Chapter Text
Harry leaned over the pensieve on Snape’s desk, lip caught between his teeth. He knew that he shouldn’t invade Snape’s privacy like this, but the opportunity was so tempting. He’d been having those strange dreams about the Department of Mysteries for ages, but no one would tell him anything about it. Hell, the headmaster refused to even look at him most days! Harry knew that Snape probably knew what Voldemort was after, and even though he’d asked Snape wouldn’t tell him. Harry told himself that he just wanted to know what was going on. What was Snape hiding from him?
Almost without making a decision, he tipped forward then. His face broke into the cool, spinning surface within, and Harry fell into memories. What he found was quite different from his expectations. Rather than information about the war, he found himself standing in Hogwarts while his parents sat their O.W.L.s. His breath caught at seeing them so young, and he eagerly followed the Marauders out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds. He kept half an eye on Snape, in case the boy trailed off in another direction, but he seemed absorbed in reviewing the exam questions and so followed the bulk of the group towards the lake.
Harry sat near James and Sirius, drinking in the sight of them. He found Wormtail’s open adoration of James a little off-putting, but was content to watch his father playing with the Snitch. But then Sirius said he was bored, and it all went to hell.
Suddenly, James and Sirius were studying something behind Harry. “Excellent,” Sirius said. “Snivellus.”
Harry turned with a sinking heart to look at Snape, who was standing up just then, and heading back to the castle. Harry turned back to the Marauders, noting Lupin’s disapproving frown and Pettigrew’s hungry anticipation. Sirius and James stood up, and James called out, “All right, Snivellus?”
Snape dropped his bag and whipped his wand at them, but James shouted “Expelliarmus!” and disarmed him. Sirius barked in laughter and attacked.
“Impedimenta!” he shouted, knocking Snape down as he dove for his wand. Harry’s throat clenched and his heart raced. Why were they doing this? He saw students all around turning to watch Snape’s humiliation.
James glanced at a group of girls nearby, clearly showing off for them, as he and Sirius stalked towards the unarmed Snape, taunting him. The boy was struggling as though bound by invisible ropes, and several of the students watching began to laugh at him. Snape began swearing at the two boys standing over him, and Harry watched in alarm as James cast scourgify, choking Snape with frothing pink bubbles.
Harry’s fists clenched. They were bullies, just like Dudley and his lot. Snape hadn’t even done anything, and they were torturing him! All because Sirius had been bored. His breath hitched, horror on his face as Snape struggled to breathe.
“Leave him ALONE!” Lily shouted, striding forward. James mussed his hair, smiling winningly at her. Fury snapped in her eyes as James tried to charm her. “I said leave him alone! What’s he done to you?”
James pretended to think for a moment. “Well,” he said, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.” Most of the surrounding students laughed again. Clearly, Snape was not very popular. The scene reminded him of what his own childhood might have been like if Dudley and Piers had magic.
Lily glared at James. “You think you’re funny, but you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter.”
Harry agreed, but James had the audacity to ask her on a date. “Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” Sirius tried to warn James, but Snape had got his wand back, and he sent a cutting curse at James, who retaliated by flinging Snape up in the air, dropping his robes down around his ears and revealing his underpants, to cheers and laughter from the crowd.
James dropped Snape again, at Lily’s demand, but Sirius petrified the Slytherin boy before he could get a jinx in. Lily whipped her wand out in his defense, and Harry wished fiercely that she would hex them, but instead James lifted the curse off Snape. “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—”
The mortified boy snapped out, “I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!” Stung, Lily retreated, and James and Sirius returned to tormenting Snape, while Harry watched helplessly, until the present-day Snape’s iron grip caught his arm, and he was hauled unceremoniously up and out of the pensieve. Shivering in his grasp, Harry stared up at his professor, whose clenched hand was cutting off the circulation to his arm.
“Been enjoying yourself, Potter?” Snape sneered.
“N-no,” Harry stammered out, struggling to free himself from the furious man’s hold. The professor was pale with rage, teeth bared as he leaned over Harry, who began to tremble.
“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” Snape shook Harry by his arm, dizzying him, and then threw him down on the floor. Harry’s glasses went skittering away, and he squinted frantically around for them, his panic taking over. His breath caught in his chest, and he instinctively curled into himself.
Snape towered over him. “You despicable brat. I should have known! Just like your father, a waste of space.” He nudged Harry with his foot. “Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself, boy?”
Harry cowered, throwing his arms over his head to protect himself. Unthinking, he cried, “I’m sorry Uncle Vernon!” Professor Snape reared back, though Harry didn’t see it, as his eyes were shut tight against tears.
Teeth clenched, Severus Snape narrowed his gaze at the boy curled upon the floor of his office. “What did you say?” he gritted out.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon, I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I promise! I’m sorry!” Harry whimpered.
The boy’s hitching breaths filled the silence, until the professor nudged him with his foot once more. “Get up. Up.”
Harry scrambled to his feet, peering blearily around, and then he lurched to the desk, bending over it and holding tightly to the far edge. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be better.” Professor Snape just stared at him, stunned. Harry waited for a moment in silence, and then said, “I’m ready for my punishment, sir?”
The professor watched Harry tremble, bent over his desk, obviously prepared for some kind of caning. He found himself unsure what to do. The boy was clearly not entirely present, if his references to this...Uncle Vernon were any indication. And this, presenting himself for punishment, was clearly some kind of conditioned fear response.
In the continued silence, Harry had begun crying, almost silently.
Harry Potter had been beaten for punishment by his uncle. Harry Potter was in the grip of a flashback. Harry Potter had been abused.
Professor Snape slowly and deliberately walked around his desk until he could look at the boy’s face. Green eyes were locked on the far wall, lidded and dull. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin onto the desk below. When he stood between Harry and the wall, the boy did not seem to register his presence, but when he raised one hand, Harry twitched violently, knuckles white from clutching the desk below him.
“Accio Harry Potter’s glasses,” Professor Snape quietly intoned, opening his hand to catch them as they zoomed towards him. He inspected them, fixing one cracked lens with a murmured reparo, and then, gently, slipped them onto the boy’s face.
“Look at me, Potter,” he said. Harry blinked myopically for a moment, then craned his neck to look up at his professor.
“…sir?” he queried.
“I will not beat you, Potter.” The boy stared at him, looking vaguely puzzled. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and then flicked his eyes down to Harry’s hands, still tightly clenched around the desk’s edge. Returning his gaze to the boy’s face, he watched the boy look down himself, awareness slowly dawning.
“…oh.” Harry forced his hands to let go, standing slowly and stepping back from the desk. His face, which had been pale and drawn, flushed a deep red. He kept his gaze trained on his shoes as the professor studied him. Harry’s hands fluttered in front of him, as though wishing for something to do, and then the boy wrapped his arms around himself in a kind of self-soothing gesture. He bit his lip, and then spoke up, haltingly.
“How- how will you punish me, then, sir?”
Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Eager for punishment, Potter?”
“N-no, sir. But I deserve it. Don’t I?” He dared to look up at the man’s face for a moment, but his eyes quickly returned to studying his shoes.
“That may be, though it is not my most pressing concern, at the moment. How often does your uncle beat you, Potter?”
The red drained back out of Harry’s face, leaving him ashen once more, and his eyes widened. “Sir?”
“How often does your uncle beat you?” Professor Snape said slowly, taking care to enunciate each word.
“I don’t, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Harry said.
The professor’s hand slammed onto his desk, causing Harry to jump and cringe away from him. “Do not lie to me, boy, I know the signs!”
“Then why didn’t you notice them before?!” Harry snapped. He instantly slapped both hands over his mouth and stared at Professor Snape with round, scared eyes.
The man’s mouth tightened, and he looked away. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say the man looked almost abashed. The professor’s lips twisted bitterly. “You do look so like your father.”
Harry flinched. His father, the bully. Taunting and tormenting another student because his best friend was bored. Harry felt more tears prick his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around himself once more, staring at the floor. If looking at Harry reminded him of James, it was no wonder Snape hated him.
A handkerchief appeared before Harry’s face, and he startled, hands flying up defensively before he could stop them. He quickly lowered his hands, looking at Professor Snape, who watched him with a blank face. “To clean yourself up. We’re going to the hospital wing, Potter.”
Harry plucked the handkerchief from the air, wiping absently at his face. The tears from before had mostly dried, leaving stiff, salty tracks all over. He scrubbed at them anyway. “The hospital wing, sir?” he enquired.
“Yes,” Professor Snape replied, not elucidating further. He walked around his desk and past the boy, who watched him with a puzzled expression. He waved the door open, and then turned back. “Come.” Harry scuttled past him and out the door, watching as the professor spelled the door shut and locked. When he set off for the main floor, Harry followed, worrying the handkerchief between his hands as they went.
When they arrived, the professor approached Madam Pomfrey and spoke to her in an undertone. Harry glanced absently around, curious why they had come. He’d been in the hospital wing quite a bit over the years, and while it wasn’t his favorite place to be, he found himself oddly comfortable there. It was mostly empty, and Harry glanced out the windows overlooking the grounds, watching the sunset.
“This way, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, and he wheeled around to look at her.
“Sorry, what?” he said.
“Come this way,” she said, and he followed her to the far end of the ward, throwing a quizzical glance back at Snape, who was following behind him. Once there, Madam Pomfrey ushered him and the professor through a door and into a small private room. She indicated for him to sit upon the bed there, and waved her wand over him once he had. She cast several spells, and a scroll of parchment floated beside her, scribbling furiously. Snape gazed intently at the scroll, eyes narrowed, and Harry began to get a sinking feeling.
“What’s that parchment, sir?” he asked.
“Results of the comprehensive medical scan which I asked Madam Pomfrey to complete,” the professor murmured absently.
“The comprehensive- wha- why?” He gaped at the two of them—Snape, who was still reading the parchment, and Madam Pomfrey, who was summoning vials and lining them up on the table beside the bed.
“Because you would have lied to me,” Snape responded, “and I know that Professor McGonagall does not require annual medical examinations of her students, so it seemed likely you had never had such an exam before now.”
Harry gulped. What would show up in the scan? Would it show bruises? Broken bones? How did it know, since all of his injuries would be healed by now? He bit his lip. What would Snape do with the information?
The quill and parchment stopped, and Snape tapped the scroll to duplicate it twice. Madam Pomfrey vanished her copy and turned to Harry. “Now, Mr Potter, I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a night. I can’t do anything about your sight, but I can get rid of that ringing in your left ear. You’ll have to take a nutrient potion to bring your vitamins into acceptable ranges, and I’m afraid you’ll have to have the skele-gro again. And this one is for nerve damage, though I’m uncertain of its efficacy at this late stage…” She trailed off as Snape leaned over and muttered something in her ear. When she nodded, he turned for the door.
“Sir?” Harry called after him. “Will you- please don’t tell anyone, sir.”
Snape paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I will not tell anyone other than the headmaster and your Head of House, who I am duty-bound to inform.”
Harry nodded, grimacing. “Yes, sir,” he said. Snape turned back and studied him for a long moment, then he bowed his head to Harry and left.
Bemused, Harry turned back to Madam Pomfrey, accepting a series of potions from her, and drinking each without complaint. Once she left, he lay down and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about what Snape had discovered. What would happen now?
Turning onto his side, he used a mental trick he hadn't needed in a long time: he retreated into his cupboard. No one ever came into his cupboard, and it was probably the only room that had ever belonged to just him. He was safe in the cupboard, and even if it was small and dark, it was still his. Pulling the blanket over him, he imagined the walls around him, protecting him, and fell into a restless sleep.