his name—not even his middle name—and that's it."

They stayed that way, in silence, Snape standing and he sitting, and then he said, "So my mother was a—that word, right?"

"A Muggleborn," he said, very softly. In a more normal tone, he added, "Sleep now, Potter."

Harry stayed awake for a while, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, but eventually he succumbed.