Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, nor the initial idea of Severitus or Drarry, though I wish I could claim to have thought of such a brilliant idea.

A/N: Another chapter has arrived. Please review. Also, this chapter details some of the child abuse Harry suffered at the Dursleys hands, so if that bothers anyone, skip this chapter because although it will be alluded to in chapters after, it will not be as descriptive as it is in this one.

Chapter 19

"It's usually my Uncle, although my aunt did do more when I was younger," Harry said quietly. The words were just tumbling out now that he had started. It was like the breaking of a dam. Once it was done, there was no stopping the stream from rushing and gushing uncontrollably. "When I was younger it was worse. I had always had to do chores, a lot of them, but now that I'm older it's easier to complete them all. When I was younger it was harder, which meant that less got done, which meant that I was 'punished'. Depending on which chore I did get around to doing, the punishment would get worse. Usually if I didn't get around to cleaning the floor entirely he would only smack me around a little bit. But when I burned dinner, my aunt used to take my palm and press it to the stove top. And then when they did allow me to take a shower, they would either make it entirely freezing or boiling hot."

Harry paused for a moment, thinking. The memories of when he had been littler, and more scared, always taunted him and that was usually what his nightmares about. If they weren't about Voldemort and the horrible things that he had done, they were about the way his 'family' had treated him back when he was younger. Uncle Vernon had seemed only that much more menacing and cruel when Harry barely came up to his hip.

"And these?" Snape asked, tapping gently on Harry's back, away from where the bruises were starting to smart. Harry bit his lip.

"He first used a belt on me when I was seven," He explained. "They hadn't fed me for three days and I guess I was so hungry that I summoned some food from the kitchen. It was accidental magic, but they didn't care. It was freakish behavior, and they didn't allow that." Harry sighed, his scars tingling in remembrance. "After that, every time I did magic or even spoke about it, the belt came out."

"And what about this?" Snape's hand traced the scar that ran up from Harry's hip to the top of his chest. His hands were gentle in a way that Harry was still not accustomed to, despite the six years he had spent with friends and family. They worked confidently around Harry, applying salve and wrapping his ribs up tightly.

"My cousin, Dudley, did that," Harry remembered. "He was seven years old and he found a knife that someone had left in the park."

"A seven year old did this to you?" Snape asked, his voice incredulous. Harry let out a dry laugh.

"While his friends and father cheered him on, yes," He said. "But I still don't believe that Dudley is entirely cruel. I think he's just misguided by his father's example."

"Well, that's very wise and forgiving of you," Snape said dryly. He tied a tight knot in the bandages and took a step away, staring down at his work. Harry moved slightly and winced at the pain. Ribs were always the worst thing to hurt, he thought. They hurt no matter what you were doing. You could be sitting, and they hurt. You could be walking, and they hurt. They killed when you had to do chores and made it impossible to sleep when he actually had time to do so.

Kicking his ribs had always been Uncle Vernon's favorite.

God, Uncle Vernon was going to kill him. He had broken the one rule that Uncle Vernon had always stressed. Never tell anyone. Ever. He was going to get so hurt. Voldemort would have to settle for killing someone else, because Harry was pretty sure that Uncle Vernon was going to beat him to it.

"Calm down Harry," Snape said. Harry stared at him, uncomprehending. Was he not calm? He felt calm. What was that noise?

"Deep breaths," Snape said. Harry attempted to do what he said and realized that noise was him. It was his breath making that harsh ragged sound. Oh. He looked away for a moment, and tried to forget what was going on right now. He tried to pretend that he was somewhere curled up with Draco. But it was not working. Snape placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and spoke again. Harry narrowed down on his voice. It was actually a very nice voice, deep and comforting. "…my story. When I was younger I was living with my mother and father and my father treated me much like your Uncle treated you. But the one highlight of my life was the girl who lived down the street, Lily Evans. She was my best friend and we eagerly awaited the time when we would go to Hogwarts. But her sister was consumed with jealousy. Petunia had always been jealous of Lily, whether because she looked better or because she could do magic, or perhaps because she had a best friend that was not her."

"But you called her a Mudblood," Harry recalled, his voice startling even him.

"That memory is one of the worst memories I own," Snape said. "You were only able to see it because it is constantly on my mind, taunting me."

"I truly am sorry for seeing that memory," Harry said, twining his fingers together. Snape's face changed, not quite a smile, but not quite a glare either.

"Well, I was not exactly being fair to you either," He said. "And I think it is best to leave the past in the past, along with the preconceived ideas we had then."