Cuts and Lilies

Chapter 2

Harry couldn't believe it.

Snape used magic on him. He forcibly brought him to Dumbledore. Levitated him like some kind of prisoner.

On their protracted journey up to the Headmaster's study, Harry prepared his lengthy speech. He was willing to lie, to deny anything and everything, and most of all, to get Snape back for what he did to him. Hell, he was able to claim Snape was the one who inflicted the wounds on his arms if he needed to.

But it wasn't necessary at all. Dumbledore's office was vacant.

In fact, as they soon found out, Dumbledore wasn't within the castle walls at all. Snape located a small note, presumably addressed to him, as he read it in seconds and then furiously set it on fire.

Harry was unstunned only after Snape healed his most recent cuts on both arms, while Harry bestowed on him his most piercing stare, unable to express his protests. He felt the cooling sensation wash over his forearms, taking away weeks of pain he didn't even know was there anymore. The stinging sensation became a part of Harry's daily life, part of his very being. It was relieving and distressing not to feel his skin burn with every passing breath once Snape cast the last healing spell.

As Harry's mobility returned to him and he stood more-or-less steady on his feet again, the anger suffocating his chest became hard to contain. Harry felt himself being overtaken by the feeling, readying to lash out at Snape. He did not exactly prepare a speech for him, but the amount of fury rising within his veins was going to do the job for him.

"How dare you?! Using magic on students—not even Umbridge went that far!" he spat out heatedly, his murderous expression dimming his face.

Snape's eyes flashed with... something(was it offense?), but his reply was stripped of any emotion, his voice calm and even.

"No, I suppose not. She only outright tortured her students; I think we've already established your preferences earlier tonight, Potter." Snape's gaze briefly turned to Harry's newly scarred skin and then back to maintaining eye contact. "I only did what they'd do to you if you were at St. Mungo's."

As if on cue, Harry started rubbing and scratching his forearms, trying to ease the burning sensation Snape's glare evoked. He needed to feel the pain before he lost his reason. He had to start atoning again.

"Last time I checked, we were still at Hogwarts," Harry snapped back, his words sharp and his voice raspy.

"Yes, and why are we still here?" the professor baited. Harry got the impression he played into his trap, which made him hesitate with his next words.

"We're here because I discovered you." Snape clarified when Harry kept quiet. "Were it any other staff member, you would've already been at the hospital wing, witnessing Madam Pomphrey fire-calling St. Mungo's!"

The words were harsher than a slap for Harry. Mostly because it was the truth. Were it anyone else, teacher or student, Harry's only option would be to somehow obliviate them (wand still forgotten on his nightstand) if he wanted to avoid being forcibly loaded into a wizarding psychiatric ward.

In retrospect, it was beyond foolish to leave his wand in the dorms, but Harry wasn't thinking straight back then. He was in an especially desperate spot that night, barely able to wait until everyone fell asleep. His forearms were itching, the mirror in his hand begging to be used, and his thoughts were clouded with Sirius.

Snape was right; they were still at Hogwarts because Harry was fortunate (hah!) enough that it was he who discovered him. The fact made Harry feel puzzled. It did sound as if Snape was protecting him and preventing the inevitable hell from breaking loose. There was a sour taste in Harry's mouth, the thought of Snape doing him a favour was disgusting at best.