Walk the Shadows

Then Harry asked how many times they'd hit him with Crucio that last night at the manor.

Snape looked at him, surprised, and equivocated for a while, but Harry just stared back at him and said, 'Madam Pomfrey must've told you.'

Taking a sip of his tea before answering, Snape studied him over the rim of the cup, and Harry did his best not to fidget. 'One wonders why you ask.'

Biting his tongue (literally) to keep from saying, 'It's none of one's business,' Harry held the man's gaze, knowing he was being measured. 'I want to know exactly how much I owe them for.'

Snape sighed and put down his cup. 'Vengeance is a dark road, Harry.'

'I know that.'

'Do you? You realize it was for vengeance's sake that Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord, yes? Revenge on the Muggles who disowned him, such as his father, on those who hurt him or neglected him in the orphanage where he grew up, and revenge on the ones who currently stand in the way of his thirst for power.'

'I . . .' Harry hadn't really known, but it made sense. At the moment, though, he didn't care. That wasn't going to be him. 'I just want to know. Will you tell me?'

Snape pressed his lips together in a thin line and stared at him some more. Then he sighed again. His voice was curiously flat as he said, 'According to Madam Pomfrey, in the twenty-four hours preceding our rescue, you were hit forty-three times by Cruciatus, twelve by Diffindo, four by Engorgio, fourteen times by Ennervate, eleven times by Episky, seven by Flagrate, once by Furnunculus—'

'All right, all right! Stop! Please.' Harry was feeling sick. He didn't even remember most of that. When had they covered him with boils? And how come Snape remembered down to the specific number of each?

'There is more, if you want a true reckoning.'

'Maybe . . .' Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed the sudden image of the Engorgio Curse, particularly, away. He gritted his teeth to keep from vomiting. He'd done too much of that this week. 'Maybe later.'

'If you're sure . . .'

'Yes!'

'Very well.' Snape paused, long enough for Harry to get his breath back; probably timed it perfectly, the git. 'Tell me, then, how you came by that interesting scar on the back of your right hand.'

Harry groaned and laid his head on his arms, on the table top. 'I don't want to talk anymore about the ways Harry Potter's been stupid.'

'Oh, see, now you have piqued my curiosity. Do go on.'

Harry glared at him through half-lidded eyes. 'I couldn't keep my big mouth shut.'

'Fascinating.' He squinted at Harry's hand. 'It does read, 'I must not tell lies,' doesn't it?'

'Yeah, um, sorry. I mean, yes, sir.' Harry rubbed the thumb of his left hand over the words and remembered how angry he'd been last year, and bitter, when everyone was avoiding him, including Dumbledore, who set up horrible, nasty Occlumency lessons with the person who he'd least wanted in his mind, ever.

With a sigh, he admitted, 'It was Umbridge. Detentions. I kept getting them because I was damned well not going to sit there and listen to her tell everyone that Vold—er, sorry, that What's-His-Name wasn't back, and that I was making the whole thing up because I was a nasty little liar. Not after Cedric. I couldn't let her do that to him.'

'But you could let her carve words in your hand?' Snape actually looked surprised, and a bit appalled, and Harry was taken aback.

He shrugged. 'It was a quill that did it. I wrote, and it used my blood as ink, from cuts it made in my hand. Then it would heal up, and I'd have to write the line again.'

'Over and over?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you never told anyone? You do realize that Blood Quills are considered Dark Arts.'

'I figured that. And I tried to tell Professor McGonagall, but she just told me to keep my mouth shut and my head down.' He rocked his head on his arms so his face was hidden. 'Well, we both know how bloody well that worked.'

'You . . . you told McGonagall? And she didn't stop it?'

No question now, the Potions Master was spooked. Weird, after all Harry had told him, that this would set him off. 'No.' He shrugged, peeking at the man through the fringe of his messy hair. 'Why would she? It was my own dumb fault that I kept getting the detentions.'

'Because such items are highly illegal, that's why! And because you're one of her precious Gryffindors, not to mention the bloody Chosen One! She should have protected you.'

Harry laughed mirthlessly. 'Okay. Sure.'

Snape's eyes narrowed down to mere slits. 'Explain.'

Sitting up straighter, Harry picked at the skin on his thumb along the jagged nail he'd taken to biting and avoided Snape's eyes. 'It's just that a lot of 'shoulds' get tossed right out the window when it's anything to do with all that Boy Who Lived rubbish.'

'Such as . . .'

Harry huffed a breath. 'Such as, Dumbledore should have told me earlier about the prophecy. Or, rather than ignoring me last year, he should have said that Old Snake Face,' he ignored Snape's tea