Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

5. Chapter 5: Love

Remember that this story is rated T for child abuse.

This chapter is mostly shameless fluff, but Harry is still dealing with the abuse of his past, so it will be mentioned and hinted at.

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Doing it just for fun.)

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Chapter 5: Love

Harry awoke in bed from an odd dream, and realized that he was feeling strange. It wasn't a bad feeling at all. In fact, he could not remember ever feeling so … content. That was it. He felt safe, and he was in a warm soft bed with a full belly and no fear of Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. He was still hurting a bit, but it was a muted buzz in the back of his mind. He carefully rolled over, wincing as his movement pulled on his healing wounds. He had always been able to see pretty well in the dark, but he couldn't remember ever being able to see this well. He could clearly see the Professor asleep on a little cot beside the big bed, even though the window-curtains were drawn and not much moonlight was filtering in. Things also weren't as fuzzy as they used to be. Maybe his eyes were getting used to it or something. Before he got his glasses last year, he had not realized how bad his eyesight really was. He did not really want to tell the Professor that he used to have glasses. He didn't want to cost the man more money. He was so grateful to him for taking such good care of him and being so kind that it didn't seem right to complain or make demands. Besides, he wasn't having any problems seeing yet.

Harry noticed that the Professor asleep looked so much nicer than when he was awake. His face was relaxed and peaceful and the shadows from his perpetual scowl were gone. The boy had the feeling that the Professor was one of those people who always frown, even when they're not angry. His two smiles today had been … hesitant; like he wasn't exactly sure how to smile. But Harry could read the man's eyes pretty well by now. He could see when they flashed with a burst of temper, or softened with kindness, or sharpened with concern. Nobody had ever looked at him the way the Professor did. Nobody had ever held him the way the Professor did. In fact, he could not remember anyone ever holding him before. It was amazing, Harry thought, how comfortable the man's arms were. He was so tall and strong and kind; and he didn't even mind when Harry cried all over him, twice in less than an hour!

The man had said that Harry was safe with him. No one had ever told him that before. And he knew the man meant it. The Professor said he wanted to take care of him and protect him from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and he said he understood about how his bum hurt and that ointment was brilliant. He wasn't hurting at all down there anymore. The man said he wanted to take care of him and he was just so nice about everything he did for Harry. Grown-ups had never been so kind to him. It was different, and the feeling it gave him was incredible. His heart ached in his chest, but it felt like a good thing. His chest wasn't squeezing with terror or sadness. It was an ache, but it felt like his heart was … growing larger, not being squeezed to death.

Harry barely realized that he was crying again until he sniffled. That tiny noise woke the Professor up and his dark eyes snapped open. For several seconds, they stared at one another, Harry frozen in irrational fear. The Professor had said earlier that Harry was safe, but what if he was mad about being woken up? What if he forgot everything he had said and punished Harry for being an obnoxious little freak? He started to tremble with fear, but he did not dare to apologize, remembering how it annoyed the man.

"Are you alright, Harry?" the Professor asked quietly, his dark eyes flitting over him with concern. "Are you … crying?"

"I'm fine," Harry whispered thickly, relaxing when he realized that the man wasn't mad. "I feel strange."

Immediately, the Professor got up. He moved so quickly that Harry flinched back involuntarily. The man noticed and paused. Slowly, he raised his hand and put it gently on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a low voice, full of firm conviction. "Don't ever be afraid of waking me up, understand? I won't ever punish you if you wake me. I'm a light sleeper and I wake very easily. Now where do you hurt? Where does it feel strange?"

"I'm not hurt," Harry answered, uncoiling in relief. He wriggled a hand out from under the quilt and touched his chest. "I feel weird inside here," he whispered, choking on more tears. "But it feels good. Why am I crying if I feel happy?"

The Professor was quiet for several seconds before he knelt next to the bed and rested a slightly trembling hand on his head. Why was the Professor shaking like Harry was? "Sometimes," the man whispered carefully as he started to stroke Harry's head. "Sometimes people cry when they are very happy. It is a good thing, and it means that … that the happiness is so great that it is overflowing, and it becomes tears. Are you … are you happy, Harry?"

Harry nodded contentedly. The man went on stroking his head and it felt so nice. He wanted to stay here in this moment forever. He was comfortable and safe and warm, and the man beside him was so kind and good. He smelled like spices and safety, and Harry breathed in the calming scent that was quickly becoming familiar. Harry yawned and let his eyes drift was really tired now. It seemed that tears were really exhausting. He had gone straight to sleep earlier after crying in the Professor's kitchen and eating his broth, of course. He was glad that the Professor had saved him from the dog-wolf and was going to let him stay in this safe place.

As he closed his eyes, he mumbled, "Love you, P'fessor."

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Severus Snape went on stroking the child's head even after his steady breathing proclaimed that he was asleep. He was stunned, and he felt somewhat dizzy as he went on smoothing the child's messy hair and stroking the warm forehead with his thumb, carefully tracing the lightning bolt shape of the small boy's unique scar.

Love you, Professor.

Three words had knocked the bottom out from under Snape's world. How could Harry love and trust him so much after not even knowing him for two days? He heard somewhere in the back of his mind that old adage: 'a whipped dog will love the first hand that feeds it', but this … this was heartbreaking. The child had been given so little affection and care in his life that he was so affected by one person's act of decency … It was disgraceful. Snape reached up and wiped tears from his own face, surprised that he had finally begun to cry for the boy. He marveled at his emotions, realizing that he wasn't really furious anymore. He was too tired for that. He was filled with grief and guilt. The boy should have been his, he thought bitterly. If Lily had not rejected him so many years ago … well, this particular boy would not exist. Snape backtracked. He ought to have checked on Lily's boy and made sure he was alright, at least sometime in the last eight years. He should have done something.

But he could fix it now. He was determined to fix it. Tomorrow, he had a full day of classes, but afterwards he was determined to have a little talk with Dumbledore. The old man was most at fault and deserved to know what had happened to his little golden boy. But he was not going to let the Headmaster stand in his way. He was determined to do right by Harry Potter. He would raise the child and heal him and take care of him. It was the least he could do, he reckoned. He slowly stood up and sat back down on his cot. He would go back to sleep, and maybe the boy would be hungry for some porridge in the morning. After calming down earlier, Harry had eatenhis broth and crackers without any trouble, and he had even looked longingly at the pot for more. If he got his appetite back quickly, Snape figured he may as well start fattening him up. The boy was too frail to survive very many of the monthly transformations soon to come.

Snape lay back down on his little bed with fierce resolve glowing in his chest. It had been years since he had felt so strongly about something, or someone. He would make certain that the child would survive as long as possible. He would help the boy to move past the demons of his relatives and their abuse. He would love the boy as he ought to have been loved.

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Detentions were always troublesome, even more so when they could not be avoided. This one was arranged by Professor McGonegall and insisted upon by Dumbledore, and Severus knew he didn't have much of a chance convincing either of them to change it. Professor Snape tried to concentrate on essay-grading in his office while in the next room, fifteen year old Claude Avery scrubbed the Potions Classroom on his hands and knees. The boy was turning into a little clone of his Death Eater father, Snape thought with disgust. He did not seem to care about his behaviour and had made no efforts to stop, even at the threat of expulsion from Hogwarts.

Severus silently fretted about Harry alone at home. The boy was much better today, and the Professor had managed to escape the school at the lunch hour to find the child bored out of his brain in the upstairs bedroom. After giving him his potions and a small peanut butter sandwich, he left the boy with a stack of books and stern orders to take it easy and not attempt the stairs on his own, and then he had been forced to rush back to his afternoon was well past suppertime and Harry was probably hungry. He had left the boy a few crackers for a snack and a pitcher of water with a self-filling glass beside it, but that wouldn't be enough. He checked his pocketwatch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. He got up impatiently and strode into the classroom.

Avery was nearly done. He had scrubbed the Potions Classroom several times before, so he was something of an expert by now.

"Hurry up," Professor Snape snarled at the boy. "Contrary to popular opinion, I have better things to do than supervise dunderheads in detention."

"Aye, aye, Professor," Avery said flippantly. He grinned cheekily up at his head of house, but his grin faltered when confronted with Snape's most vicious glare. Not many people could stand up to that particular scowl for long, and true to form, Claude stopped grinning and ducked his head, scrubbing harder at a stubborn stain.
"Almost done, sir," the boy murmured, chastened.

Snape humphed and stalked back out to his office. But he could no longer concentrate. With a growl, he shoved the essays in a folder so he could grade them at home. He went back through the classroom in such high dudgeon that he saw Avery wince as he swept past. The Professor busied himself with inventory in the Potions storage cupboard until the boy finally finished and could be dismissed. Snape practically chased him out and slammed the door after him.

Only able to think of Harry, worrying and hungry at home, he hastily locked up the supply cupboards and classroom, and he grabbed his cloak before he went to his office fireplace. The floo powder was in his hand when he was startled by a knock at the office door. He was about to bark about where the idiot could go when whoever it was just let themselves in. He groaned under his breath and hid his fist behind his back, hoping that it would be fast. Only the Professors could let themselves into his office, and he knew who it was before the woman even stepped all the way in.

"Minerva," he greeted her politely, though the strain was evident in his tone.

The Transfiguration Professor let the door shut behind her and eyed him shrewdly over the tops of her glasses. She was no idiot, and took in his position near the fireplace, the cloak over his shoulders, and the one hand behind his back.

"Unless you're hiding a gift for me behind your back, Severus," she said with obvious amusement. "I'd advise you to just stop the act. So where are you off to so late?"

"A dinner arrangement," Severus replied coolly, allowing his fist to fall at his side. One did not become a successful double agent by being lousy at comebacks and half-truths. Besides, his words were the absolute truth anyway, from a certain point of view. His dinner arrangement was with an ill, injured boy currently recovering in his bed. Snape realized that the floo powder in his fist would be useless if he drenched it with sweat and human body oil, so he replaced the handful in its box on the mantelpiece before he wiped his hand on a handkerchief.

"Dinner?" Minerva suddenly looked suspicious and folded her arms. "Did Malfoy invite you over again? I thought you had dinner with them just last month."

"Who says Lucius can't invite his son's godfather over more than once a year?" Professor Snape threw back. He wasn't even sure why he was trying to convince her, or even what he was attempting to convince her of.

"You didn't say yes or no," Professor McGonegall tossed right back, arching her eyebrows expectantly.

"Fine; I'm going home," Severus snapped. "Pardon me, Minerva, but is it against school policy to spend a few nights away from here during the school year?"

"Of course not, Severus," she sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "But if you have time, I would like to talk to you for a minute."

"I'll hold you to that 'minute'," Snape muttered rebelliously, fingering his pocketwatch. "Time starts now; so talk."

"Dear me, I'd best make it quick then," the older woman chuckled. "First things first. Were you able to take a trip to Little Whinging last night?"

"Little Whinging?" Snape frowned, but he suddenly recalled that number 4 Privet Drive was in Little Whinging. "Oh yes, I did go down there. Did you?"

"Yes," Minerva sighed. "I just got back, actually. What did you do to them, Severus?"

"Nothing," the Potions Professor scoffed. "What was the matter with them?"

Minerva McGonegall glared accusingly at him. "They were disoriented and complaining of headaches, especially Mr. Dursley. He's been in bed with a migraine since last night and he babbles like a St. Mungo's patient. But he was the worst. The boy was in the best shape, but he said he couldn't remember if anyone had come by yesterday. All very fishy if you ask me."

"Blast," Severus snarled, though he had been thinking of a rather stronger word. He sighed and gestured to his fireplace armchairs. "We might as well sit down, Minerva. I suppose it'll be longer than a minute, but no matter."

The woman made no move to sit. She glared at him and stomped her foot angrily. "You did do something!" she snapped. "How could you, Severus?! I know you and Petunia never got along, but does that give you the right to …?"

"Please, Minerva, be quiet," Snape interrupted in a deathly quiet voice. He held up his hand to her when she opened her mouth to keep going. "Don't;" he warned. "Allow me to explain."

The woman huffed and sat down in a chair. She did not appreciate being interrupted and cut off by a former student of hers, but she had so rarely seen Severus so earnest that she felt she owed it to him to at least listen.

"I'm listening," she said gruffly.

"I went to see the Dursleys," Severus said deliberately. He began to pace nervously. "They would not cooperate and I … used Legilimency on them."

"Severus!"

"Stop!" Snape shouted. He dragged in a sharp breath and steadied his grating nerves. "Stop interrupting me, please," he corrected himself in a slow, deliberate tone.

The Transfiguration Professor raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. He never raised his voice to her unless he was terribly upset, but even then, it was a rare occurrence. Severus Snape took another deep breath, calming himself. He wasn't sure how much he was going to tell her, but he could start with the Dursley visit anyway.

"I was careful …" Snape insisted, ignoring her skeptical glare. "Well, at least I was careful with the boy," he amended with a little snarl. "When I saw what was in the minds of those two … people, I could not help being a bit rough. You would have been sorely tempted to do something yourself if you saw what I saw." He paused and cracked his knuckles, taking deep breaths to keep from losing control. "Petunia and her beast of a husband have viciously abused their nephew from the day he arrived at their door," he snarled."They have … beaten, starved, tortured … an innocent child whose only crime is … is being magical!" He began to pace angrily, unable to keep his rage bottled up any longer. Various bottles on the shelves began to rattle ominously as his raw magic was stirred up by his emotion. "And how could Dumbledore just leave a fifteen-month-old on a doorstep in the middle of a freezing autumn night?" he demanded. "This entire thing is his fault, even more than theirs. Moreover, those monsters don't even care if Harry is ever found, and I'm not ever going to allow that old man to send him back to that house, or back to those vile beasts, even if I have to duel Dumbledore to the death. Which is why …" He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, facing the older woman with grim determination. Here goes, he thought grimly. Out with it. "Which is whyHarry … is at my house."

"… H-Harry?" Minerva whispered faintly. Her face had gone an odd shade of white as he ranted, but now she looked slightly gray. "He's … y-you …?" she gasped, fluttering a hand near her breast as if staving off a heart fingered a calming draught in his pocket and eyed her uneasily.

"I did not kidnap him, Minerva," Severus said quickly. "I … rescued him."

"You canceled Albus' tracing charms? Removed him from the blood wards?!" The Scottish Professor leapt to her feet, her white face turning red with rage in less than a second. He was reminded forcibly of Petunia, how she had paled at the sight of him and reddened when reminded of how insolent he had always been to her. "How could you do such a thing?!" She demanded, waving her arms indignantly. "I've been losing my mind going over horrible scenarios in my head and you've had him this whole time?! I don't know whether to curse you or kiss you!"

Snape grimaced. "I'll take the curse over the kiss any day, Minerva," he said stiffly, taking a defensive step back from her.

"How did you find him? What happened? Is he alright?" she asked breathlessly, adjusting her glasses and robes with suddenly nervous hands. "And … and they were really abusing him?"

Severus nodded, relieved that she was taking it so well. "I was … in the area, on Friday night, and I saw something lying in the road. When I approached, I found the boy, unconscious and bleeding to death."

"Oh, Severus," Minerva whispered, pressing both her hands to her chest. Her face twisted with grief and concern. "Do you know what happened to him? Is he well now?"

"Not nearly," the Potions Master replied grimly. "I spent a good two or three hours that night putting him back together and dumping potions down his throat."

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital?" she demanded. "You're not doctor or surgeon."

"I …" Snape paused, considering. "I'm … not certain why I took him to my home rather than a hospital," he said thoughtfully. "Thinking back," he mused. "It was a rather … Griffindorish thing to do, wasn't it? In any case, I just had an instinctual fear of taking him to St. Mungo's, or anywhere Dumbledore could get to him before he was fully healed. Besides, I've finished my medi-wizard certification and I knew what to do."

"But what happened? Why was he bleeding to death? How could the Aurors and police have missed the blood?"

"I checked for the blood as well and I think Little Whinging has had rain the past weekend," Snape muttered thoughtfully. "I was puzzled by the lack of blood myself. In any case, I have not yet been able to ask the boy his side of the story. He only woke up Tuesday morning after you sent me home to rest and he has been very tired and in a great deal of pain."

"So that's why you were late to the staff meeting that morning, and why you were so exhausted Monday," the Transfiguration Professor snapped her sharp gaze back up to Professor Snape. "So … did the Dursleys reveal anything about how was he hurt? Are you ever going to answer me and tell me what happened?"

"It was a Werewolf," Snape replied simply.

When the older woman collapsed back in her chair, the Potions Professor drew his calming draught and made her drink it before she fainted or had a heart attack. A minute after she downed it, some color came back to her cheeks, and she took a deep breath before she crumpled and started to weep softly. Snape stood awkwardly, unsure of how to comfort her. Holding Harry was one thing, but how to comfort a woman almost three times his age? He had never been certain how to comfort women even when they were closer to his own age.

"You're sure?" the woman finally whispered, wiping her eyes.

Severus nodded, but then realized that she was not looking at him. "The boy's injuries prove it. I ran the correct blood test. But if you doubt it, I suppose we'll know for certain next full moon."

She glanced up at him with fire in her green eyes. "Do you know who …?"

Severus shook his head. "The Dursley boy saw the werewolf, but I did not recognize it. I was thinking of taking my memory of the memory to the Werewolf Registry Department and seeing if I can find someone discreet …"

Minerva shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, don't do that," she said firmly. "If it somehow leaks out that the boy-who-lived was infected by a werewolf, can you imagine the chaos? It's a very good thing you kept him away from St. Mungo's after all, and a muggle hospital would have killed him trying to save him."

Severus sighed and slipped the empty potion bottle back into his pocket. "I suppose I did not think of all that," he murmured. "But I prefer to wait until tomorrow at least to take care of such pressing matters. At the moment, I truly am pressed for time. Do you …?" he hesitated, which was unlike him. He was usually so certain of his next move. "That is …" he stopped to get his thoughts back in order. It was official, he sneered at himself. Harry had permanently broken his brain. "I … I'm not certain how Harry would react to a stranger," Professor Snape said carefully, hardly able he was actually doing this. "But if you'd like to see him … I would like to get back to him as soon as possible since he hasn't eaten since noon, but I don't want to leave you wondering until tomorrow. If you come, we can talk more, and you'll be able to see him … meet him. He's … he's a charming boy, just rather shy."

"Severus …" the Transfiguration Professor arched her eyebrows again, but her eyes were twinkling with something like … mischief. "Are you … are you inviting me to your home?"

"Only if you want to come," Professor Snape balked. "I haven't much to offer. I still live in my parents' old house and it's in a rundown part of a muggle town. If you do, the floo will take you to 'Spinner's End'. I need to leave now, but go ahead and follow if you like." Here he stopped and scowled at the older woman, but without real malice. "Harry is probably hungry and thinks I've abandoned him because I'm late, and I'm only this late because of that detention you so nicely saved for me."

"I'm terribly sorry, Severus, I really hadn't any idea …" she stammered.

"Of course you didn't," Professor Snape smirked. "I made it very difficult for you to have 'any idea'."

He turned and grabbed a handful of floo powder before he threw it into the flames. "Spinner's End!" he shouted before stepping in. The fireplace spat him out into his sitting room and he brushed himself off as he headed to the kitchen. He couldn't hear anything from upstairs, and he rather hoped that Harry was sleeping.

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Harry lay curled on his side, staring at the wall, hungry and bored and tired. He was tired of reading and his eyes hurt. Actually, everything hurt. His bones ached, his wounds were throbbing, and his stomach was cramping with hunger. The crackers that the Professor had left out for him had not been enough to stave off the gnawing in his gut, and even drinking the whole pitcher of water had only served to send him limping off to the water closet every twenty minutes. It was hard for him to understand why he was so very hungry. Back home, he had been able to go for days sometimes with only water in his stomach, but here, it felt like he was always hungry. His stomach cramped again, nearly making the boy cry. He sniffled and blinked the tears away. He wasn't going to cry like a spoiled little kid, he told himself fiercely. He would wait very patiently for the Professor to get back from work, and then he would eat. Uncle Vernon sometimes used to work late, so maybe the Professor had to stay late at his school too, and he didn't have a wife to do any cooking for him. Harry wished he wasn't still so achy and tired and weak. He wouldn't mind getting up and cooking supper, having it all ready for the Professor when he walked in the door. It would be nice once he was well enough to do that, he thought.

An odd whooshing noise from somewhere in the house startled Harry and he sat up too fast. He blinked fiercely at the tears of pain that burned his eyes, and he carefully lay back down, feeling suddenly dizzy and achy beyond belief. The house was usually very quiet. He could occasionally hear birds or the wind outside, but he never heard cars, or people, or dogs or cats. He wondered where the Professor lived. It would be awfully nice if he lived out in the middle of nowhere. He could explore the woods when he got better, and he could bring flowers inside the cheer the place up. The colors in the Professor's house were so dark and dull and depressing. Aunt Petunia always had fresh flowers in the house, and it made the tables and rooms look so much nicer. Maybe that was why it was taking so long for the Professor to come. He had to drive a long way, probably. Did he resent the fact that he had to make a long trip every day back to his house to take care of some kid he found in the street? Harry couldn't remember everything that had happened when the dog-wolf attacked him, but he could remember that he had been on a broken down street with a high board fence on the other side and trees on his was sure the man didn't know where his relatives lived, although he had seemed to know an awful lot about how they had treated him.

Harry shifted in the bed, wincing painfully as the throbbing beat in his wounds got worse. Just breathing hurt; and his bones ached more fiercely. His eyes drifted shut, but he clenched his fists in the quilt to keep from crying or whimpering. Why did his body hurt so badly? It wasn't as bad as it was when he took a shower yesterday, but it was getting close. Would he even be able to make it to the bath if it happened again? He wondered. His eyes snapped open when he heard soft footsteps at the top of the stairs, coming quickly toward the bedroom. If it was the Professor, Harry was afraid he would burst into pathetic tears of relief at the sight of him. But if it was a stranger … well, he might still burst into pathetic tears for whatever reason. He screwed his eyes shut and pulled the quilt over his face in a childish attempt to disappear. He was lying on the opposite side from the one he had been using because he had wanted to stare at the wall, and it was easier to do that on the other side of the bed. This side of the bed was closer to the wall, with only enough space for another nightstand, which was piled with sealed boxes. There was a picture up on the wall of a forest glade, but the colors were dim and blurred and Harry got tired of straining his eyes to look at it after awhile. He scrunched his aching eyes as tightly as possible and tried to make himself very still and very small. He wasn't sure where his sudden desire to hide had come from. The Professor was not going to hurt him, but he had been away so very long and he was feeling so achy and tired and hungry.

He listened as the footsteps paused at the foot of the bed before slowly coming around to his side. He held his breath until he felt the quilt plucked gently from his hands and he squinted up at the pale face of the Professor. His sallow face looked a bit flushed today, and his dark eyes glittered strangely. Harry just stared up at him, unable to figure out if he wanted to hug him, or just start crying. His body decided for him and his eyes swam with sudden tears.

"I did not mean to be so late, Harry," the Professor said in a quiet voice. "Please … don't cry. I know you're hungry, and I'll go make something now. But I had to come up first … I had to make sure you were alright."

Harry reached up and wiped his eyes. Stupid tears. "It's fine," he croaked. He hated how his voice sounded when he was all choked up with tears, and now his bones were aching and his wounds were burning. "I … can I … take a shower please?"

"Of course," the Professor said, but his face pinched and his eyes sharpened with concern. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," the boy mumbled without thinking. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly very heard a soft glassy clink, and then there was a hand under his head. He could feel the cool rim of the potion bottle against his lips.

"Here, drink this," the Professor murmured. Harry obeyed, shuddering at the disgusting taste of the slimy medicine, but his pain began to fade almost at once. It was nice to have all the aching, throbbing agony relegated to a little hum in the back on his mind. He blinked up at the man and smiled. He couldn't help it.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Why don't you take a bath instead?" the Professor said gently. "You seem a bit tired still."

Harry was about to protest, but he really knew better than to argue. "Yes sir," he murmured obediently.

The Professor picked him up very gently and carried him to the bathroom. He set Harry down on the edge of the tub while he turned the taps on. Murmuring that Harry ought to stay there and wait for him, he left the bathroom. Harry watched the water filling up the tub and got nervous as the water went higher and higher. He glanced at the open doorway, and then back at the rising water. Didn't the Professor know that he wasn't allowed to fill the tub up too much? He didn't want to waste all of the Professor's water. On impulse, Harry got up and turned the taps off. He stuck his hand in the water and winced. It was comfortably warm, not cool like it was supposed to be. Of course, it wasn't too hot either … but he had never been allowed to take a warm bath before. He had dreamed often of what that would be like, of course, when he washed dishes in hot water. He had wondered what it would be like to have not just your hands, but your whole body submerged in warm water. It would probably feel like a nice warm hug, he figured.

Professor Snape reappeared, and Harry yanked his hand out of the water, feeling guilty for no real reason. The man gave Harry a funny look and glanced at the tub. There was barely five inches of water in it. Harry felt his face getting hot, though he still didn't know why he felt guilty.

"Are you afraid of baths?" the Professor asked, sounding confused.

"No, I'm not!" Harry protested fiercely. He used to be afraid of baths, back when he was little. They still made him just a bit nervous, to be honest, but as long as he was alone, he would be okay. Dudley used to like pushing his face underwater so he could laugh when Harry came up for air, choking and spluttering and throwing up water. He blinked rapidly as the memory came back strong, and he eyed the tub warily.

"Then why did you stop the tub from filling?" the Professor demanded. "It should be deeper than that."

Harry blinked up at the Professor in surprise. "But I'm not allowed!" he blurted out without thinking. When he realized what he had said, he blinked harder and ducked his head in shame.

"Not allowed …?" the Professor repeated incredulously. Suddenly, the man growled fiercely, making Harry jump in fear. Was he in trouble? Was he going to be punished? Maybe the Professor regretted saying that he could take a waited anxiously for what felt like an eternity before the man finished muttering under his breath and spoke again in a very stern tone. "You must forget about the stupid rules your relatives made you follow. Here in my house, you may take warm baths every day if you wish. In fact, I would encourage it. The tub may be filled as much as you like, but it must be filled at least halfway for now. I was going to put some potions in it to help alleviate some of your general aches and pains, and it needs to have more water in it than that."

"Don't wanna waste your water," Harry mumbled, still staring at his hands clutching the tub's edge. "Too expensive to waste on …"Freaks, he finished in his head. But he couldn't say that word in this house, he remembered that much.

"Hogwash," the Professor snapped angrily. "Water is not expensive."

"It … it's not?" Harry asked in astonishment. He snapped his gaze up to the Professor again, but he cringed when he saw the anger in the man's inky dark eyes. The man blinked and made a noticeable effort to calm down.

"No, Harry," he said more gently. "I don't know who told you that water is expensive, because it is not. The country we live in is blessed with an abundance of water, and you don't have to worry about wasting it. Any water we use, for dishes, washing, or cleaning, is treated at the water plant in the city and then recycled. I don't pay much for the privilege of being connected to the city sewers. You may use as much water as you need, and you may make it as hot or as cool as you feel comfortable with. Understand?"

Harry just stared at the man. The wheels were turning in his head and he suddenly realized that the Professor wasn't mad at him. He was mad at Harry's Aunt and Uncle for lying to him, and honestly, Harry felt a little mad at them too. So water was not expensive and they just told him that so he would have to shiver in cold water all the time? Harry blinked the tears away, and without thinking, he lunged forward and hugged the Professor around the waist. He didn't know why he felt like he had to do it, but it felt right. He was grateful and happy, and he was excited to take a nice warm bath with some of the Professor's medicine in it to help him feel better, though he didn't really know what 'lee-vee-ate' meant.

The Professor patted his good shoulder awkwardly. "It is alright to ask me any questions you have, Harry," he said in a soft voice. "I'm here to help you. Now … can I fill the tub properly this time?"

"Yes sir!" Harry smiled tearfully up at the Professor. He hugged the man tightly again, unable to find words to articulate how grateful and happy he was. "Thank you, Professor," he whispered faintly.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Yet another chapter up! Thank you all for your reviews and kind words, and thank you for following my humble tale!