Chapter 3

| What Had Happened |

It had been a freezing night.  No matter how small he made himself, Harry couldn't find comfort on Snape's sofa.  By morning, he felt as if his toes were simply about to fall off his feet. They had been so cold during the night that he had to keep his trainers on.

Snape didn't look any fresher than Harry felt when he came out of his room, though he was dressed and clean (or as far as clean went for Snape).  The torches ignited when he entered the sitting room where Harry slept, and Harry was relieved to be able to see again in the windowless space.  He had been sitting in the dark for what must have been an hour, wondering what he was supposed to be doing now that he was awake. 

Snape grimaced at the sight of him and moved into the kitchenette. 

"Humph," Harry said softly, a little insulted; it wasn't as though he didn't have messy hair all the time, he thought as he ran his fingers through it, so it shouldn't surprise Snape that Harry had awful bed-head.  But when Snape came back with a pack of ice, Harry realized it was not his hair Snape had reacted to.

"Here," he said, after hesitating to sit on the small sofa with Harry.  "Put that on your face."  Then he moved to his rickety chair.

Feeling his cheek with his hand first, Harry found that, well, it hurt.  He flinched.  It was swollen and hot under his fingers, and he pressed the icepack to it gently.  The change in temperature burned a little at first, but after a while the coolness became comforting.

Harry noticed that Snape was watching him, probably had been for the past few minutes.  The man's face was the same as he always remembered it: long, pale, unpleasant.  His nose was big and hooked, and not at all attractive.  His lips were thin and dry.  But, Harry thought as they regarded each other, those eyes held a lot of feeling.  They were fiery black things, passionate.  He couldn't tell whether in anger, or sadness, or disgust, or—

Harry looked away.  He didn't know what was in Snape's eyes.  He was too sore to think about it now.

As if sensing Harry's discomfort, Snape began to speak, low and steady.  It was a much nicer speech than last night.  "Potter…I am unsure whether I have made a mistake in bringing you here."

Harry looked up.

"I have interfered with the Headmaster's protection of you, threatened your relatives with magic, and taken you unlawfully from your home," he said, not looking at Harry.  "I acted rashly in my will to protect you, and though protection it was, it was also irresponsible.  The situation was none of my business.  You…you have every right to go to the authorities."

It was a sight to see, Snape's eyebrows furrowed, self-loathing flickering across his face.  The thin lips puckered in disgrace.  Snape clearly wanted to say something else, but was stopping at his near-apology to Harry.

Harry rose from his pool of blankets, setting the icepack on the sofa.  "So I can go to Dumbledore now," he said hesitantly.

Snape nodded.  He looked like he was clenching his teeth.

"And you won't feed me to the giant squid?"

A snort came from Snape, though his expression remained grim.  "No."

So, slowly and looking back to see that Snape wasn't joking with him, he padded toward the doorway through which they had first come.

"Of course," came a murmur, and Harry stopped.  He should have known that Snape wouldn't let him have something so easily.  "Of course, there is the matter of your residence."

"Residence?"

"Where will you go once you tell the Headmaster of my actions?"

"I don't understand."

Snape looked at him for the first time in a couple minutes, motioning with his hand.  "Sit."

Harry reseated himself on his pile of blankets.

"Those terrible Muggles," Snape was saying, "surely you don't want to return to them."

"I don't want to, sir, but that's where I always stay during the holidays."

"I see."  He put a finger to his lips, speaking smoothly and carefully.  "Do they…always treat you that way?  Hit you, shout at you so?"

"Um, not really.  Mostly it's just Dudley who hits me."

Snape raised a black eyebrow at the name.

"He's my cousin, a great ugly brute, who bullies people smaller than he is.  He's a real oaf, though, sir, so I can always handle him with fat jokes."  Harry sat up a little proudly.

"What of the adults?  Your Aunt and Uncle?"

It was cold in here still, apart from the icepack; he used his free hand to rub at his legs for warmth.  Snape's eyes remained on his.  Harry wanted to know where this was going.

"They don't mind.  I think they like that Dudley's enhancing his boxing skills on me." 

"I was referring to your Aunt's and Uncle's treatment of you.  You said before 'mostly' your cousin hits you.  What about his parents?  Do they hit you?"  

Harry sat back into the squishiness of the sofa, fingering the icepack.  "Well, I don't know.  Uncle Vernon only hits me every so often, if he's very angry or if I don't do my chores fast enough.  And Aunt Petunia's only smacked me with the frying pan a few times."

This did not please Snape as much as one would have thought.  Looking away, he murmured, "It is a pity…"

"It's a pity she only hit me a few times?"

"A pity she hit you at all, Potter, with such an object."

"Yeah, I guess.  Tell that to my head," Harry added, with a tiny curve to his lips.

"Your head?" Snape pinned him with a glare, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

"Well, of course.  How else could a frying pan hurt me?"  Harry knew that Snape had once been a spy for Dumbledore.  He didn't know how good a spy, so he couldn't say whether Snape was pretending to be as horrified as it appeared.  His eyes were very wide.

"I knew I was right—I—" Snape stood and pivoted around his chair, then the sofa, to the wall, and then back "—those blasted—"

"Don't start pacing again, Professor, it makes me dizzy."

Snape stopped.  And scowled.  "How long have they been doing this? "

"I don't know what you mean."  Harry shrugged.  "Forever—ever since I can remember, but it's no big d—"

"I knew I was right when I started watching the boy," the man said to himself, beginning another walk around the room.  "Dumbledore," he growled, "I told him the boy needed more suitable guardians than Muggles!"

"Sir—"

But Snape paid him no mind.  His steps were wild and his mouth was snarling.

"Sir, tell me why you've taken me here.  Why not just, I don't know, threaten the Dursleys or something?"

He paused.  "Because you were in danger, and if I hadn't taken you this—" he pointed at Harry's face "—might be worse than it already is!"

Why is he doing this? wondered Harry, whose mouth was practically gaping at the sight of the fury in Snape's eyes.  I don't think he would just sit around if he thought I was in danger, but he shouldn't be so worked up about it—and over such a small thing like a smack on the head!

"Fine," said Harry.  "I don't care why you took me, anymore.  Anyplace is better than the Dursleys'."

Snape's head snapped up.

"That sounded worse than I meant it.  They don't drink my blood, or sell my body, or grind my bones to make their bread."  He folded his arms over his chest.

Snape imitated him, but slipped his hands into his robes in the process as though searching for heat. He muttered, "I didn't know what sort of danger you could have been in, Potter.  Don't make me out to be the enemy." 

"But, sir, why are you overreacting so?  Uncle Vernon had hardly touched me before you started coming toward us."

Black eyes locked with his.

"And how long have you been, erm, looking after me in all?  You were there the other day, too."

Snape didn't reply.

"And why were you watching me to begin with?  You were hardly just passing through."

Snape shook his head and turned away from Harry.

"Tell me, please.  I want to know why."

"That—" Harry hardly noticed the index finger pointed at his face, for on Snape's face he swore his saw a little color rising "—is none of your concern!"

"Of course it is!"  Harry stood from the sofa again, causing Snape to back up as Harry moved toward him.  "You nearly scared me out of my wits, creeping around like that."

The man shrugged his shoulders helplessly, an odd action for someone who normally had students shaking in fear.

"Did Dumbledore tell you to do it?" asked Harry.

"No.  In fact, Dumbledore told me not to do it."

"Then why?"  Harry was starting to worry that Snape had infuriated him so much that he was starting to whine.  To the best of his ability, he kept his voice steady.  "Tell me."

"No," was the firm answer.  "Sit down."

Harry took deep breaths, soothing ones, noticing Snape did the same.  Snape's fists were clenching, too.  He was almost thinking Snape were going to hit him if he did not obey the order, but he had to risk it.  Snape had been acting to oddly for him not to.

"Tell me—or else I'll—or else—"

Harry was at loss for words.  He was furious, though, so he stepped closer to Snape's towering figure, knowing he looked a lot less intimidating than he wanted to.  But so what if he only came up to the top of Snape's chest?  So what if Snape was a Dark Arts expert, a former Death Eater, a cruel professor, and had a temper like a wild animal?  He had been spying on Harry, stalking him for only-God-knew-how-long, and Harry had a bloody right to be told why—

"—or else I'll—I'll—"

"Or else you'll what?" said Snape, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

And then something clicked in Harry's head.

"Or else I will go to the authorities.  But it won't be Dumbledore.  I'll go straight to the Aurors, or the Minister—a personal friend of mine—" Harry smiled, grimacing on the inside "—and then I'll go to the Daily Prophet.  They'll all eat up how Harry Potter's nasty Potions master, once a Death Eater, has been poking around outside his Muggle house."  Harry stood back and observed Snape's fallen expression.  "And you've kidnapped me on top of it.  Snatched me right out from the Dursleys', Dumbledore's, and the entire Order's noses.  Not good at all, sir.  Not at all."

Snape could hardly move his mouth.  "You—wouldn't—you cretin."

"I would.  I promise."  Harry straightened up, planting his feet more firmly on the stone floor.  "Tell me."

Harry had to look straight up to stare Snape in the eye, but from this angle he had a good view of the subtle emotions passing over the man's face.  Rage, foremost, and fear, and nervousness, and confusion.  How would he react, feeling all these things?  Harry was frightened to find out.

Snape fell onto his chair, head in his hands.

Harry blinked.

"So you want to know, do you?" he said after a while.  His voice was muffled.

"…Yes, I do."

"I cannot tell you."

Harry sighed.  Snape looked up. 

"Telling you would mean having to send you back to the Muggles, for there would be…consequences to your knowing the information."

"Like what?"

He shook his head wearily.  "It doesn't matter right now, Potter."

Harry looked around the room.  Nothing had changed since last night, and now they were right back where they started: Harry standing, confused; Snape, sitting in that chair, tired and frustrated with himself.

He perched himself on his pile of blankets on the sofa again.  His hands were on his lap, his feet neatly on the floor.  It seemed the right thing to do, to sit quietly and wait for Snape to take the next move.

"Then there is only one thing to do," Snape said more to no one than to Harry.  He was calm now.

Snape was looking at him, deep into his eyes, unrelenting.  There was no emotion for Harry to decipher this time.

"There are books on the shelf," he continued.  "There is bread in the pantry."  Snape slid off his chair and, to Harry's utter surprise, onto his knees, where he came to a kneeling position directly in front of Harry.  He picked up the icepack, which was now decidedly less icy, and pressed it to the large puffy spot on Harry's face.  It was a gentler action than Harry could have ever imagined coming from the man.

"Do not leave these rooms and do not answer the door if there is a knock.  No portraits are here, so not even Dumbledore will know of your presence."  Snape stood quickly, letting Harry's hand take over the ice, and then shrugging on his cloak that was thrown over a stand Harry hadn't noticed before.

He stood in the doorway now, and when he looked over his shoulder Harry thought his pale profile looked nearly dashing.  "I'll return before nightfall—so just…stay out of mischief."

He was gone before Harry could think to ask where he was going.

Posted October 28, 2003