A/N: Hello everyone!

So way way back around New Year's 2015, after having perused this site and after having come across some fairly entertaining Snape/Harry mentor stories, I sat down and wrote out a "one-shot" scene between the two characters that I just couldn't get out of my head. I wanted to take that scene and create a whole story from it. Thus, A Thousand Words was born. Originally, the plan was that when I got to this point in the story, I would be able to take that scene and just copy-and-paste it into the chapter. However, after more than four years of writing and developing this story, I realized a little while back that the majority of that scene no longer fits well with the story as it's been written, and so I have had to rewrite it. Certain elements of that original scene do remain however. They are included at the end of this chapter and will carry over into the next chapter as well. It's been a long time coming.

I hope you all enjoy.

Everything hurt.

Harry groaned as he shifted uncomfortably on the tiny mattress in the cupboard. He had no idea how much time had passed. All he knew was that he had been unconscious for some period of time. But whether that amounted to minutes or hours or even days, he really couldn't be sure.

The boy closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. His thoughts were all muddled. But he tried his best to make his brain start functioning properly again. The last thing he remembered was falling down the stairs. And then his uncle had been there, standing over him.

Harry shivered involuntarily at the memory of what had come next. The man had been absolutely livid, and the punishment had been brutal. Probably the worst Harry had ever received.

Harry shook his head slightly. He didn't want to think about that now. Besides, there were other things to consider at the moment. Like why he was even in the cupboard to begin with. He had been so sure that when it was all over with, Uncle Vernon would have tossed him out into the cold once and for all. And yet, here he was, shivering under his old threadbare blanket as his head rested on…

Harry frowned, reaching up with his left hand to feel the large, soft pillow that was there. It most definitely wasn't his pillow. What was going on?

But before he had the chance to think too much about it, he found himself once again falling back to sleep.

Harry drifted in and out of unconsciousness. Sometimes, he thought he could hear voices on the other side of the cupboard door. Other times, it was completely dark and silent, as though he were the only one left in the world. And then every now and then, he almost felt like there was another presence in the cupboard with him. But almost as soon as that thought would cross his mind, he would always go right back to sleep.

And then suddenly, during one of his more lucid moments, Harry felt his heartrate begin to speed up as a terrifying thought entered his mind.

What if the cupboard door never opened again? What if the Dursleys had decided to just leave him there? Locked in this small, dark space for the rest of his life? He felt his chest constricting then. It was suddenly even harder to breathe than it had been before. In a sudden panic, Harry raised his arm and began pounding on the door.

"Let me out! Please!" he shouted weakly. He had definitely had this nightmare before. Only this time, he couldn't seem to wake up from it. The walls were closing in around him and he was completely trapped. The space was getting smaller. He was running out of air. He was going to die in here. He—

Calm down, Potter, a voice suddenly rang out inside his head, sounding remarkably like Snape. Just take a breath.

Harry tried to regulate his breathing, focusing for the next several seconds on breathing in and out…

And then he remembered.

Snape! Harry thrust a hand into his pocket and dug out the special coin that Snape had given him right before the holidays had begun. The man had said to only use it in case of an emergency. This counted as an emergency, didn't it?

Harry gripped the coin tightly for a moment, preparing to ask for help.

But then at the last moment, he hesitated.

Wasn't he only supposed to use the coin if he heard that murderous voice inside his head again? Would the potions master be annoyed if he was called all the way to the Dursley house just so that he could let Harry out of a closet?

And besides, the last thing he wanted was for the professor to see him like this. All bruised and battered. All pitiful and pathetic.

No. Snape could never know what happened at his relatives' house. No one could. It was the one rule the Dursleys had implemented that Harry never intended to break. And with that, he replaced the coin into his pocket.

And not five seconds later, the cupboard door swung open.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry rasped, his eyes squinting in the sudden bright light of the hallway.

"Kitchen. Now," the woman stated brusquely, moving back down the hallway without waiting for her nephew to follow.

Grateful for the chance to get out of his cupboard, Harry scrambled out into the hall and slowly began making his way to the kitchen, his broken wrist clutched securely against his chest.

The house seemed unusually quiet. Vernon and Dudley must not be home, then. Harry couldn't help but to feel a bit grateful for that.

When he reached the kitchen, Harry immediately noticed Aunt Petunia standing over by the sink, filling a glass with water. When she was finished, she practically slammed the glass on the counter and turned back to the dishes in the sink.

"Drink," she stated clearly.

Suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, Harry hurried forward, ignoring the pain in his side, to grab the glass with a shaking left hand and greedily gulp down its contents.

Aunt Petunia glanced over at her nephew for just a moment as the boy drank. But she quickly turned away again, unable to look for very long.

When Harry finally set the empty glass down a moment later, it was silent for a moment. And then Aunt Petunia picked up a soapy sponge and began to wash what looked to Harry like the breakfast dishes.

"Marge is better," the woman finally said, as she began scrubbing at a plate.

Harry's head immediately shot up to look incredulously at his aunt. "What? You mean she can walk now?"

"Yes," the woman answered, sounding almost tired. "Vernon took her home today. Dudley went with them."

Harry just shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "So it worked?"

Aunt Petunia didn't immediately respond.

"Does this mean I can stay?" Harry asked then, his chest suddenly swelling with hope.

"No!" Aunt Petunia nearly shouted, dropping the plate back into the soapy water. She sounded frustrated, almost incredulous, and Harry took a step back, startled.

"Can't you see you're not welcome here?" Petunia continued, avoiding Harry's face as she glared resolutely out the window. "After everything that's happened…Vernon is still livid about what you did to Marge…"

"But you just said she was bett—"

"You inflated her and tossed her across the room!" Petunia interrupted. "If you did cure her, then it was completely by accident. And you will be hard-pressed to convince Vernon otherwise."

"But—"

"No," Petunia once again cut Harry off. "This is it. No more. After the holidays are over…you are not welcome back."

Harry swallowed hard. He felt a sudden pang in his chest, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised by his aunt's words. In fact, the only surprising thing should be that he wasn't being kicked out right that second.

"You can find your own way back to the train station," Petunia finished then, tossing the sponge back into the water as well. "Just stay out of the way until it's time for you to leave."

"But Aunt Petunia—"

"Leave me!" the woman shrieked, her gaze never leaving the window.

And Harry didn't dare disobey.

Harry wiped the tears away from his eyes as he once again sat cross-legged on the filthy old mattress in his cupboard and stared down at his broken wrist. It just wasn't fair! He had been so sure that if Marge would only get better…that everything would change.

But nothing had. Everything was just the same. The Dursleys still hated him. He still wasn't welcome in their home. And now, it appeared that he didn't even have a ride back to King's Cross Station.

"Are you happy now, Dobby?" Harry whispered into the silence. "I may not make it back to Hogwarts after all."

A sudden pop sounded in the small confines of the cupboard, causing Harry to jump back in surprise. And a moment later, his eyes widened in complete shock.

"Dobby?" he asked, wincing at the pain that had been brought about by his sudden involuntary movements. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby is only answering Harry Potter's call," the elf replied, eying Harry from head to toe with worry. "Dobby has been watching over Harry Potter while his body tries to heal. Is Harry Potter feeling any better?"

"You've been…watching me?" Harry repeated, confused. "But why?"

"Dobby remembered what Harry Potter said in the hospital wing, about his family not wanting him anymore. So Dobby wanted to check on Harry Potter. To make sure all was well."

Harry let out a humorless laugh at that. "Yeah well, as you can see, everything is just perfect."

"The big man hurt Harry Potter. Didn't he?" Dobby asked, eyes wide.

Harry just looked away then. "It's not that bad," he whispered quietly.

The elf seemed to pull an object out of the folds of his filthy pillowcase then. It was a small hand-held mirror. "See for yourself," the creature urged.

Harry took a quick glance in the mirror and then quickly averted his gaze. Was that why Aunt Petunia had refused to look at him earlier?

Dobby lowered the mirror, his face full of distress and regret. "Dobby is sorry he wasn't able to stop the big man. Dobby was serving his master when Harry Potter was attempting to help the large woman."

"It's okay, Dobby," Harry responded. "It wasn't your fault."

But the elf's expression never changed. "Dobby thought for sure the ministry would show up after Harry Potter performed the inflation charm. Dobby detected the powerful magic. Dobby just doesn't know why the ministry didn't."

Harry frowned. "I thought they didn't detect it because it was just a case of accidental magic."

But Dobby shook his head vigorously. "No, Harry Potter. You performed a powerful charm. Even if it was only accidental, the ministry should have been able to detect it. Dobby thought they would have sent someone to investigate. It is strange that they did not."

Harry felt a sudden pang of fear. "Am I going to be in trouble, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes widened a bit. "Dobby can't say for sure, Harry Potter. But if the ministry was going to investigate, they should have come by now."

It was quiet for a moment then. What was going on?

"Harry Potter needs help," Dobby stated firmly, finally breaking the silence. "Dobby has been popping in when he can, trying to make Harry Potter more comfortable. But Harry Potter needs a healer."

Harry furrowed his brow, the ministry momentarily forgotten. "The pillow was from you, wasn't it?" And suddenly, it seemed to make sense why he had been feeling another presence in the cupboard lately. "Dobby, you didn't need to do that."

"Oh, but Dobby wanted to!" the little elf exclaimed. "Dobby only ever wanted to help Harry Potter. Dobby had been hoping that if he could only heal the large woman, then Harry Potter's family just might start to treat him better."

"You cured Aunt Marge?" Harry asked incredulously. "But how? I thought you couldn't do healing magic."

"Dobby didn't use healing magic, Harry Potter. Dobby used mind magic. Dobby just made the large woman forget that she didn't know how to walk. She doesn't remember the inflation charm either."

So it really had been in Marge's head all along. Harry gave the elf a sad smile. "Thanks for trying to help me, Dobby."

"But Harry Potter is still not welcome here," Dobby observed, sounding slightly confused. "Is Harry Potter's family not happy that the large woman is better?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't attempt to speak though. He didn't think he'd be able to get the words out past the lump in his throat if he did.

"Harry Potter needs a healer," Dobby stated again.

"It's okay, Dobby. I'm fine. I just need to make it back to Hogwarts. And then everything will be alright again."

The elf frowned as he eyed the wrist Harry was holding carefully. "And once Harry Potter is back at school, then he will go to a healer?"

"Um…" Harry began. But then a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Dobby? Would you be able to get me to King's Cross when it's time to go back to school?"

The small creature seemed to hesitate at the sudden request.

"I know you don't want me to go back," Harry said quickly. "I know you said that someone's plotting something bad. But you know I can't stay here! Please, Dobby," Harry was practically begging now. "Please."

Dobby looked for a moment like he was about to start banging his head against the wall at the impossible decision he now faced. But after several seconds of thought, the house elf made his decision.

"Harry Potter must promise Dobby that he will get help as soon as he gets back to school. Harry Potter needs a healer," the elf repeated yet again.

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to lie to Dobby. He would just have to choose his words very carefully.

"I will get help at school," he stated. "Promise."

Dobby nodded. "Then Dobby will take Harry Potter to the train station."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Dobby! You're a lifesaver!"

Dobby looked slightly embarrassed by the praise. "There is no need to be thanking Dobby. Dobby only wishes to help Harry Potter. But now Dobby must go. Master will be wondering where Dobby is."

"Okay," Harry answered, still wondering to himself who Dobby's master possibly could be. "I'll see you soon, then?"

Dobby nodded. "Harry Potter should try to avoid the big man for the rest of the holidays."

"I will," Harry answered. Though he was secretly thinking that that would be easier said than done.

And a moment later, there was another pop in the cupboard, and the house elf had disappeared.

"What are you doing here, Dobby?" Harry asked, finally regaining his voice as he stared at the elf's reflection in the mirror of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Harry Potter lied to Dobby," the elf accused, crossing his arms. "Harry Potter promised Dobby he would get help."

"I am getting help," Harry said, turning around. "See? This potion makes all the bruises go away."

Dobby moved over to the cauldron where the remainder of the Polyjuice Potion was still contained and glanced inside. "The potion is only hiding Harry Potter's injuries. It is not healing them."

"They'll heal on their own," Harry countered. "It shouldn't take too long."

Dobby looked upset at those words. "Harry Potter must get help," he said firmly. "And Dobby must make sure that he does."

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "Dobby, what are you…No!" he suddenly exclaimed, watching as the elf raised a hand over the top of the cauldron.

The boy lunged forward, completely ignoring how painful it was to do so. But it was too late. With a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished the remainder of the Polyjuice Potion from the cauldron.

"Now Harry Potter cannot hide," Dobby explained. "He has no choice but to get help."

And before Harry could say or do anything else, there was a loud pop, and he was alone in the bathroom once more.

Well, almost. Out of his peripheral vision, Harry could just see Myrtle's eyes, peeking out over the door of one of the bathroom stalls.

The boy nearly let out a sob as he sank to his knees next to the empty cauldron. Now what was he supposed to do? What if he still needed more potion after the vials stored in his bag ran out? He had been planning to do some research on concealer spells anyway. But now he really didn't have much time. He'd have to research and practice the spell…all before running out of Polyjuice.

Harry felt a few tears sliding down his cheeks and he quickly swiped them away with his left hand. He wouldn't cry. Crying never solved anything.

Pulling his school bag closer to his side, Harry opened the flap and counted the vials of potion. If he was conservative, he should be able to get through the next couple days. In the meantime, he needed to get back to the library so he could start his research. He may have to skip a couple classes tomorrow. But at this point, he really didn't have a choice.

"Thanks a lot, Dobby," Harry muttered bitterly, wincing as he once again got to his feet and slowly made his way to the exit.

Hermione walked slowly through the dungeon corridor, wringing her hands and biting her lip the whole way.

Was this really the right thing to do?

It was lunchtime, and the girl had left Ron at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall to stuff his face full of sandwiches and treats. And as for Harry…well, he hadn't bothered to show up to lunch at all. In fact, he hadn't bothered to show up to his classes that morning either. Neither she nor Ron had seen any trace of the boy since breakfast.

Ron hadn't seemed overly concerned. "Maybe he finally took your advice and went to see Madam Pomfrey," the redhead had suggested around a mouthful of ham sandwich. "You were pestering him enough about it at breakfast."

But Hermione knew better. Harry had flat-out rejected any suggestion of visiting the hospital wing.

The girl shivered from the cold as she neared her destination. She was suddenly feeling extremely nervous. What if this plan backfired horribly?

After another minute, she finally reached the potions master's office. And for one long moment, she just stood there, one fist hovering mere inches away from the door. She eventually took one deep breath and then…

"What are you doing here, Miss Granger?"

Startled, Hermione jumped back slightly and turned to see Professor McGonagall moving towards her from the same direction that she herself had just come from.

"Oh, um…I was just…going to ask Professor Snape a question about a homework assignment," the girl quickly invented.

"I see," the transfiguration professor stated, coming to a stop in front of the young girl. "Do you think you could come back another time, Miss Granger? I have something important to discuss with Professor Snape as well."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione answered, not sure if she should feel disappointed or relieved at this development. The girl turned to walk back down the hallway then.

But something made her stop and turn back towards McGonagall.

"Actually, Professor, I didn't want to talk to Professor Snape about a homework assignment."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows at that statement.

"No? Then what did you wish to discuss, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sighed and took another deep breath before finally deciding to just blurt it out. "I'm worried about Harry."

Professor McGonagall blinked. But then a moment later she let out a sigh of her own. "Then perhaps you should join me, Miss Granger. We can talk to Professor Snape together."

And with that, McGonagall rapped sharply against the potions master's office door.

Harry groaned in frustration as he slammed yet another library book shut. This was going to be harder than he thought. It turned out that concealer charms were fairly advanced spells. The kinds of spells that normally weren't attempted until sixth year, according to what he had read so far. But of course, it didn't matter. He had no choice but to try to master them anyway.

Unfortunately, he would have to pause for now. He figured that he could get away with skipping History of Magic and even Transfiguration. If he just put on enough charm, he was sure he could sweet-talk his way around McGonagall when she would inevitably be inquiring about his absence that morning.

But his next class was Potions. And he knew Snape well enough to know that the man would not tolerate Harry skipping class unless, perhaps, he had a signed sick note from Madam Pomfrey. And that certainly wasn't going to happen.

And so reluctantly, the boy gathered up his belongings and made his way for the exit.

"The majority of the ingredients listed for this potion are fairly innocuous," Snape drawled from the front of his classroom. "However, there is one ingredient that should be handled with particular care. Who can tell me which ingredient that is?"

Predictably, the only hand that shot up in the entire classroom was Hermione's.

Snape briefly cast his eyes towards the ceiling, as though praying for strength. "Anyone who did the assigned reading over the holidays should be able to answer this question," the man sneered. "Longbottom?"

Neville turned white as a ghost as all eyes suddenly fell on him expectantly. It was a long moment then before he finally muttered a quiet response.

"Speak up, Longbottom," Snape barked. "We cannot hear you when you mumble."

There were a few snickers from the Slytherins, but Neville tried to ignore them as he cleared his throat and tried again.

"T-tarantula venom, sir," the boy's voice quivered.

"Correct…" Snape stated. "…for once."

Neville's face went from white to red in a matter of seconds as the Slytherins once again let out a laugh.

"Now, because you all no doubt read up on the properties of tarantula venom over the holidays," Snape continued, "and you all will have included an appropriate summary of that topic in your assigned essays—"

Harry started to daydream. He figured that he needed just a little extra time in the library. Another hour or so should do it. And then he would be ready to start practicing the concealer spells. And he wouldn't need the Polyjuice anym—

"Harry," Ron suddenly said, nudging his friend's arm.

"Huh?" Harry asked, shaking his head as he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts. He realized then that Snape had finished speaking. That meant it was time to start brewing their potions.

"I'm going to go get the ingredients from the storeroom," Ron repeated. "Why don't you get the fire going under the cauldron?"

"Okay," Harry agreed, as his friend hopped off his stool and headed for the other side of the room.

Gripping his wand awkwardly in his left hand, Harry aimed for the bottom of the cauldron.

And suddenly, he completely froze.

"Please, no!" he had begged Uncle Vernon, as the man forcefully held his hand over the hot stove. "I'll try harder! I promise!"

"Is something the matter, Potter?"

Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air as the potions master suddenly appeared in front of his cauldron.

Harry swallowed hard as he forced himself to make eye contact with the man. "No, sir. Everything's fine," he responded quickly.

But Snape didn't immediately move away. He fixed Harry with a penetrating gaze, and the boy quickly ducked his head, unnerved by the sudden strange look in the professor's eyes.

"Then I suggest you get that cauldron heated up," the man finally continued. "This potion will take the entire hour to complete. There is no time to waste."

Harry swallowed once more. "Yes, sir," he nearly whispered, feeling the man's eyes boring into the top of his head.

For a moment, Harry feared that the professor was going to stand there and watch him until he got the fire started. He could feel his hand trembling as he once again pointed his wand in the right direction.

But then, after a few seconds, there was a sudden loud crash coming from the direction of the storeroom, and Snape immediately whirled around and stalked menacingly to the other side of the room to investigate the source of the commotion and to no doubt hand out detentions to anyone who may be responsible for ruining perfectly good potions ingredients.

Ron emerged from the storeroom a moment later with an armful of ingredients and hurried back to his station. "You should see the look on Snape's face," he said to Harry quietly, smirking. "Crabbe and Goyle knocked over an entire crate of beetle eyes."

A moment later, then, the angry voice of the potions master could be heard around the entire dungeon classroom as the man assigned the two Slytherins to scrubbing cauldrons for the next two weeks to make up for their carelessness.

Ron's grin grew wider as he finally turned towards the cauldron. "Alright. Should we get started?"

Harry felt his face heat up slightly. "Uh, Ron? Do you think you could start the fire?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. And for a moment, Harry thought that his friend was going to demand to know why he couldn't just do it himself. It wasn't a question that he was prepared to answer.

But after a few seconds, the redhead just nodded. "Sure. But only if you handle the tarantula venom," he said, sliding the jar of venom towards Harry with a look of distaste. "I hate spiders."

"It's only the venom, though," Harry pointed out. "It won't bite."

Ron just shuddered. "But that's what they inject into their victims when they do bite," he explained. "I don't want any of that spilling on my skin."

It was silly, Harry thought. But perhaps no sillier than him being afraid to light a fire because his uncle had recently held his hand over a hot stove. So without another word, he pulled the jar of tarantula venom closer to him and nodded. "Deal."

All things considered, the class was going fairly well. Harry and Ron's potion was progressing exactly as it should, and mercifully, Ron had refrained from asking Harry too many questions about why he had skipped classes that morning.

However, there were two sets of eyes that always seemed to wander his way every couple minutes or so.

First, there was Hermione. She was working with Neville at the station directly in front of Harry and Ron. But throughout the class, she was constantly looking over her shoulder, no doubt to make sure that Harry wasn't daydreaming or about to cause some disaster.

"Hey, no copying our work!" Ron said with a smirk, when Hermione had glanced back at their station for about the hundredth time.

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes as she turned back to her own potion.

Only to glance back over her shoulder about five seconds later.

Harry sighed. Because it wasn't only Hermione's stares that he had to contend with at the moment. No, someone else seemed to be keeping an annoyingly close watch on him as well.

Snape.

The man seemed to hover on the Gryffindor side of the room for the majority of the class period. And though Harry did his best to avoid making eye contact with the man, he just couldn't help but feel that the professor was always nearby, practically breathing down his neck. Towards the end of class, Harry found himself wishing suddenly that he could have made some actual progress with Occlumency. Because he was starting to fear that Snape just might choose to dive into his thoughts at any moment and he would be powerless to stop it.

"Okay, we're nearly there," Ron said. "Just the venom now." He nodded to the jar sitting in front of Harry.

"Right," Harry answered, unscrewing the lid and picking it up with his unsteady hand. "How many drops?"

Ron turned away to read the recipe as Harry moved the jar closer to the cauldron.

And suddenly, before he could do anything to stop it, Harry felt the jar slip right through his loose grip and land with a plop in the potion.

"Potter, get back!" Snape growled urgently from the front of the room, as the potion immediately started to spit and bubble over. Harry hissed as some of the concoction splashed out of the cauldron and landed on his forearm just as he was scrambling backwards out of the way.

"Foolish, idiotic child!" Snape exclaimed, waving his wand as he reached Harry and Ron's station. The potion immediately vanished and the flame beneath the cauldron was extinguished. "Didn't you hear me say at the beginning of class to pour the venom into a separate container first, rather than attempt to add it directly to the cauldron?"

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment as the entire class watched on in silence. He must have missed that part of the instructions when he had been thinking about concealer spells earlier.

"Well, Potter?" the professor prompted.

"No, sir," Harry answered quietly. "I didn't hear you."

"It's not entirely his fault," Ron jumped in to defend his friend. "I wasn't paying attention—"

"Silence, Weasley," Snape interrupted, his gaze never moving away from Harry. "Hold out your arm, Potter."

Reluctantly, Harry did so, wincing at the mild burn he felt on his forearm.

But a moment later, the boy attempted to snatch his arm back when he got a good look at where the new injury was. Or rather, where the injury should have been. Because the reality was his arm appeared to be completely unblemished. There were no marks, no irritated patches of skin.

The Polyjuice was doing its work.

Unfortunately, before Harry could attempt to pull away, Snape's hand shot out and caught his arm, holding it outstretched so that he could inspect it more closely.

"Class is dismissed," Snape said dangerously, sending a shiver down Harry's spine.

"But we're not done yet," someone from the Slytherin side of the room bravely called out.

Snape aimed several wordless spells around the room until every cauldron was empty. "You were saying?" he sneered, still gripping Harry's arm tightly.

There was complete silence in the classroom.

"Out!" Snape growled.

And at last, the class obeyed, quickly throwing their belongings into their schoolbags and hurrying for the exit before the potions master could get any angrier.

Harry attempted to pull away then, but Snape refused to release him. "You're staying right where you are, Potter," the man said. "Weasley, Granger, out!"

"But sir—" Hermione began.

"I am more than capable of handling the situation, Granger. Now go."

Harry frowned as he watched Hermione bite her lip and finally give a nod towards Snape. What was going on?

"Come on, Ron," Hermione said quietly, pulling the redhead towards the door. "We'll see you in a bit, okay, Harry?"

Harry simply stared helplessly after them, a sense of doom suddenly settling in his stomach.

And then they were gone. And Harry was all alone in the dungeon classroom with Snape.

The man waved his wand once more, and a clicking sound reached Harry's ears, indicating that the classroom door had been locked.

And then finally, Snape released Harry's arm.

"Take a breath, Potter," he said, his tone of voice completely indiscernible.

Harry forced himself to take in a shaky breath, but it did little to ease the sudden feeling he had that he was being backed into a corner with no escape.

It was quiet for a moment. And then Snape was moving around from the front of Harry's station and lowering himself onto the stool that Ron had occupied just a minute earlier.

Harry's heart began pounding as he resolutely avoided looking at the potions master now sitting next to him.

Snape sighed then, and withdrew a vial from a pocket of his robes.

"I don't need a calming draught, sir," Harry whispered, as the vial was placed in front of him.

"I won't lie to you, Potter. This is not a calming draught," the man replied.

"Then what is it?" the boy's voice was nearly inaudible.

Snape let out another sigh. "A little birdie told me that there is a possibility that you've been consuming a potion that can mimic the effects of a concealer spell." The man reached out to tap the side of the little vial in front of Harry. "This potion will reverse those effects."

Harry started shaking his head. "I don't know what you're—"

"I saw that potion splash onto your arm, Potter. You cannot fool me."

Harry could feel the tears start to burn behind his eyes as he looked straight ahead at the wall, but he made a valiant effort to hold them in.

There was silence for several long seconds. And then Snape was speaking again. "Did I ever tell you that your mother once saved my life?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sudden change in topic. He immediately felt his hand go to his pocket, where his mother's picture rested. "No, sir," he finally answered, gripping tightly to the corner of the picture.

Snape nodded. "It was a beautiful day. The two of us were just enjoying the afternoon at the lake, skipping rocks and having a picnic. Then after a while, we both decided to go for a swim."

Harry listened intently, wondering why in the world Snape was telling him this story.

"To this day, I don't quite know what it was that grabbed my ankle," the potions master continued. "But it latched onto me and pulled me under the water. If it hadn't been for your mother and one of her well-aimed stunning spells, I would have drowned that day."

Harry raised a shaking hand to swipe at his wet eyes.

"I'm glad you didn't drown, sir," he said quietly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, a strange look coming over his face for a moment. "I never did get the chance to repay your mother for saving me that day," he eventually continued. "But perhaps I can begin to repay that debt now."

"Sir?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

"Drink the potion, Potter," Snape instructed.

Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. I don't need it."

"If that is true, then the potion will not affect you in any way. Drink it."

Again, the boy shook his head no.

"The effects of the potion you consumed earlier will wear off eventually," Snape pointed out. "You've already been in this room for nearly an hour. This façade will not last without another dose."

"Please let me go," Harry begged, suddenly choking back a sob as the realization hit him that he was completely and utterly trapped.

"No," the potions master answered simply. "Not this time. No more."

"Why?" Harry asked, staring at the vial in front of him as he wiped away more tears.

Snape didn't answer right away. But after a moment, he began to speak.

"That day at the lake, when I was pulled under the water…I did everything I could to get myself free. I kicked and I flailed my arms and I tried to scream. But no matter what I did…no matter how hard I tried… I couldn't get back to the surface. I only felt myself getting dragged down deeper and deeper into the depths of that lake. I was drowning. And I needed help."

Harry drew another shaky breath as Snape leaned closer to him then. "So tell me, Harry. Are you drowning?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Snape had never called him by his first name before. He suddenly gave up on trying to hold back the tears, and simply let them flow freely down his face. Nearly a full minute passed then. Harry thought about everything that had happened in the last few days. He had been sneaking around, avoiding his friends, skipping classes, skipping meals, frantically researching spells that were really beyond his capabilities... All so that no one would find out about the Dursleys and Marge. There really was no way around it anymore. He was drowning.

And suddenly, without really meaning to, the young Gryffindor found himself giving an answer.

"Yes, sir," the boy whispered, so quietly that he wondered if Snape would even hear him.

But, as usual, Snape did hear him. And at Harry's words, he reached out and moved the vial even closer to the boy. "Drink," he said once again.

Harry stared down at the potion. He knew he didn't have much time anyway. The Polyjuice would be wearing off soon. There was no way out. It was over.

And with that thought, the boy released his hold on the picture in his pocket, and picked up the vial. Then, before he had the chance to change his mind, he put the vial to his lips and downed the potion in one gulp.

The effect was almost immediate. Harry felt a strange sensation engulf his body from head to toe. It felt like an invisible layer of protection was being peeled away from his skin. He ducked his head to look down at the table, away from Snape's scrutinizing gaze.

But he knew he couldn't hide much longer.

"Look at me, Potter," Snape said then, his voice soft but filled with authority.

Harry couldn't bring himself to move.

And then the professor's long fingers were under his chin, urging him to look up.

"It'll be alright, child. I promise," the man said then.

At those words, Harry finally gave in. After just another moment of hesitation, he slowly raised his head to meet the potions master's eyes.

And at long last, Severus Snape could see everything.

A/N: I'm not sure how, but this chapter ended up being even longer than the last one, and way more emotional than I had been anticipating. You have no idea how long I've been waiting to type out that very last sentence. It's just been sitting on my laptop since 2015 :)

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

-Ailee17

September 14, 2019