Secrets Uncovered
“How slow life is,
How violent hope is.”
— Guillaume Apollinaire, from Mirabeau Bridge
***
Facing an angry Uncle Vernon was like facing the devil himself.
The moment Harry went downstairs, he felt the man’s grimy and meaty hands harshly grasping his shoulders, and slamming him to the wall.
“You, boy, have caused far too much trouble within the last month itself!” Vernon snapped in a whispery and strained voice. Boy, a title Harry utterly hated being called. It was dehumanizing in his opinion, but it wasn’t like his uncle saw him as a person. Harry pushed the man back instinctively.
He regretted it the moment the saw Vernon’s eyes fill up with a white-hot rage. Harry didn’t even have the time to comprehend that he was being shoved against the wall, and that two hands enclosed around his neck.
“You ungrateful FREAK!” The words the young wizard had heard many times throughout his years with the Dursleys. He should have been used to them by now, and a part of him was. But it still stung, and he still found himself starting to believe them. “We took you in after your freakish parents died! And this is how you repay us?”
Harry tried to focus on the man’s words, but the lack of air in his lungs was making him extremely lightheaded. He felt a familiar ball of hatred building up within his stomach when his uncle mentioned his parents. His parents had died protecting him, and the man had clearly wished Harry had been killed that night in Godric’s Hallows as well.
“You keep… my parents names… out of your fucking mouth!” He croaked out. Vernon’s already flushed face turned a scarlet red, and he threw Harry to the floor. The boy immediately started to gasp for air, no doubt his neck could be painful bruised for the next week or so.
”You want to back talk me? Fine! Up to your room!” He grabbed Harry by his collar, and painstakingly dragged him up the stairs, making sure he was being extra rough with him. He opened the boy’s door just enough so he could throw him in there. Harry hit the floor with a loud thud, and was faintly aware of the slam and locking noises that followed.
”You are going to stay in there, until you’re ready to apologize for all the grief you’ve caused my family!” Vernon said before stomping back downstairs. Harry was coughing up a lung, trying to get his breathing steady again. Hot tears welted up in his eyes, and he was about to let out a sob when he remembered that Snape was in the room.
Snape heard everything. Every insult, every word. Fuck.
Harry quickly looked up at the battered up Snape, his eyes wide and his body trembling. He knew. Snape stares back at Harry, his brows furrowed and his eyes matching the boy’s widened ones. Silence, a tense silence, fell over them. The Potion Master glanced between Harry, then to the door, then back to Harry, not being able to hide his shock. Harry scowled and forced himself to his feet, his hand going to his bruised neck. He shallowed thickly, wincing quietly at the pain. He looked down at his arms, blood escaping the scrapes he had gotten when he had been thrown.
“I see you were able to patch yourself up,” He said flatly, glancing at the now bandaged man. “Pass the kit over, yeah?” He motioned at medical kit that sat next to Snape. The man picked up the kit, and tossed it towards the boy. Harry caught it and went to his desk, sitting down at it as he began to treat his wounds.
”Have they always been that cruel?” Snape spoke after another thick and quiet moment. Harry scoffed, why did Snape care? He hated him, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
”That isn’t your concern, is it?” He spoke in a faux-casual manner. He didn’t turn around to face Snape, but he could feel his scowl.
”Yes, Potter. You’ll find that it is my concern,” He spoke in a dangerously calm tone. “Does any one know of this? Lupin or perhaps the Weasleys? Any Order member—“
“No, they don’t! And it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’ll be gone within the next couple of months anyway,” He cut off Snape, standing up and facing him. “And last time I checked, you and your cult hate my guts. You should be ecstatic! So quit pretending that you fucking care.” His words were venomous, consumed with bitterness for the man. He hated Snape, utterly loathed him. He had ruined everything, had taken away everything from him.
To his surprise, Snape didn’t respond. He sat there, staring at Harry for a moment, before looking away.
Should have left him to die. Harry thought to himself, before turning back to his desk and continuing to bandage his wounds. How long did he hoped that someone would find out about his home life? How long had he wished to be seen? He clutched the bandages in his hands. Of course, when he was finally found out, it was too late. And Severus Snape had been the one to uncover it.