Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I just wanted to ask	By : evil-minded Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 31281 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any character from it, Rowling does … I do not make any money out of Harry Potter either, again – Rowling does … I however do own Herbaceous VanHarkins – but I don’t make money of him also … :D …

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Author's Notes:

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing …

And yes, I really would appreciate it, if you would honor my work with a short review as I always will honor your comments with an answer … Answers to reviews you have given or the chance to discuss the story you can find here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/34437-review-replies-for-i-just-wanted-to-ask/

Warning:

Story contains references to child abuse:

Child abuse is a really serious thing, it is an evil thing and there are a lot of children in our world that really would need help without being helped, and closing our eyes and pretending it does not exist – is no solution … handle people, children as well as adults, which are showing any signs – whichever – of once being abused … with understanding and with help …

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me – I am …

Story contains adult stuff:

Especially sex between two men … as there is Harry Potter – a male – having sex with Severus Snape – another male … what means those gay things … not to mention that the relationship between the two of them is one based on BDSM …

Don't like it, don't read it …

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Previously in I just wanted to ask

How could he now smile at him like this?

It was a sad smile, a very serious smile, but it was an honest smile, what made this smile at him just worse and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

"Go back to sleep, brat." He said, barely able to keep his own voice from trembling. He would talk to him the next day.

I just wanted to ask

Chapter thirteen

Admitting the truth

When Harry entered his quarters this evening after being out for flying a bit on the pitch, the Potions Master immediately knew that something was wrong. The boy looked at him for a second before averting his eyes and gazing at the floor. Then he just looked around the room, nearly sadly, before he stormed off towards the kitchen.

He meanwhile knew that the boy could be strange sometimes, if anything had shown this then it had been their trip to London yesterday, but he hadn't reacted that strange up to now and he wondered what had happened. And from the boy's behavior he knew something had happened. Something was wrong. He could tell it just by looking at him that the boy was deeply disturbed and with a small sigh he got up.

When Severus entered the small kitchen he found the boy kneeling atop of a chair, his entire appearance hunched over and a piece of parchment in front of him at which he was writing on.

At first he thought that it might be an essay and he wondered why Harry would do his homework in the kitchen instead of in the room he was occupying since a few days now. Well – yes, he had told him that he would appreciate it if the brat came out of his room whenever he wanted, whenever he felt the need to see him or to be near him. So – no, he did not mind. He just wondered.

But then he noticed that it wasn't homework at all but a letter or something like that and curiously he seated himself opposite the boy. He did not read what Harry wrote, respecting the boy's privacy, as always, but he watched him, and with each line Harry wrote, he got more and more worried.

Harry wrote quickly, as if the words were flowing out of him, yet – his movements were jerky and his fingers which held the quill shook horribly. A few times Snape even had to suppress the urge to reach over and still their trembling by simply taking the boy's hands into his own. What the hell had happened to the brat during the evening while being out flying? Had he had another encounter with Weasley?

A few times the boy even stopped writing at all, just to place his arms onto the table and his head atop his arms, and Snape could tell that he was close to tears, nothing that actually would serve to set him at ease anytime soon.

"Harry?" He finally asked when the teen yet again laid his head onto his arms. Just to have a startled boy in front of him who got as pale as the wall behind him. The green eyes much too large in the otherwise thin and pale face and the teen nearly reared back.

"What is wrong, Harry?" He asked, his voice low and he could hear the concern in his voice himself. Yet – he didn't care. Not this time.

But he got no answer except of a desperate look on the boy's face and a shaking of his head, before he went on writing. So he just waited, worried to no end.

He even considered getting up and calling for Granger or Weasley to ask them. But that would be no option. People might think that he cared about Potter, and Severus Snape definitely cared about no one. That at least it was what he told himself. So he just could wait.

At first he had wondered to whom the boy wrote this letter, but more and more … somehow he knew that this one would be for him and that he would get answers out of it.

But he wondered why Harry did not just tell him what was bothering him.

And then, after another few moments the only reasonable answer struck his mind – Harry wanted to end their relationship they had and the brat did not dare to say it out aloud. He knew that sometimes writing was easier than talking. And his heart clenched painfully at this thought.

He suddenly wasn't able to sit there any longer and to watch Potter writing a letter that would end their relationship and with a painful clench in his chest he realized how important this boy had become to him. He didn't want to lose the boy. He didn't want to lose his brat. He didn't want to lose his submissive – Harry. He simply couldn't remain sitting there while the boy wrote and he got up and left the kitchen, settled onto pacing the living area nervously, thinking.

About for example – why would Harry write this kind of letter in his quarters instead of writing it in his common room? Or about why the boy appeared to want and go through the trouble of giving him the letter in person instead of just sending it with an owl?

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Harry knew what he had to do. He had known it since a few days now and he knew exactly that right now would be a good time. Snape hadn't said anything to his strange behaviour yesterday during their outing, but he knew that Snape had been pissed off, he had seen the dark looks the man had given him every now and then, especially whenever he had flinched away from him or whenever he had jumped more violently than normal.

Well, it was normal that he flinched when he was touched, but he was at a boarding school since more than five years now and of course he was touched every now and then. In fact, it happened so often that he had learned to keep his fears and his flinches hidden by overlaying movements that covered them. And honestly he normally noticed it if someone tried to touch or approach him in the first place and with Ron and Hermione he had worked out such a familiarity over the years that they had known better than to touch him when his mind was someplace else, but yesterday he had been unprepared far too often and Snape had not been used to this familiarity he had with Ron and Hermione.

Well, had had, that was. Ron surely wouldn't touch him by free will ever again, probably fearing his freakishness would taint him. And Hermione probably too, even if he didn't know for sure, he hadn't talked to her since they had found out about him.

But that wasn't important right now. Important right now was Snape and that he was about to lose the man. But he nevertheless had to tell him before he would find out by himself. He would be in so much trouble then, he knew. Snape would skin him alive. And probably use him in one of his potions.

Sighing he got off the table, pocketed the letter, just in case he wouldn't be able to tell the older wizard, and then left the kitchen, entered the living area he so often was sitting in with Snape comfortably by now. He definitely would miss these moments.

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Snape stopped his pacing and turned the moment he heard Potter's soft footfalls on the wooden floor and gazed at the teenager that simply was standing there and made no move to walk past him to the sofa where he normally would sit on, leaning against the backrest and his legs drawn up onto the seat. He just stood there, watching him warily and fearfully as if he waited for trouble to come, ready to move backwards, ready to – he narrowed his eyes at the brat - yes, ready to defend himself. What exactly did the boy fear? Why did he still fear him? Severus?

A question he asked himself not for the first time.

Slowly he went over to the boy, keeping his distance, but his dark eyes never left the thin face that was a pale mask of fear, the green eyes that watched him, much too large for his liking. But still Potter made no move, just watched him fearfully.

"What is it, Potter?" He asked, breaking the silence between them, trying to give the boy the chance to say what he had to say, even if he knew that he would not like what would come, that he would not like to lose the boy and he simply wasn't able to keep his disappointment at bay.

Potter looked up at him, startled, as if he had forgotten where he was or with whom he was and the look of fear on the brat's face intensified.

"What is it, Potter?" He asked again, more demanding now, but again he got no answer.

"Potter!" He finally growled. He had not bellowed the word, but it was sharp and louder than his voice had been a moment before and at once the boy cringed, flinched away and his arms twitched in front of him.

Narrowing his eyes even more at the teenager he took a step towards the boy but at the same moment Potter reared back from him, lifting his arms up in front of his face and he would have fallen if he had not taken another quick step towards the boy and grabbed his upper arms to steady him, causing a startled scream of fear escaping Harry's lips that made Snape's heart clench painfully in his chest.

What in Merlin's name was the meaning of this? What in Merlin's name had happened to the boy? And why in Merlin's name did he fear him to such an intensity right now?

Taking a step back to give the teenager some space Snape slowly extended his hand towards the sofa, inviting the boy to sit down, watching him carefully.

"Sit." He said, his voice low and severe. Somehow he doubted that this really was about ending their relationship now. If that would cause such intense fear from the boy, then Potter would not tell him in person. Not to mention that – normally if ending a relationship, one had to be angry, a bit at least, but the teen didn’t seem angry, not one bit. There was no anger, no hate, no anything in the boy’s face. On the contrary, he still thought he saw – affection or some ridiculous emotion like this in the green eyes. No, this was about something else and he not only wondered what it could probably be, but he actually was worried deeply now.

But Harry did not take a seat. He simply stood there for a moment longer, his shoulders bend, his hands clasped together in front of him and his gaze wandered unsurely through the room before it briefly fell onto him and then dropped towards the floor.

And then – Snape didn't know what he should be thinking and thus simply lifted his eyebrow at the teen – Potter slowly lifted his hands and started to open the button on the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers trembling and he had to suppress the urge to snap at the boy instead of waiting patiently. He managed though, standing in front of the boy who now shoved the sleeve up his arm, revealing painstakingly thin wrists and lower arms.

Well, he had known that the teen was far too thin, and he had felt how thin those wrists were when he had grabbed them to pin the brat's hands above his head towards the wall during their first – well, interactions. But seeing them now was another matter altogether and so when his gaze wandered down to them he frowned, taking a step towards the boy.

Scars were visible on the pale skin, a lot of them, some old and some new ones. Bruises, cuts and burn marks. But when his gaze got to the small wrists his frown even deepened and with a low growl he took one of the boy's hands in his own, turning it, ignoring the violent flinch the boy gave away, and ignoring the weak try to pull his hand back, away from him.

At first, when seeing the cuts on the teen's now exposed lower arm, he had thought they were self inflicted. Something some of his Slytherin students did sometimes – until he noticed and gave them other alternatives. And extra points if they stopped cutting.

But these scars weren't self inflicted, he now noticed.

The cuts were not the style of those he saw on his Slytherin's arms. And the burn marks didn't fit into this either. Nor did the scars that ran round Harry's wrists. These scars definitely were caused by ropes and he again growled darkly as a foreboding of their meaning hit him like a slap in the face.

"Is there anything you would want to tell me, Mr. Potter?" He slowly asked, his voice dangerously low. He simply wasn't able to keep the anger he felt under control at the thought of what had been the cause to those scars. But he gained nothing, not even a shaking of the boy's head. Absolutely no reaction at all, and Harry didn't even look at him, his eyes lingering at the ground all the time. He even had given up to try and get his arm out of his grip.

"Surely you remember the fact that I told you about trust, Mr. Potter." He said in a low but stern voice. "And how important it is to speak about what I probably should know. Do you not think that this," he pointed at the barely healed scars that ran around the boy's writs, "would belong into this category?"

Again there was no answer, Potter looked at him for a split second before he again lowered his gaze and then opened his mouth but no word came out and he closed it again, tensing up even more until Severus thought the teen might snap into two at any moment.

Sighing heavily he placed one hand on the boy's shoulder and pushed him down until he was sitting on the sofa, not releasing his wrist.

"How did this happen, Mr. Potter?" He asked, his voice gentle and calming, but still stern, trying to keep some much needed professionalism up right now. This simply was too serious and he had to keep control over himself and his emotions. "And why did you not tell me of this before?"

Again the boy gave no answer, just gazed at him for a split second after flinching away from him when he had placed his hand on his shoulder to push him down onto the sofa, and then opened his mouth, just to close it again when no words came out.

"An answer, if you please, Mr. Potter." Severus demanded, his voice sharp now and the boy this time jumped for real, while his face went as pale as the wall in his back and Snape sighed in frustration.

Something really was wrong with the boy. He could tell that Harry had tried to tell him something earlier during the past days, and not just once, but a few times. It really wasn't the first time that he had the feeling that the boy wanted to tell him something but didn't know how or if he should – or could – and he could tell that the brat just had not been able to form the words he needed. And he could tell that somehow the boy was afraid of it. Whatever it was and whatever reason for he was afraid of it.

But that was important, damn. The boy had been fixed – and he was sure that this had been the cause for the scars, scars that were unmistakable. The boy had been fixed with robes, and damn, the boy had been fixed to a point where those robes had left scars. Scars that were barely healed.

Sitting himself onto the coffee table opposite the boy he slowly, very slowly, reached a hand out to place it onto the boy's shoulder, hoping the gesture would soften his next words.

"I have been fairly certain that you trusted me, but I see now that it is not so." He said and he could see that Harry wanted to protest, but Snape cut him off. "Not completely, and not in the way you ought to." He added.

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Harry cursed himself, trembling, telling himself that it was from the cold of the dungeons only, but at the same time he knew that it wasn't true as Snape had his fire lit, as always when he was here and he opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut again.

He didn't even know what to say.

He had thought that maybe, if he showed Snape, then maybe he would be able to tell him, then maybe he would have a point where he could start – but he had been wrong.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Snape. Somehow he always had trusted the older wizard. But how should he have said something to him? Anything to him? And about this no less? He simply didn't know the words he needed and he simply didn't know how he should get those words out even. It simply wasn't possible.

Why did he always have to do the wrong things? Or better question, why did he always have to do things the wrong way? Well, he simply would have to give Snape the letter and for once he was glad that he had written it. For once he was glad that he had known that he wouldn't be able to actually tell Snape what …

"What happened?" Was all Severus was able to ask at the moment and he placed his fingers under the boy's chin, lifted the pale face so the brat had to look at him and fixed him with a severe gaze of his black eyes. He got no answer, the boy just gasped for breath and swallowed thickly, trembling with fear.

Harry was terrified to look up and see the expression on the man's face. There was silence, and silence between the two of them was never a good thing. He looked up and saw that the Potions Master was looking at him with that familiar unreadable expression in his eyes, one that he seemed to wear more and more often these days.

He knew that he simply couldn't tell Snape and with a frustrated sigh he got to his feet, pulling his wrist out of Snape's hand with the action and he paced the room for a few minutes, dimly aware of the fact that Snape too had gotten to his feet, stood now near the sofa, watching his pacing with his face calm. But this calmness somehow it was what made Harry a bit calmer by himself and he stopped, a few feet in front of the older wizard that was his senior partner. Yet at least, but it wouldn't last, he knew.

He simply would have to give Snape the parchment. He could do this. Even if he wasn't able to tell Snape with words, but he could do this … if he just knew how.

Sensing the boy's distress, actually feeling it washing over him, Snape had to force himself to remain standing where he was, his mind running a mile per minute.

First – who had harmed the boy, his brat? And why? He thought of Weasley, but the scars he saw were too old for that. He thought of Death Eaters, but he never had heard them capturing the boy. And he would have heard about it. Not to mention that those scars seemed to be too fresh for that possibility. So there was only one option left, but this option was so – so unlikely, it confused him to no end, because surely Dursley would not harm the boy like this. Neglect, yes, and locking the boy into a cupboard for only Merlin knew how long, yes, he knew that already – but if Dursley had fixed the boy, then that only left one possibility open – right out abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, he didn’t know. But his own uncle?

‘Abuse doesn’t stop at family.’ His mind whispered. He knew that, he had a house full of abused children after all.

Second – why hadn't he told him? Well, that one was easily answered. Of course the boy hadn't told him, fearing his reaction, fearing his anger, fearing being rejected, maybe even fearing being pitied – or fearing he, Severus, could continue the abuse his uncle had started. He knew all the reasons why Harry, why all of them never told by free will.

Third – how deep went those scars? The mental ones especially? Well, that too was easily answered. They went deep, maybe deeper than he liked to admit. The boy had been fixed, and there was barely more than one reason as to why. Suddenly he wasn't able to suppress a dangerously low and angry growl, causing the teenager to flinch again, to take a step back while looking up at him startled.

"Easy, brat." He gently said. "Calm down, I am not angry at you. I am just startled and I am worried. Just tell me what has happened and we will see how to go on from there?"

But again, no answer came besides of the boy opening his mouth, closing it and then shaking his head before swallowing heavily and averting his eyes.

But then Potter reached into his robe and when his hand came back he held the parchment he had been writing in the kitchen earlier in his trembling fingers. He looked at it for a moment, looking up at him, nearly helplessly, and then he took a step forward, extending the parchment, only to retreat again when he – Snape – stepped forwards too to take it.

Closing his eyes the older wizard sighed in frustration at the fear Harry displayed towards him right now. Had he pushed his brat too far in his attempt to make his point? Had he somehow gotten the words over the wrong way? He had told him that he wanted to know if the brat was in trouble, or in pain, or afraid. He had told him that it was important for him to know. But had his brat somehow misunderstood his words? He knew that – after the neglect at the hands of his relatives – the brat suffered from serious abandonment issues. Did Harry now fear that he would abandon him?

Stupid question. Of course Potter did fear this.

But then Potter once more took a small step towards him, then another one, so close now, but not quite close enough that he could take the parchment without extending his own hand.

If he only could comfort the brat right now! But the emotions, the panic that he felt coming from his submissive was more than just fear and it not only worried him to no end but they washed over him physically painfully and he knew – to reach out in a comforting gesture right now would be the most wrong thing he could do, would only cause the boy to flee in a panic. Slightly leaning forwards, carefully and slowly, he just as slowly extended his hand to place his fingers under the boy's chin, forcing him to look up at him, but once more the boy immediately flinched back and Snape froze in his movements before he slowly pulled his hand back, a nearly sad expression on his face.

And once again he knew that this kind of fear was one he never wanted to inflict onto the students. He wanted to be feared, yes, he had to keep a reputation up after all.

But not like this! Never like this!

And he wanted his brat to feel the anticipation he could inflict over him during sexual interactions, yes.

But not like this! Never like this!

However, when the boy finally had himself back under control – somewhat at least – he cast another unsure gaze at him and then he slowly reached the parchment towards him again, still wordlessly, trembling, an unsure, questioning and nearly begging gaze in his eyes, before his hands went into this complicated knot he meanwhile knew all too well in front of his chest the moment he had taken the parchment from those trembling fingers and the brat quickly took a step backwards, watching him with fear definitely evident in his eyes.

For another moment Snape wondered why Harry would fear him to such an intensity, but then he decided to read the letter first and find out what exactly the problem was. So he lowered his eyes onto the parchment.

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'You often said an important part of this all would be trust and honesty. And that you had to know everything about me in order to keep me safe. And somehow I know that you're right. So, I guess there are a few things which you actually should know, which I should tell you. I just do not know where to begin, or how to begin.'

Well, at least this really didn't sound as if the boy wanted to end their relationship and he was glad for this, but he already had known this, hadn't he? And nevertheless he nearly felt that nothing Harry had written on this blasted parchment could be bad now. But then, looking into the boy's fearful eyes for a moment, he thought otherwise. It definitely was fear he recognized in them. And again he wondered why Harry would fear him. But then he lowered his eyes back onto the parchment in his hands and he continued reading.

'Alright, you know from the occlumency lessons that I lived with my aunt and uncle.

Well, that isn't such a secret, really. I guess everyone knows this. However, I know that you often thought I was spoiled by them, that they would give me everything I asked for. But that isn't true.'

Again he looked up and watched the boy in front of him and somehow he didn't want to go on with his reading.

Seeing the fear still evident in the boy's eyes he somehow knew that there was more than what he had seen during occlumency. And the thought disturbed him deeply. He already had learned that Harry had not been the spoiled prince he so long had thought him to be. He knew since the occlumency lessons. And he already knew since a few days now that the boy had been neglected and starved by his relatives, and in a horrible way so. That he had been locked in a small and dark cupboard that was his 'room' for hours and hours, for years. So what exactly did Harry try to tell him now, as he already knew that he was not as spoiled as he had thought?

'Well, and you also already know that I didn't get much to eat either, and about the cupboard and such, that they didn't even give me a room and that I went to sleep hungry. But there's more, and I think, I can't hide this any longer. You'd find out anyway and then you would get really angry and end this here. And I don't want this. I don't want to lose you. You're the only one who never lied to me and you're the only one who ever cared. I know that you don't love me, and I also guess I know that you never will, and I can live with that, as long as you care and as long as you accept me to belong to you. But I don't want to lose you.'

Sighing again and gritting his teeth Snape wanted nothing more than to pull the small Gryffindor that still stood in front of him against his chest and to hold him close for a moment. But at the same time he knew that this would be the most wrong thing he could do right now. Potter right now needed him to be the strong one. So, refusing to acknowledge the question if he loved this damn, blasted Gryffindor for now and refusing to look up at the boy right now he continued reading.

'Well, what it is I mean, is … Vernon gave me a list of chores each morning before he went to work and if I didn't finish this list, what I somehow never managed, … |||

### ||| ### ||| ###

Well, dunno …

### ||| ### ||| ###

Damn, I do not want to do this!

### ||| ### ||| ###'

Well, considering all those signs the brat had drawn between the lines - yes, he really had not wanted doing this. Again he sighed, not sure if he really wanted to know what came next. He knew Potter's ways of writing and he knew that not only this letter was written in a more messy handwriting than each and ever essay he ever had handed in to him, but that the boy had been more than upset while writing. But well – he had known this already while watching him, hadn't he?

'Sorry …

Now, how to explain …

### ||| ### ||| ###'

The next line was not simply drawn signs but actually a sentence that was crossed out a few times, but he nevertheless could make out the words ~~'well, ok, he beat me.'~~ Words, which caused him to grit his teeth, even if he already had known that they would come the moment he had started reading this blasted letter.

'Damn!

Alright, yes, he did …

### ||| ### ||| ###

And I guess that was some of the worst.

That was, why I said I would not want to feel pain during – well, you know.

I'm sorry for not telling you. Earlier. I mean. And for telling you in a letter.

I'm just sorry.

I just don't know how to say it.

I know that it's stupid.

I know that I'm useless for you now, that you don't want me anymore. And I promise, I won't be angry or react in any childish ways. Just, please, do not go back to hating me.

I know that I would lose you if I wouldn't tell you and you found out later, because you always said that trust and honesty was important and you expected nothing less from me. But I also know that I will lose you if I tell you as you now know how bad and useless and weak I am. I know I deserved it and it isn't that I want to complain about it. But you said you would have to know and I …

Never mind what I do, either way I will lose you. I don't want to lose you. You are the only person I trust and you are the only person that is really important to me. But I cannot change it. Neither what happened nor that I'll lose you. Just please, don't go back to hating me. I would not be able to live with that.

I'm just sorry.'

That – he had not expected and he noticed his hands that held the parchment trembling before he finally lowered it with a scowl on his face. When he watched the boy in front of him he saw that the fear that had been present in Harry's eyes had changed into something near panic and he tried to get the anger he felt out of his face.

And yes, he was angry, he was very angry. But he was not angry at Harry. He was angry at those damn muggles, for beating a child until it wasn't even able to speak about it, until it blamed itself and until it feared – until Harry feared he would lose him because of it, that he – Snape – would abandon him because of this.

He was angry at Albus for placing a child, a one year old toddler at the front steps of an abusive household, not knowing if those people would even keep the child, and then either not checking upon the child or simply not caring about the child being abused.

He was angry at Minerva who was Harry's head of house but never had bothered to look deeper at her students and who never had bothered to look deeper into the families her students came from.

And he was angry at himself for not seeing the signs earlier. He was the head of Slytherin. He was the head of a house full of abused children in the first place and he was used to read all those telltale signs. But he had not done so with Harry.

And now, that he knew it, he recognized them. All of them.

The silent, unsure and hesitant gazes, all those times in which the boy seemed to be unable to give answers, to voice his thoughts, to voice anything at all. How he often didn't answer questions with spoken words but with small gestures like a shaking of his head, or a nod, or a shrugging of his shoulders, a lowering of his head to one side, with facial expressions rather than with words.

The startled and nearly fearful expression sometimes when he thought the situation was difficult, when he thought he was angry, or when he feared the situation might go out of hands. The distance the boy so often sought out. The retreating …

Harry's constant fear, his always tense appearance, the careful and wary eyes with which he watched him, especially his hands. His starved appearance, his tiredness and his exhaustion and the careful movements whenever he came back from the summer break.

And not to mention what display of fear he had witnessed yesterday during their outing in muggle London.

There were a lot of those signs, and he now recognized them. Why hadn't he recognized them earlier?

Suddenly a lot of things made sense to him now.

The boy feared him. Not just in anticipation. Not even just in an uncomfortable way. He really feared him. He feared … Harry actually feared he might raise his hand at him, he might beat him.

Well, he now had his answers to the questions he'd had for the past two weeks.

But at the same time it caused just new questions.

How long had the abuse taken place?

How far had the abuse gone?

What exactly had this abominable muggle done to the boy?

Was it only beatings and neglect or was it sexual abuse as well?

How deep was the boy affected?

Ok, that last one was a stupid question. Partly. As were all the other questions.

Of course the boy was affected deeply, he could see it from every single one of his reactions. And the scars around the boy's wrists told him enough. And if that was true, then the abuse had been taking place for some time. Abuse never started from one day to the other. What meant for not only a few weeks or months, but probably for a few years. And no one had noticed. And he still didn't know how far this abuse had gone.

Again he thought about the boy's words, that he wouldn't want to feel fear. That he didn't want to feel pain. It made more and more sense by the moment now and he cursed Lily's muggle sister and her husband, and not for the first time. Perhaps Harry would never fully trust, perhaps the damage was rooted too deeply and it surprised him how deeply distressed he felt as a result of that possibility.

The boy maybe never would trust him.

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Harry was watching Snape while the older wizard read the parchment and by the darkening of the older wizard's face that went paler with each line he read he was glad that he had written all of this down. He wouldn't have survived the first few sentences if he had told him with words, he was sure of that.

But then the dark eyes looked up at him, not cold, and not emotionless either, but calm somehow. Calm and angry, and he took another step back, just to be on the safe side. An angry Snape was already dangerous, but a calm and angry Snape surely was … well … just the more dangerous. His senior partner right now looked as if … Snape looked like he had looked back in fifth year after the incident with the pensive.

Swallowing dryly he took another step back. This really didn't look so good.

Snape watched Harry retreat another step and he knew, would he now try to physically comfort him, the boy would not only refuse it, but he would have a full blown panic attack at his hands too. Not what he needed right now. He had to keep up his professionalism for some time longer. And he needed to know more.

"I want to see the rest of your body, Harry." He finally said, increasing the grip he had on the letter until the parchment actually crumbled in his fingers while watching the boy who shook his head, a look of pure horror on his face.

Well, he had known this reaction would come. It always came.

"Remove your shirt, Mr. Potter!" He growled darkly. "Now!"

Snape's voice was hard, steely even, but somehow it seemed to Harry that the man was forcing it to be that way, as if it even were an effort to make it sounding like that. The man was clearly thrown off balance, and the very thought of this threw Harry off balance in return. He couldn't seem to focus, couldn't push past the fear he felt suffocating in and he couldn't do anything else than slowly shaking his head.

The Slytherin head of house had known that Harry would refuse yet again, that it wouldn't be so easy, and he had been right, the boy only shook his head and his arms came up to be wrapped around himself as if to protect himself, as if to keep himself together, as if to avoid falling apart and the Potions Master sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. He would never get used to those things, to those moments, to have one of those children in front of him.

And the fact that this time it was his submissive didn't make it any better. On the contrary, it made it just worse.

"Neither do you have anything to fear from me, Harry, nor do you have to be embarrassed of being beaten by your former caretakers." He said, his voice still calm and gentle, despite what he felt. "Your muggle relations are the ones that should be afraid of my wrath and that should be ashamed about beating a helpless child that resides under their care. And now remove your shirt, Mr. Potter, and I won't ask you again!"

He didn't like it, being that demanding and stern in such a situation, never had been, but at the same time he always had known that all those children that ended up in the house he was head of needed a calm, composed and stern man that had the upper hand of the situation instead of someone who didn't know what to do by himself. One of the reasons he was the way he was – a cold, calm and collected teacher, stern and always in control of the situation, even if it meant that he was unloved by three quarters of the students. He didn't care, as long as his Slytherins knew that they could depend on him, always – and they did know.

And Harry would learn that too, he silently promised to himself.

Snape did not move, only watched him with his dark eyes, nearly piercing him with those dark eyes and resigned, Harry slowly lifted his hands. Snape's eyes seemed to track his every move, and Harry couldn't keep up eye contact. As his fingers took hold of the first button of his shirt he kept his eyes trained on the floor.

He did not see the Potions Master's dark eyes flaring and his hands balling into fists.

Snape's gaze wandered along the boy's lithe form. Even if he now watched the boy's eating habits since a few days, made sure that the boy ate regularly, he still was much too thin for his liking. He huffed. Of course the brat was. A few days of regular meals couldn't undo months and years of starvation, especially not as still the boy wasn't able to eat full meals yet. The brat definitely was still underweight. And now, seeing the boy struggling with the buttons of this damn shirt, bony fingers and slender hands trembling, it was just the more plain.

Unable to watch any further he took a careful step closer and slowly placing the fingers of his right under the teen's chin he forced the boy to look up at him and he locked his black eyes into the green ones, held the boy's gaze with his own while he replaced his hand from the teen's chin to his shoulder before he ran his other hand down to the buttons of the shirt, opening them with slow but deliberate movements, keeping his left on the boy's shoulder to keep him from breaking away, from turning and running away.

Looking down at the teenager he once again realized just how small the Gryffindor was. Most of his sixth year boys were only a few inches smaller than him while Harry didn't even reach his chin. In fact, the boy's head just reached his chest and thus was at least a head smaller than the other boys his age.

Harry looked up at him, the fear in his green eyes deepening, clearly not understanding, while he slowly but easily undid the buttons Harry had been struggling with. He would not back away and he would not allow Harry to hide or to retreat either. This precise scene should have had enfolded itself five years earlier and it would have if the boy had been in his house. He would have known in Harry's first year and he would have been able to do something against it. He would have been able to keep the boy out of …

The moment the first few buttons were open and Snape could see the teen's chest clearly he gritted his teeth at the cuts and bruises that covered this area of the teenager's body as well and when he shoved the shirt off the small shoulders he nearly growled. He had to close his eyes for another moment when he finally held the shirt in his hands and he saw Harry's upper body entirely. The front of it at least.

He had known the boy was thin, but he actually was thinner as he had thought, visibly underweight, his arms nothing more than sticks on his side and he could make out every single rib. The thin chest was covered in bruises and cuts as was the front of the teen's shoulders and the boy's flanks. Only Potter's throat, his collarbones he had touched a few evenings ago during one of their conversations, and the boy's neck seemed un-bruised.

The Potions Master took a deep breath and cast a dark glance into the pale face that was a mask of fear before he released his breath slowly and lowering his eyes back onto the scars he took both thin shoulders and turned the boy, followed the cuts with his eyes towards the boy's back and he barely was able to suppress a soft gasp of shock at what he found there.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

One hand still on his shoulder, Snape placed his shirt over the backrest of the sofa and then slowly his other hand went to the scars, running up and down his back, and the way he traced them Harry knew and tried to jerk away but the older wizard held him in place, even when he continued to struggle.

He didn't want Snape seeing them, seeing how ugly he was. Too skinny and too scarred, and he knew that it was ugly because he had seen himself in the mirror, in the Gryffindor boys' bathroom, when he had come back to Hogwarts. He was ugly skinny, scarred, and pale, and his eyes had too dark circles underneath them. But he always had looked like this, sometimes worse, sometimes better. But he never had been muscular and well built like some of the other Gryffindors. And he knew, he never would be.

The moment Snape had seen the teen's back, he again had to suppress a dark growl but having the boy struggling so desperately in front of him now to get out of his grip, he had to grit his teeth, his fingers that gently ran down one of the many cuts and bruises actually trembling, while he studied them.

Harry's entire back was covered in those scars, cuts such as the ones on some of his Slytherins had on their wrists and he knew that only a blade had caused them. There were scars that definitely had been caused from beatings with various beating instruments. He had seen such scars often enough to even tell what beating instruments had been used and that they had been used in an unprofessional way. Used without thinking and only to express anger and hate. And suddenly he remembered a comment Harry had made once during one of their conversations, a comment that right now made sense to him.

"But I don’t understand it, sir." Potter had said, shaking his head. "Why would anyone want to have such? To be restrained? You even mentioned punishment and … and … well …"

"And what, Mr. Potter?" He had sighed in annoyance at the boy’s unsureness concerning sexual things.

The boy barely had managed to say "and beatings" before he had buried his face in his arms on the table – a reaction he so very much understood now.

"Surely I did not mention a beating, Mr. Potter." He had said, back then. "I mentioned a caning. And those two words do not mean the same. A beating is senseless thrashing with hands, fists, and whatever beating instruments one might find. It is not what covers behaviour in BDSM. A caning is an art. It is need of skill there and practice. Otherwise you could hurt your partner severely."

"Just ask my uncle, he has practice enough." Potter had mumbled incoherently enough so he hadn't been sure he had heard correctly.

"I beg your pardon?" He had asked, just to be on the safe side. "I did not understand that last one."

But Potter hadn't given him an answer aside from a "nothing, sir".

And now he knew that he indeed had heard correctly, and now the comment made sense to him. A sickening clear sense and he had to close his eyes for a moment before he looked back at those scars.

Some of them were old, years old, and some not older than a month or two. Yet – as some of them were infected they looked as if they were fresh, and Severus easily noticed that some of them had been scratched open regularly, that they were not healed yet and he sighed, closing his eyes for a third moment, glad that Harry stood with his back to him, not seeing his distress.

He began to understand. He began to understand why it was that Harry actually feared him. That Harry might trust him, yes, but that he nevertheless feared him, his hand, feared he might beat him. A child that had been beaten like this by his relatives of course would fear further beatings from any other persons – and more so if said person held some kind of power over him, like the dominant of a BDSM relationship held over the submissive.

He might not have been the most favourite professor at any school, and surely he might have taken great pleasure in keeping up his nasty reputation, and surely if anyone ever would have accused him of being a pleasant man this anyone would not have survived the day, would most probably have died a very slow and painful death. But even he had his limits. And locking a child into a small and dark cupboard for hours, for days and nights, neglecting and starving a small child, and abusing a helpless child that took it all silently and without complaining while working itself into exhaustion just to try and please those people who abused him, that definitely pushed him very far beyond those limits.

His hand still placed gently on the thin shoulders he turned the boy in front of him again so he could look at him and he gritted his teeth when he saw the look of fear blazing in Harry's eyes, the look of … well, Harry was steeling himself for the rejection as it seemed.

"How long?" Snape's gaze pierced through him and Harry knew, instinctively, that if he lied now, this would all be over. Well, it most likely was over anyway, but he knew that right now he simply shouldn't say anything than the truth to the older wizard. Snape hadn't killed him so far, not yet, at least.

And nevertheless all he wanted doing right now was to run from the room and to hide in one of the many corridors and empty classrooms of the castle until Snape was done with all his questions he was sure would come.

"Easy, brat!" Snape whispered, gathering the teen into his arms and holding him until the boy stopped squirming. He had learned by now that the term 'brat' he had given him had been welcomed by Harry rather quickly and thus he used this term right now to try and make his point – that Harry still was his brat – without having to say it right now, not trusting his voice within a complete sentence right now and suddenly he could understand why Harry had written it all down.

But never mind, he wouldn't abandon him because of this and he growled darkly, startling the boy in his arms who again tried to flinch back.

"Hush, brat!" He whispered, tightening his grip on the smaller form. "Everything will be alright. I have you. You are safe here and I won't harm you. And neither will I abandon you."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

To be continued

Next time in I just wanted to ask

Will Snape continue his relationship with Harry the way it started? Or will he change their relationship completely?

Added author's note

thank you for reading - and yes, I would appreciate it if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you …

Reviews:

to unneeded: yes, Severus will have a very hard time with Harry - I have however been very good to Harry, because I know people who won't eat anything they have not prepared themselves - or wouldn't eat out of their home, or at least barely out of their home ... and clothes - you know, I have one pair of shoes, even though I am female :D ... because I hate shopping ... :D ... but thanks for your review ...

to moodysavage: hmm, you'll know what it is by now, seeing that you have read the chapter :D and I only can hope that I lived up to your speculations, even though it is not the "boy-conversation" ... *feed moodysavage* :D ... thanks for the review given ...

to YaoiGirl: nope, it was not the Dursleys in the supermarket, but great idea anyway ... I don't think that Harry will ever tell Snape that he didn't like fish, because he is used to eat what he gets ... I'm glad that you liked the story, however ... thanks for reviewing ...
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I just wanted to ask