I'm sorry for the long break, the translation took me some time and then I was on holiday too. But I hope you enjoy, the next chapter.

The secret of the cauldrons

"Harry, where are you going? Don't you want to come with us to the library?" asked Ron, puzzled as his friend headed another direction after dinner. "We still have to do research for our History essay!"

"I… erm… I have detention!" Harry stammered, embarrassed.

"Detention? With who? Why?" Ron's eyes grew large.

"Snape." Harry's answer was barely a whisper.

Ron was stunned. "Snape?" he repeated in disbelief. "But when did you get detention? We didn't even have Potions today."

"Yesterday…" Harry replied in a low voice, hoping his friend would quiet down a bit too. He didn't want the whole castle to know about his detention.

"Yesterday?" Ron echoed, but then it hit him, "Wait a minute… this didn't happen right after we looked for that bloody dog, did it?"

Harry nodded.

"But you said…you said you just went to the toilet. You didn't mention anything about detention!" Ron complained, casting his friend an uncomprehending look.

"It's okay… I mean, it's not that bad," Harry reassured him.

"Not that bad? Are you crazy? Why should you have to do detention alone? We were all there. Why didn't you tell him that we were with you?

"Because I don't betray my friends, okay?!" Harry shouted.

But Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Look…" Harry started to explain, "There's no reason for you to get in trouble too. Snape didn't know you were with me, and that's good, isn't it?"

The redhead thought about that. Then he said, "I don't know. I just feel bad that you have detention and I don't."

"It's okay, really!" Harry said again. "If it makes you feel better, you can do the research for your essay and help me with mine after detention. Deal?"

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

"Okay. Deal. But you really should have said something! I'm your friend!" Ron complained again.

Harry looked guilty and then hung his head. "I'm sorry," he said in a whisper "I've never had any friends before. I guess I'm just used to dealing with problems on my own."

Ron regretted his reproachful tone immediately. "No, mate, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bark at you. I grew up with five brothers and a sister, so sometimes I'm kind of harsh without meaning to be..."

Harry smiled a bit.

"You're really sure I shouldn't come with you?" Ron asked once more.

"Yes, I'm sure. You just do the research, okay? Oh and… please don't tell Hermione and Neville. One of us stuck in detention is enough."

"Sure, Harry," Ron promised with a knowing nod.

"Thanks. You really are my best friend, you know…"

Ron's smile grew larger and Harry smiled back.

Ooo

"You're late, Potter," Professor Snape stated dryly as Harry finally showed up to detention.

Harry gulped. "I'm sorry, professor, I got held up!"

"Obviously. May I ask by whom?"

"Er…a friend," Harry said and could not hide the gleam in his eyes as he said the word 'friend'. It felt really good to be able to say that. To really have a friend. That was still a new experience for Harry.

Professor Snape frowned in irritation as he observed the jovial look in Harry's eyes.

How ridiculous… You would think that the boy-who-lived has never had any friends in his life.

"Don't let this happen again," Snape finally replied.

"Yes, Sir. I won't."

The professor nodded once and then pointed his finger at the small pile of cauldrons piled in the sink. The professor had no idea what the students did with them to make them so potion-encrusted and filthy, but it was ideal work for detention.

Harry didn't need any more instructions. He took the sponge and the soap, rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Severus stared at him. The boy hadn't even made a face as he picked up the first cauldron. Harry proceeded very systematically. He filled one cauldron with water to soak, loosening the residue, while he scrubbed at another one.

Only someone who has done this many times would realize the importance of soaking cauldrons…, Snape thought to himself. The fact that Harry worked well in small place surrounding the sink and had no need for any more tables as depositing stations made Snape's impression stronger.

But how is this possible? No eleven year old boy knows about scrubbing this precisely… How did this boy grow up? With no friends and professional knowledge about scrubbing? Snape knew Harry was raised by muggles, but surely, even the muggles spoiled the hero of the wizarding world, the conqueror of the Dark Lord.

So what's this rubbish about?

As Severus wasn't able to answer his own question, he got to work as well . There was still a huge pile of essays he had to correct. Every now and then, the professor thought he heard a whispering voice of the boy: "Go on. Go away!" But all was quiet in the classroom.

As the scrubbing and whispering stopped Severus looked up to see the boy reaching for the polishing rag.

"I think that's enough. You don't have to polish them, as they will only get dirty again," Severus heard himself say, wondering what possessed him to refuse such a thing.

Harry looked up at his professor. "Sir?"

"It's late. You may go back to your common room."

Now puzzled, Harry frowned. But receiving no response, he nodded and put the rag down. Severus stood up and walked over to the boy. "I shall see you tomorrow. I expect you to be on time."

"Yes, Sir," Harry promised, scrambling toward the door. "Have a nice night, professor!"

Now it was Severus's turn to look puzzled. There weren't many students that were friendly to him, least of all after detention.

As Harry left the classroom, Severus looked at the wall clock for the first time. Stunned he stared at the watch hands. It wasn't even an hour since Potter had entered the classroom. How was it possible that he had finished? He frowned, spun around and walked toward the cauldrons.

He scrutinized them with a critical eye. They were perfectly clean. In disbelief, Severus glanced from the clean pile of cauldrons, to the clock, and then back to the cauldron in his hand. What is going on? It was impossible to scrub eighteen cauldrons that perfectly in less than an hour without the use of magic.

Ooo

"Hey, you're back! I thought you'd still be with the greasy bat of the Dungeons," Ron commented, astonished as Harry climbed through the portrait hole back into the common room.

"Yeah… I can't believe he actually let me go so early," Harry told his friend.

"What did you have to do?" Ron was curious.

"Scrub cauldrons."

"How many?" Ron asked, a skeptical look on his face. If Harry got back this early then there couldn't have been many.

"Erm… eighteen, I think."

Ron's jaw dropped. Then he closed it again and frowned. "You're joking, aren't you?"

But Harry shook his head, "No, why should I? There were eighteen and they were disgusting. But they weren't any worse than Aunt Petunia's pots when she burns dinner, I guess."

"You had to scrub cauldrons at home?" Ron asked shocked.

"Yeah." Harry laughed at Ron's look, "But we call them pots."

"You have to do kitchen work at home?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't you?"

"No. My mum waves her wand and then everything is clean again."

"Wow!" Harry said impressed "I wish I was raised by wizards too. Magic is brilliant!"

"If you want, I could ask my mum about the spell. Then you can use it at home!"

Harry burst out in laughter. "I'm not allowed to even say the word magic. Imagine me standing in the kitchen, waving my wand… They would love that!"

"Your family's absolutely horrid!" Ron cried, appalled "You know that?"

Harry shrugged "There isn't much I can do, is there?"

"Go to Dumbledore and ask him if you can live with us. I could make some space for you in my room!"

Now Harry smiled sheepishly, "That sounds too good to be true."

"Why? There are already seven of us. One more won't be a problem. I'll ask my mum, okay?"

"Okay," Harry whispered hoarsely, his face burning as he realized that his throat was tightening and his eyes were filling with tears. He dropped his head so Ron wouldn't see. Until now, nobody had ever suggested such a thing to him. He knew that there was no way it would happen, but he was touched by the idea.

Ooooo

"Harry?" Ron asked, puzzled again as his friend headed to the dungeons again after dinner the next night.

"Detention," Harry replied.

"Again?"

"I've got it three nights in a row. Tomorrow's my last day for it…"

Ron stared at his friend. "Three detentions, and you didn't say a single word about it?"

Guiltily, Harry hung his head.

"Blimey, now I really feel awful…" Ron mumbled.

Harry didn't know what to say.

"Well, I'll pay you back. What about the herbology essay? I let you copy it, okay?" Ron finally said and gave Harry a pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks!" Harry replied and then sprinted of into the dungeon.

Ooo

As Harry entered the Potions classroom, Professor Snape was preoccupied with a letter he held in his hands. Without looking up, he waved Harry in.

Harry walked up to the desktop and waited as Snape held up one finger, implying that he didn't want to be interrupted. Uncertain, Harry shifted from one foot to the other. He didn't like the silence; he wished he knew already what his task was, because then he could get started and get out of here.

Finally Snape set the letter down in the drawer top of his desk. "I'm glad to see you on time today, Potter" he said, fixing the boy with a piercing glare.

Harry dropped his head, looking up through his fringe.

"There are some more cauldrons for you to clean," he said and pointed to the sink again.

Harry just nodded. Scrubbing cauldrons was not his favorite hobby, but since he had some experience with it, he didn't mind so much. At least Snape wouldn't shout at him to work faster or something like that.

As Harry glanced over at the cauldrons, he couldn't help but smile.

"Something amusing?" Severus asked, his voice dry yet curious. This time the professor had decided he would watch the boy more closely to discover the secret of the perfectly scrubbed cauldrons.

"No, Sir… it's just… I was just wondering what could've happened to the cauldrons to make them so filthy."

"I suppose that makes two of us," Severus replied, curling his lip in disgust toward the result of his students' labor.

Still smiling and scratching at an eyebrow, Harry nodded, took the sponge and silently began working. Professor Snape took the Daily Prophet and held it up high enough to make it appear as if he were perusing the headlines. There was no need to let the boy know that he was watching.

At first, Severus noticed, Harry didn't use the protection gloves. It seemed that he didn't mind the hot water or the aggressive soap. Harry was very focused on his work. His movements appeared as confident as these of a housewife.

As the boy started to scrub a bit harder, he stuck his tongue to the corner of his mouth. And then he began whispering.

"Go on, go away!" the child repeated several times.

Severus shook his head in amusement, but suddenly his eyes caught sight of a warm glow from inside the cauldron. At first the professor wasn't sure if he really saw the cauldron glowing, but as the boy put it aside to pick up the next one, Severus paid further attention.

It happened again. First the whispering, then the glow, and then the cauldron was spotless

Snape stared at the boy in disbelieve. Wandless magic. That was very rare for a first year student to be able to master. It wasn't normal.

Severus watched Harry for a while, but it was the same with every other cauldron. And curiously, it seemed that the boy did not even notice what he was doing. Severus had never seen such a phenomenon in his whole teaching career. He didn't know what to do.

If the boy really didn't know about his use of magic, it would be unfair to accuse him of disobeying. But what if the boy knew and was just pretending to be oblivious?

Severus was so lost in his thoughts, that he barely noticed the boy had finished.

When Harry asked if he was dismissed, Severus nodded automatically.

Ooo

"Today you have just one more cauldron to clean," Severus informed Harry a day later. He pointed toward a huge copper cauldron. "You will need the protection gloves, as toxic substances were used to create that specific potion."

Harry frowned, skeptical. Just one cauldron? What's the catch?

Shrugging he pulled on the gloves.

"If it's toxic, won't it come through the gloves? They look so thin!" Harry asked wondering.

"No, those are dragon hide gloves. They are impermeable for any magic or magical substances; therefore, your skin will not get burned."

Harry nodded and took a closer look at the gloves. "Cool," He finally said.

Severus sat down behind his desk and watched Harry from behind his newspaper. The boy, once again, had clamped his tongue in the corner of his mouth and worked silently. As the whispering started, the professor lowered his newspaper and watched closely.

Now the boy scrubbed a bit harder, breaking out in a sweat, but he didn't give up.

Severus stood up and moved closer.

As Harry continued to scrub vigorously, he did not notice his approaching teacher. "Go away. Go on, go away!" he whispered again and again almost inaudibly.

Suddenly Harry dropped the sponge and stared at his hands.

"Professor!" he cried in a troubled voice and then nearly jumped out of his skin as he realized that said professor stood right behind him.

"Yes?" Severus asked.

"My hands! They're on fire. I think I broke the gloves and now the poison is on my hands!" Harry called in panic.

"Calm down, Harry," Severus said and reached for Harry's hands to remove the gloves, but the boy pulled his hands back.

"Don't! They're toxic!" Harry shrieked.

"No, they are not," the professor said calmly.

Harry looked puzzled. "But… I don't understand… the burning!"

"Pull off the gloves, Harry."

Harry did as he was told. His hands were a brilliant shade of red. But the burning sensation stopped immediately. As the cold air cooled his skin, Harry squinted uncertainly at his hands.

"The burning's stopped. But they're still really hot…" he said.

"It wasn't because of any toxin, but of a heat accumulation," Severus told him.

"Heat accumulation? But normally I don't sweat that easily," Harry replied, still disturbed.

"The burning was not caused by perspiration, Potter. It was caused by magic."

"What?" Harry asked. He stared at the professor, flabbergasted.

"Take the sponge, finish your work and then we will talk."

"But I don't understand. Isn't the stuff toxic anymore?"

"It was never toxic. I was just a test. Now, finish up, and we shall talk," Snape ordered as he walked back to his desk.

Still confused, Harry looked back and forth between the professor and the cauldron. Just a test? What test?

"Potter. Do as I say," Snape instructed without looking up.

Finally Harry picked up the sponge again and continued scrubbing the cauldron, this time without the protection gloves. Suddenly he felt the heat building up in his hands again and then the heat spilled out of his fingertips in a quick, bright glow. After that, the cauldron was as good as new.

Harry stared. He'd never noticed that before.

Was that the reason why uncle Vernon lost it and went berserk that one time while Harry was washing the dishes?

It had been several years since that night, and all Harry could remember was his uncle storming into the kitchen in a boiling rage, pulling him to the cupboard under the stairs by his hair. He locked Harry up for three days without any food. And since then Harry always made to do the washing before the sun came up.

"Sir?" Harry asked puzzled.

"Are you finished?" the professor countered.

"Yes, Sir. But I don't understand…"

"Sit!"

Harry released the sponge, which he was unconsciously squeezing between his fingers, and took the seat Snape was pointing towards. Nervously he rubbed his hands together. They felt as normal as ever, but Harry was still confused.

"I'm curious, Harry… How is it that a boy like you knows so much about scrubbing cauldrons?"

"I don't know, Sir. I always did the washing up at the Dursleys."

As Harry said that an indefinable look crossed his professor's face.

"Voluntarily?" Snape asked doubtfully.

Harry failed in suppressing a short laugh. "No. It was one of my chores!"

"You mentioned that your aunt does not like finger prints. Is there something else you haven't told me?"

Harry frowned. This question was odd, and he did not know what to say. But the professor simply looked at him and waited.

"Well… erm." Harry cleared his throat "There are some rules I had to follow. The water had to be scalding because of the bacteria. At first I had trouble with the heat, but after a while I got used to it. And I had to dry the dishes immediately, because otherwise they would get blotches from the water. Then I had to polish it, so it looked as good as new, because uncle Vernon sometimes has business dinners at home, and it wouldn't make a good impression if the dishes weren't shiny."

"How often did you have to do the dishes?"

"Before Hogwarts? Every day."

"How long did it take?"

"I'm not allowed to spend more than fifteen minutes doing it."

"Did you sometimes struggle with this limited time?"

"Erm… I think I used to sometimes, but I learned to deal with the time limit."

Snape nodded to himself. He was sure Harry had developed the use of wandless magic to keep himself within that limit. But there was still the burning question: How did this happen? The only thing that would make it possible for a young boy to be able to learn such advanced magic was through fear. Most likely, fear of punishment. But what kind of punishment would cause such a great amount of fear?

Snape knew he had to be careful with this subject. He knew he could not ask the boy outright. So he began with small talk to try and get a better picture of what exactly he and Harry were discussing.

"What did your aunt do while you did the washing-up?"

"Erm… she mostly watched the telly with Dudley."

Snape frowned. He was irritated at Harry's casual tone. While he tried to decide what else he could ask, he remembered something Harry had said earlier:

"You said doing the dishes was just one of you chores… What else do you have to do?" Snape asked finally.

"Erm… a lot of different stuff: the laundry, the ironing, gardening, clean the windows..."

The professor stared at the boy in disbelief. Who allowed an eleven year old boy to clean the windows or prune the garden? Rage began to rise up in Snape as he listened to the boy's words.

Harry was raised as a house elf. The boy had to do things nobody his age had to do.

Snape tried to suppress his anger and asked, "And what do your aunt and uncle do?"

"Uncle Vernon works and Aunt Petunia goes shopping talks on the phone, or she sits with Dudley and watches television. Usually she does the cooking. But if I have nothing else to do I have to help her peel the potatoes or cut the onions…things like that."

"And this Dudley. He is your cousin?"

Harry nodded.

"What are his chores?" Snape was curious.

Harry shook his head, "Nothing, Sir. He just watches the telly or runs around with his friends, beating up little kids and stuff."

"And you think this is normal?" The professor couldn't hide his rage any longer.

The boy just shrugged. But his eyes betrayed him. He looked sad. "There's nothing I can do, is there? Uncle Vernon always says I should show more gratitude, since they were so generous to raise me."

Snape growled and banged his hand angrily on the desktop.

Harry winced and gulped. Did I say something wrong? He wondered.

Before he could stop himself, Professor Snape asked the burning question, against his better judgment.

"And what does your uncle do if you don't finish your chores?"

Harry's eyes grew larger. Now he knew he'd said something wrong. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone about how he was treated at home. If uncle Vernon found out he'd be in serious trouble. Harry gulped again. Nervously he rocked back and forth on his chair and then glanced at the door.

Snape noticed the change in Harry's attitude, so he said "What are you afraid of?"

"Please, Sir" Harry suddenly pleaded, shaking his head frantically. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said anything. I know I shouldn't lie. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Snape couldn't believe his ears.

Like a house elf. He thought again.

But none of this made sense. One look at the boy and it was clear that what he'd said was true. The professor had no idea how to proceed. Appalled at Harry's cowed state, he could not take his eyes from the boy.

"Harry, please look at me," he said with the friendliest voice he could muster.

Two horrified, large green eyes looked up at him.

"I promise you. I won't say a word to anyone without your permission," the professor said. But at the same time he knew he could not keep his word, as he had to inform the headmaster. However, his top priority at the moment was to gain the boy's trust.

"I'm sorry, Sir…" Harry whispered again.

"No, you don't have to be. You did nothing wrong," Snape assured him.

Doubtfully, Harry looked at Snape, "I used magic for the cauldrons! I didn't know I was doing it, but I did it. Please don't punish me!"

Snape sighed, frowning. That was the least of his worries.

But this little exchange made it clear that Harry was indeed afraid of punishment. Punishment of what sort?

"Harry," the professor said, looking the boy straight in the eyes. It hurt him to see this eyes full of suffering. Lily never had to suffer. She was full of life and energy.

Harry had a hard time maintaining eye contact because he knew he would have to lie if Snape didn't drop the topic.

"Did your uncle beat you?" There was the question.

Harry didn't want to lie to the professor. Snape was strict but in an odd way he seemed to understand Harry better than anyone else. But Harry couldn't say anything; he wasn't allowed to. Harry was torn between the desire to tell the truth and the need to lie.

"Harry, I can help you. I will find a way, but I need to know for certain," Snape tried to convince the boy.

But Harry only shook his head, sadly. "No," he whispered. "He never beat me…"

"This is a lie. I know it Harry," Snape said in a soft voice.

"No," Harry whispered again. And then he jumped up so suddenly that Snape jerked. Merlin only knew where the boy got his courage, but Harry screamed with all his might, "No, you don't know! You don't know anything!" And with these words, he fled from the room.

"Damn!" Snape grumbled to himself. He wasn't angry at the boy but rather, he was shocked.

It was obvious. And Snape knew it. Harry Potter had been mistreated by his relatives.