V. Nightmare on Privet Drive

It was a silent and depressing meal, indeed, the conversation, if it could be called that, hanging in the air between them. Harry felt deflated; no doubt he should have known better. How could he have even let his teacher, his most hated teacher, see that? And then to lash out like that. He really would have no secrets left. The one thing he was positive Snape would never tell him, that he knew was private and probably sore or scarred even, he had asked. How could he have been so stupid? It had gone too far.

"Lost your appetite?" Well, duh, he wanted to say. If any of that chicken hit his stomach it would come right back up. "No sir." He took a bite of asparagus and suddenly he had an idea, one that just many work. "Professor? I know it sounds childish and stupid, but would… would counting sheep help me Occlude my mind, sir?" "It may be worth trying," muttered Snape absentmindedly. "Tell me in the morning." He was not looking at Harry as he said this, which was unsettling. Harry nodded, his stomach going in knots.

He didn't think the Potions Master one to gossip, but- well, would he say anything? He wasn't too happy about almost having the Chosen One in his House. He wouldn't tell…right? Harry sighed and took a gulp of water. Honestly, Snape's reaction had been partly surprising. Almost as if he had lost something he had been close to having. A lump formed in Harry's throat, all too familiar now, and his scar burned as those black eyes finally set on him again. "If you are quite through, Potter, you may go ahead and get to bed." It was an order, Harry knew. He tried, he really did, to close his mind that night, but it turned out counting sheep didn't ward off nightmares like plain old breathing.

He saw it as reality, Uncle Vernon, purple already, scorching mad, muttering, bubbling, about he was good-for-nothing. Dudley, his porky face scrunched up in laughter. Aunt Petunia, frying pan ready to strike, lifted… "No, Aunt! Please, it's hot! I promise I'll be good! I'll…." He squirmed and twisted in bed, becoming tangled in the cream sheets. "I'll not say the word magic again, I promise! I'll stay in the cupboard, won't make a sound when Mr. Mason is here, I promise I won't!" He screamed, but no one answered him. He was trapped. "No, no freakish business, I swear! I won't!"

He was being pulled, as if from a great depth, like crashing through a barrier. He shot up like a bullet to have his worst fears confirmed- there stood Snape, the ends of a white shirt poking out from the black robes. His arms crossed, he was flaming. Oh God, what did I say? Harry went pale. Another nightmare… what did I say? Oh, God- "What won't you do, Potter?" he asked almost curiously, as if daring him to admit whatever it was. "I…" The raised eyebrow stopped Harry from putting up any more of a defense, and he hated himself for still being so easily frightened even now in his presence.

"Obviously," came the draw. "you failed to practice again tonight, or your methods were seriously flawed. What will it take to get you to learn?" Harry wished savagely he had the strength to retort. He was all sweaty- "And obviously, you have some explaining to do. I will be right back." Harry's heart was pounding as the black cloak swept of the room. What had he done now? If only Sirius were here! If only Sirius were here! If Sirius was here he would have some comfort. Oh, how he missed him so! A heaviness came over him. Oh, how I wish you were here! Apparently Snape had seen how shaky and distraught he was because he came back with a steamed cloth and tossed it to him like it was contaminated.

"Clean yourself up. Maybe care to tell me what all that was about?" Instantly Harry shook his head, whipping his neck and face, which felt so nice. No way. But he knew, of course, that it wouldn't do any good. When Snape spoke again it was in that same low tone he'd used when threatening Harry in potions as he crushed dung beetles…

"What did your aunt do to you, Potter? Freakish business, did she call it?" Harry had no idea why this would make Snape clench his fists, but he knew it was coming out no matter what. The threat of Veritaserum had not been made yet, but it was unspoken. "Yes. They don't like magic much." "This cupboard." It was not a statement, not a question; it hung lifelessly. I want to be anywhere but here, Harry thought wildly. It had to be him, had to be. Why? "They kept you in it?" The room was spinning now and was swelteringly hot. He barely made out Snape pulling something form his robes and shoving it in his hands- a vial.

"Calming draught. Drink it." Harry managed to pop the cork without question and downed it; he went icy. "Slowly," Snape chastised, flicking his cape so it better hid his shirt. "What was hot, Potter? Who is Mason?" Harry shuddered. He could not say, would not, not fully. "A client. Of my Uncle's." His breaths were becoming increasingly steady. Snape leaned in, as if trying to reach maximum impact.

"Did they ever hit you?"

The bomb had dropped. No, he could not know, could not- not him. No one could- but not him. He was like Dobby, not able to speak ill, having to punish himself.

"You heard me."

The words were heavy and hit hard. "You will answer me."

It was like an explosion, and he was ashamed when his voice came out quiet, and low, and sickly. "You can't tell anyone." He was pleading. "Potter, you really are a fool." With that he took back the empty vial. "Did they put you in that cupboard only as punishment, or more often?" He sounded as if he were asking about the weather. Harry had no way out. "More often." Why did Snape look like he wanted to smash something? "Elaborate." Harry could tell he was using all of the control he had, like trying to resist punching Vernon's face in or cursing Dudley, or breaking a vase on purpose. Like he was close to another explosion.

"I lived there." The shock was clearly visible. Snape had not expected anything of that magnitude. "They locked you in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years and you told no one? No one? Not your Head of House, McGonagall, not Hagrid or even Flitwick? Not even the Headmaster himself?" Harry was shaking again now, shaking hard. He could not muster a reply. Naturally it did not matter now- that part of his life was over. He had Hogwarts. Why did Snape care, anyway?

"Abuse is not to be taken lightly, Potter, ever! Because no one deserves that. No one. Do you hear me? There are always people at Hogwarts you can confide in, who will listen to you Why you did not think to come to them is beyond me, but that is on your own head." And of course in the midst of it Harry said the first thing that popped into his brain. "Don't tell McGonagall- she would have a fit if she found out." "You just don't get it, do you? I am having a fit. This is bigger than that. You were maliciously mistreated and neglected for a decade and decided for some reason to keep quiet so that we sent you back every summer."

He was pacing back and forth now, as if he could not decide what to do. Harry was still sweating. "That was what I saw during our Occlumency lessons all last year, was it not? And that obtuse excuse or a boy…" For a moment Harry tricked himself into thinking he saw a flicker of remorse in the sallow face, as if Snape believed he should have figured it out sooner. It couldn't have been…. "My cousin Dudley." He reflected for a moment. "I don't normally dream about them. It's usually Cedric. Cedric, over and over again. Or Sirius." He shook himself bitterly now. He could still see the glazed look Cedric had as if it were yesterday, and Sirius, well…

There were worse things than life at Privet Drive , he knew. He met Snape's gaze again, about to speak, before he noticed that expression of sympathy, concern amidst the rage. As if- Harry shuddered- the man knew how he felt.

"You never thought I would understand, did you?" He shivered, and quickly buried himself under the old divan once more, lying flat, as if staring at the ceiling would help him think straight. "How it felt to be bullied. To be targeted for simply existing." He turned over to face the wall, but not in time to miss that frown. He fumed, ignorant as to when Snape situated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Harry, I-"

That alone was enough to keep him wide awake, though he had to admit draining your soul like he had in the past twenty-four hours was quite exhausting. "I'm sorry." It was a whisper. "You shall not endure that again. I had no idea they were so cruel." "It got better, once Sirius and Moody frightened them. " He rolled over, displeased to find that Snape had found interest in the door and was not looking at him. "Be still, Potter." The command was unwavering if unusually soft; Harry was jolted into action upon hearing the familiar name, though he did so like Harry better. Taking a deep breath, not without a shudder, he was calmed by Hagrid's deep accent again: "Always good to see ye', Harry." Just knowing he had friends somewhere who loved him, gave him enough reassurance to close his eyes.

For the first time while laying here he was not plagued by Sirius's smiling face, lots of life still to live….

"Be still and imagine you are nowhere and you have been here before." "Don't you ever sleep?" Harry mumbled, baffled at why Snape would have come fully clothed, suddenly. He was too tired to move now, and so remained frozen; this time he did miss it when Snape's lips curled into that rare smile. "No. I am a greasy dungeon bat who prowls Hogwarts after hours to catch unsuspecting Gryffindors who aren't fortunate enough to have Marauder's Maps." Catching Harry's raised eyebrows, he sighed.

"Close your mind now. Close it up; close out everything until it closes in on you , the emptiness, the sandy whiteness. Envision the sound of the ocean." He watched the boy for a minute. He appeared comfortable, but Snape could tell when something was amiss. He could not have seen the hot tear rolling down Harry's cheek, silently. "Peaceful. It is peaceful here, and nothing will hurt you. You are safe." Harry responded with a still nod. "I said lay still," he admonished, not willing to admit how alarmed he had been at the confession, nor that the child's barrage of inquires their first encounter at Grimmauld Place now made sense. How often had that fat cousin, or even friends of the fat cousin ganged up on him?

He shivered involuntarily. It had been obvious, hadn't it- he had been the scrawniest, skinniest one at his Sorting. They should have realized sooner. "I am going to kill those Dursleys," he growled evilly, unaware the boy was still awake. Anyone who would do that to a child deserved what a Death Eater would do to them. Lily had been right all along, of course. How could he have ever associated with them, Avery and Mulciber and the whole lot of brooding cowards who followed the Dark Lord? She had always been willing to give her sister a second chance, though. "If you could only see what she did to him," he whispered again, contemplating now.

Potter had almost been in Slytherin, yes, but… it could have been in another way. Not for the first time, Snape despised himself for, in effect, pushing her right into the arms of James Potter. Arrogant toerag. But the thought did not console him. He had a lot to think about, though, and did not move from Harry's bed until long after three in the morning, feeling gross and dirty.

He Flooed the Headmaster of Hogwarts immediately, but at this hour go no response. I am going to give him a piece of my mind, he determined then, angrily billowing away to scratch out a rash letter and shove it into the beak of an inconspicuous owl who lived upstairs. A cupboard under the stairs. A cupboard under the stairs. Petunia had locked Lily's only son in a cupboard under the stairs.

Freak, indeed.