when they ate, the Dursleys, I mean. If there was anything leftover, and I'd done my chores right, then I could eat.'
'And was that often the case?'
Harry sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. . . . 'I got to eat almost every day. In the summer, when I work outside, it's easy to fill up on water from the hose so I don't get hungry.'
'I see.' She scribbled something more on her chart. 'How did you get along with your friends at school?'
'I didn't have any.'
'None?'
Harry snapped, 'I couldn't very well, could I? With Dudley threatening anyone who talked to me.'
'All right. And have you ever used drugs or alcohol?'
'No!' What kind of stupid questions were these anyway?
'Easy, Harry, I'm almost done.'
'Of course. Just a couple more questions. How safe do you feel at home?'
Harry frowned. 'Safe? I don't know. Compared to what?' He was almost sure he heard a snort or something from Snape, but when he shot a glance at the man, his face was as scowly as ever.
'Compared to, say, when you were at primary school, or here.'
He studied her face for a minute then shrugged. 'I'm most safe here,' he admitted and smirked. 'You know. No Dudley.'
'Do you worry about being alone with him?'
'No. I worry about being alone with him and his friends.' He shrugged one shoulder again. 'They're bigger than me. I'm faster, though.'
'All right then. I'll have you lie back on the bed now, let's move the gown down around your hips, that's right dear.'
Harry complied, lying back, feeling naked despite the gown, and sick to his stomach. His ribs were dotted with bruises, and his arms looked like someone had made grabbing him a national sport. He also had part of a handprint around his throat, from when his Uncle had choked him a little, last time he'd failed to prune the roses properly.
'You tell me if any of this hurts, all right?' Madam Pomfrey asked, and started pushing on parts of his chest and stomach with her finger tips. He didn't say anything, but couldn't help wincing a few times when she pressed tender areas. 'And if you could turn over onto your stomach . . .'
Once again he obeyed, burying his face in the pillow as heat washed over him. He tried to stay as still as possible, hoping this would be over soon. When she pressed one part of his lower back, he yelped and flinched away.
She patted his back gently. 'My apologies, Mr. Potter. We're all done for now. You may get dressed while I prepare a few potions for you.'
'Thanks,' he breathed, not sure he could do much more than that. As he sat upright, he caught Snape's gaze, and was troubled by the look of frank speculation he saw there. Then both of them left the quartered off area, so he could get dressed, which he did in a hurry.
When he came out from behind the curtain, the two of them were huddled close together, near Madam Pomfrey's potion cabinet, obviously talking, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.
