Walk the Shadows

Potter shrugged and tried to hunch in on himself.

Severus frowned. 'None of that, or there will be no outside time for you today.'

The boy sighed, but pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his chin on them. 'Yeah, he was all right at it. I knew some decent places to hide, though.'

'Such as?'

'Oh, bins, up in trees, and sometimes I could duck into a shop. There was a little one, a bookshop, nearby, I could hide in for hours.' He gave a low snicker. 'Wasn't like Duds was ever going to go looking in where he might touch a book.'

'And you mentioned you got his 'second bedroom' after your Hogwarts letter came. Why did he have two bedrooms to begin with?'

'Well, they spoiled him rotten, didn't they?' Harry said, and there was heat in his voice again. 'Gave him everything he asked for, and lots of what he didn't. So when he got tired of playing with something, or he'd broken it, it went into the second room.' His arms tightened around his calves, where he hugged them close. 'That's where I got any of my toys from.'

'Explain.'

The boy clenched his jaw and squinched his eyes shut. 'No, it's stupid.'

'Potter. Answer or you won't—'

'All right! They never bought me anything, so I only got the leftovers of Dudley's toys, same as with food.'

Severus stared, wondering if this was exaggeration, and knowing he was going to have to ask. 'Surely they bought you something. Clothes, for instance, treats at Christmas . . .'

'Are you kidding me?' Harry snarled at him. 'I got Dudley's old clothes, too. The ones that were worn out at the knees, or frayed at the cuffs, or that he'd torn up because he didn't like the color. And, as you noticed, he was much bigger than me, so I never had clothes that fit till I came to Hogwarts and had to buy my own robes. But I can't even wear any nice things at their house, 'cause they'd want to know where I got the money for 'em, and then they'd want the money and I'd have nothing left from my parents at all!' He took a stuttering breath. 'Did you even see the crap I was wearing when you took me from there?'

Severus nodded, not rising to the obvious bait. 'I saw. But what about Christmas, birthdays. . . .'

'Oh, right, I was so bloody pampered, obviously they lavished me with gifts.'

'Answer the question—'

'Just shut up, all right? I'm tired of talking.' He buried his face against his knees, his whole body rolled into a ball no bigger than a niffler. 'It's stupid anyway. Like I should care.'

'About what?' Severus asked, softly. This was the moment of every one of their recent conversations he dreaded. Either tears or raging would follow. He could never tell which it would be, and though he preferred the latter, as he knew better how to deal with it, neither option was particularly enjoyable. Not for either of them.

There was a soft, sniffling sound. Tears, then. 'P-presents. Never till . . . First one I ever got was from Hagrid. He g-gave me Hed – Hedwig.'

For the first time, Severus realized the boy's owl was nowhere in evidence. He tried to recall if he had seen it, when he and Bellatrix and Nott took him from the Dursley home. He could picture the dark room, the boarded over window, the thin dirty sheet covered in blood and pus, the effluvia from the boy's wounded back. And he recalled an empty bird cage half caved in, lying on top of a lopsided dresser.

'Where is Hedwig, Harry?' He almost didn't recognize his own voice, it was so soft, and he almost sure he knew what the boy was going to say. Still, he winced at the words when they did come.

Harry's shoulders were shaking, and his voice was muffled by hiccupping sobs. 'H-he killed her. Uncle V- vernon d-did. He killed her because she was making too damn much noise, and I tried to stop him, but he's loads bigger even than Dud, and he hit me, and I – I – I fell and then he was kicking and she was screeching, and then there was nothing, and she was gone.'

Oh, Merlin.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. First pet. First present, a familiar, killed by a maniac Albus had sent the boy back to year after year. He had nothing but contempt for those Muggle relatives of Harry's. He knew what sort Petunia was, and after what Harry had confessed about his home life, he didn't doubt the bastard had killed the snowy owl, just for hooting.

But Harry was still sobbing, and Severus rose with some reluctance, and crossed to the couch. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, to offer some kind of comfort – he knew what it was like to lose a precious familiar, after all – but was unprepared for the boy's reaction.

Harry's head came up and he was out of his seat like a shot, shrieking. 'Don't touch me! Don't – don't you ever touch me! NO ONE! Never, never again!'

Severus put his hands up, where they could be clearly seen. 'No one's touching you, Harry,' he said, more calmly than he felt. 'I'm going to sit down now. I suggest you do the same.' He matched actions to his words, and retook his seat by the fireplace, keeping his gaze on Harry the whole while.

But Harry wrapped his arms around his middle and hunched over, sobbing again, great tearing things that wracked his thin body. In between wheezing gasps for breath and wrenching sobs, he hugged himself tight and rocked slightly, as Severus had often seen in children who were denied any kind of comfort from their caregivers during their formative years. Whispered words poured from his mouth in a stream, that Severus craned to hear. 'I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. . . .'

'Who do you hate?' Severus asked, wanting to be sure who the target was. There were so many choices, after all. Too many.

'Uncle,' cough, 'Vernon. Hate him.' Wheeze. 'Hate. Him. Hate. Him.' Before Severus realized what he was going to do, Harry had turned to the wall and punctuated each