AN: This might seem like an odd epilogue, but with all the strange timeline things with this story, it seems appropriate to me. :) This story is now officially done, but I'm thinking about a one-shot or two as the muse strikes. My first love will always be fanfiction, and I don't see myself not writing it. But I do know that I'm going into a busy season in my life with becoming published where I get paid for it for the first time, so I am hoping to find a balance going forward. In the meantime, thank you for being with me on this crazy journey, and drop me a line to let me know what you think of this crazy story.
It was a Thursday afternoon, just like any other Thursday afternoon. Professor Snape had requested that Harry stop by his office for afternoon tea that day, as they hadn't had a chance to catch up that week and he had been missing the boy a bit. Harry was also eager to see his father as well, but any time he saw him it also created the added complication of him having to hide the marks on the back of his left hand. And this particular Thursday the marks were very fresh; he had just had a detention with the pink Toad Delores Umbridge the night before. He was going to have to be on top of his game to dodge his very observant father.
"I'm not sure you're going to be able to hide this," Hermione told him, inspecting the damage after class. "Even after soaking in the Murtlap."
"She got you good yesterday," Ron added sympathetically.
"Do you know a good glamour spell?" Harry asked. "Something to hide it?"
"It's Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione told him. "A glamour would most likely draw attention to it. You're better off with less magical means of subterfuge."
"I can ask Fred and George if they have something," Ron offered.
"We don't have time," Harry answered. "And they weren't that much help last time we asked. Maybe if I wore my baggy jumper?"
"I could make the sleeves longer," Hermione offered. "That should skate under the radar of his magical detection.
"Or, you know, you could always do the obvious," Ron offered softly.
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Tell the old guy," Ron told him, rolling his eyes. "Tell that bloody scary father of yours! Maybe he can use some of his Slytherin cunning to figure out how not to get your hand sliced upon every fortnight or so!"
"And get him the sack next?" Harry hissed back.
"I think Professor Snape is smarter than that, Harry," Hermione told him reasonably. "Ron's right, he might be able to help."
"I'm not doing that," Harry told them flatly. "I'm not risking it. Now are you guys helping me or not?"
"We're helping you, of course, mate," Ron answered with a sigh. "You know we always bloody do. What can we do to help?"
"Any other ideas other than a longer sleeve?" Harry asked.
"Dobby might have some ideas," Ron suggested. "But he's a bit mental too, and he might tell Professor Snape to protect you, Harry."
"Long sleeves it is, then," he nodded.
"How about that spot coverup?" Ron asked. "You know, the one Ginny gave me when I had those spots pop up a few months ago?"
"It might not work," Hermione warned, but with a smirk of satisfaction. "It didn't work to cover up the spots that Marietta Edgecombe got from me when she snitched to Umbridge; it's meant to cover up natural spots, not cursed ones. But we can give it a try. I have some up in my room."
The spot cream didn't cover it completely, but they did agree that it made it less noticeable and helped it a great deal. Harry hoped that that, when combined with the longer sleeves of his jumper that he really would be able to pull this off.
"Wish me luck," Harry told them grimly, as if he were headed off to his execution.
"Good luck," Ron told him. "You're going to need it."
Harry had greeted his father with what he hoped was his normal casual manner, though he felt his stomach twisted in knots. He soon found himself sitting on his familiar chair sipping tea and eating biscuits, trying to talk about everything but his Defense class.
"Have you been staying out of trouble with Umbridge?" Professor Snape asked directly. He was very good at reading his son, and clearly something was going on with him tonight. This is what Harry looked like guilty.
"Oh, yeah, just fine," Harry told him. "I mean, you know, the normal stuff."
"Has she been leaving you alone since she disbanded the DA?" he asked.
"Mostly," Harry lied, beginning to feel a little hysterical. He didn't think about the fact that it would have been more believable if he told the truth up until the point of her using the black quill, his brain wasn't working properly.
"Hmm," Snape answered, sipping his tea, clearly suspicious.
"Hermione and Ron were talking about what we learned in Transfiguration yesterday . . ."
The trap was laid so well that Harry didn't even realize that it was a trap. Snape waited until he took a sip of his tea and while he was doing it he smoothly held out the plate of biscuits to offer Harry one. Harry took one without thinking with his left hand because his right hand held the tea, and his sleeve fell away from the hand. Harry, realizing his mistake a fraction of a second too late, snatched back his hand protectively, but not before his father's sharp eyes saw what he had been looking for.
"What is that on the back of your hand, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked in a stern, formal voice. Harry knew that voice, this was the voice that broached no misbehavior nor lying – this was the voice that told him he was in big trouble and that he had better snap to now or he would be bent over Snape's knee before he could protest.
"I think you know, sir," Harry answered in a resigned voice, but not one that held any disrespect nor sarcasm.
"Let me see it," he commanded, and it was a command not to be disobeyed.
Reluctantly, Harry pulled his hand out and held it out for further inspection. Snape held it softly but firmly, and inspected it thoroughly. With a quick swipe of his wand the makeup was removed, and he cast a diagnostic spell on the injury. Harry waited as Snape continued his examination, a million thoughts racing through his head and his stomach churning in anxiety.
"I see you have undergone serious corporal punishment," Professor Snape intoned, releasing Harry's hand as he leaned back in his chair and faced his son. His voice was low, precise, and dangerous. "And have chosen to hide it from me. No, there is no use in denying this. Right now I am going to ask a series of questions and you are going to answer them truthfully, fully, and without hesitation. Any hesitation or half-truths will quickly find you put over my knee. Am I completely clear on this?"
"Yes, sir," Harry answered, shocked that he wasn't being put over his knee just to start off the conversation.
"When did you receive this punishment from Umbridge?" he asked.
"Yesterday evening," Harry answered without hesitation. He knew when he'd been beat, and now was the time to come clean and beg for mercy. "I had detention with her after dinner."
"Why did she administer such a punishment?"
"The usual," Harry answered. "I said in class that Voldemort wasn't dead and was a real threat to the student population."
"The 'usual'?" Snape intoned, his voice suddenly black and hard. "How many times have you received this punishment from her?"
Harry could have kicked himself. Without that slip he may have been able to play it off as a one-time event. How stupid could he have been?
"You know about the time the whole DA got it . . ." Harry began.
"Of course I do," Professor Snape snapped. "I provided healing potions for the whole lot of you. And I was under the impression that was the only time you had been punished that way."
"Well, you see, I was worried . . ."
"How many times, Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape reminded him. "I asked a direct question and I expect a direct answer. Immediately."
"Last night made seventeen," Harry answered, defeated.
"Seventeen?" Snape echoed, shock overcoming his anger. "You've had the black quill seventeen times?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied miserably. "She's been trying to break me with it, to make me comply with ministry policies, and to deny that Voldemort is back."
"Why did you not tell me?" Snape asked, his voice no longer angry but very concerned. "Harry, surely you realize I would have put a stop to it?"
"I know you would have," Harry told him, his voice near tears. "But what if you got sacked in the process?"
"You offend me if you think I couldn't have protected you without getting sacked," Professor Snape growled. "Who do you think I am?"
"And she was just so sure of everything," Harry confessed, the anxiety of months spilling out of his mouth. "The first time was the first week of school, and she sat there and took such pleasure in it! She made me sit there and cut my own hand open! She said that deep down I knew that I deserved to be punished, and that I knew that nobody really cared about me either, not you or anybody. The more she talked, the more it just seemed logical that I would comply with her, and the more it seemed that she was right. What she said sounded so much like what the Dursleys said – that I really didn't do anything right, and that I was a burden. So I did her punishment, but I also didn't ever deny what I knew to be true about Voldemort."
"You bloody foolish boy," Snape told him, but without venom. "I should take you over my knee just to see if I could wallop the foolishness out of you. Don't you see how you played into her hand? In believing what she said about you rather than the literally hundreds of times I've told you that you're safe and that you're actually a very good lad, you've played right into her hands. If I had known about it the first time it happened, before she consolidated control, I could have shut her down that week. She used the old abuser's trick of isolating you, making you feel alone, and making you think you deserve it."
"She did?" Harry asked, shocked to see it from that perspective.
"Obviously," Professor Snape continued. "And now she has you locked into a pattern with her, where she can abuse you at whim apparently, and you are too noble and too guilty and too used to the abuse to even fight back effectively. What did those accursed twins do after the DA got the black quill?"
"They did everything they could to take her down," Harry acknowledged.
"Would that friend of yours Ron have put up with seventeen applications of the black quill?" he asked pointedly. "Or would he have figured out some sort of reinforcements?"
"He's been urging me to tell you," Harry confessed. "He's told me it's the only logical thing to do, that you wouldn't let it continue."
"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Professor Snape replied with unexpected affection for the red-headed brat. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he always seemed. He studied Harry for a moment, trying to calm his own response to the last few moments and thinking critically about how he was going to put a stop to the ritualistic abuse of his young charge.
"They've been worried about me," Harry told Professor Snape. "Hermione and Ron, they are the only ones that know. And you know they are worried when Ron suggests going to you for help. He's still pretty scared of you."
Inwardly smirking at the red-headed child being scared of him, Professor Snape thought of the options. He had always had a vague idea that he would have to help bring about Umbridge's ouster, but he was waiting on Dumbledore to mastermind a plan. Now that this involved Harry in this manner, it got upgraded in his priority list to not waiting for Dumbledore to think the time is right for Delores Umbridge to retire from teaching, the time is now. But for now he would cast a spell of Favor upon Harry to at least protect him from that blasted quill, and that should be enough for him to buy some time to figure out what to do about getting rid of the pink toad.
Another thought occurred to him as he looked at his reluctantly discovered son. "How have you healed your wounds?" he asked firmly. "I seem to have had some Murtlap filched from my supplies."
"I honestly wasn't sure where Dobby got it from," Harry confessed. "But it was most welcome."
"You knew it probably came from my stores," the professor sternly corrected.
"I did," Harry agreed. "But it felt so good, and Dobby seemed right eager to bring it for me."
"I'm sure he was," Snape nodded. "But Murtlap only soothes and promotes healing; after that many applications of the quill you are going to be scarred. I will do my best to minimize it, but I'm afraid there's not much I can do. Come with me."
Harry followed him, and soon he found himself with his hand laid out on his father's workbench and his father bent over it, carefully applying a brownish liquid to his scars and then mumbling an incantation over the injury. Harry quietly watched his father work, feeling humbled anew by how lovingly this man cared for him. He may not say soft and loving words like he saw Ron's parents do, but he handled Harry's injured hand with such gentleness. And it made his stomach squirm to think of how he said that Harry should have believed him when he said that Harry was safe and that he was a good lad. Could he actually believe him?
"It's what I thought," Snape said him with a sigh. "I'm afraid that I cannot fully heal this scar. When a mark is made by a curse like this, especially repeatedly like yours without proper follow-up care, then it is nearly impossible for it not to scar."
"It's alright," Harry assured him. "It feels much better now."
"I have healed it as best as can be for now," Snape said. "And we will begin working on this problem immediately. Umbridge is problematic because she has the ear of the minister, not because she is a talented witch. The Weasley twins can best her, I think you and I should not have too much trouble. I have placed some protective spells on you for now, and they should work as long as she's not too provoked. But for now I will have your word that if she or anybody else causes harm upon your person I will know immediately."
"I will tell you," Harry promised, squirming uncomfortably. This is where his lecture and punishment were coming.
"I can't protect you if I don't know what's happening," Snape told him. "I would like you to come for tea tomorrow afternoon so I have some time to think more on the subject. But for now, I know with all that healing we just did you must be tired. Would you like to have a rest here or go back to the dorms?"
"That's it?" Harry asked him, confused.
"What do you mean?" Snape asked him, though they both knew.
"Are you going to punish me?" Harry asked him, his voice small.
Instead of answering, instead Snape looked at him straight in the face for the first time that afternoon. Harry saw the sadness, betrayal, and worry in his eyes. He choked at the pain he saw in his father's eyes. Knowing how much he hurt his dad hurt worse by far than if his father had punished him.
"It would undoubtedly be justice to do so," Snape told him with a soft sigh. "You clearly knew what you were doing was wrong. But even I cannot bring myself to inflict more pain upon your person."
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I should have told you. I don't know why I didn't; I should have."
"Yes, you should have," Snape answered sadly. "Please, for all our sakes, next time please do."
"Do you hate me now?"
"Of course not," Snape answered seriously. "If I hated you it would offend me far less. Harry, you have to know how much I care about you."
Snape should have expected the hug, but somehow it was still somewhat of a shock when he found himself with his arms full of half-grown teenager. The hugs that they had navigated when Harry was younger had become more rare as Harry grew older, and apparently now was one of the occasions. Snape hugged him back, enjoying the closeness himself. His mind was already beginning to formulate the plan he would enact to get revenge on that woman who had hurt his son. Seventeen times? Was she truly insane?
"You do need to rest," Snape said. "That spell took a lot of your energy. Why don't you rest here and we'll have a quiet dinner together when you wake up."
"Thanks Dad," Harry answered, stifling a yawn. He did feel bone tired.
"You're welcome, Harry," Snape nodded in reply. "I'll be here when you wake up."