Four Weeks In April.

Written by Melissophobia

Beta by Graenr

Warnings- Child abuse

Challenge-Blocked Memory by Howldaloom

Summary: When Snape teaches Harry to block his mind with Occlumency, Snape stumbles upon some memories not even Harry could remember. What did Harry block out and why?


"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." James Milton


April 1st

It was getting predictable. Predictability had a time and place. Mainly when one was exploiting a weakness or routine for personal gain. Control, to a degree started with predicting your opponent's next move. But this was just boring. If he had to watch one more bloody memory of Granger, Weasley and Black he thought he might just lobotomize himself.

He needed a change of pace.

"Enough Potter!" Snape bellowed, withdrawing himself from the boy's mind.

He looked at the child before him, a sheen of sweat covered his face. He was breathing heavily. He turned his back on his student, running his hand through his long black hair. Leaning to occlude by force was believed to be the fastest way of learning the skill. It forced the student to expel there attacker based on instinct. The more personal the memory the faster the student learned. This allowed the student to learn the feel of expulsion and thus control it.

But Harry Bloody Potter was not the average student. So naturally the traditional method would not work.

He would curse it as pure Gryffindor philosophy. A pure, deep seated, self-sacrificial belief that nothing was too personal to keep hidden away. But memory after memory seemed to indicate the other, that nothing was private, because he wasn't allowed to have something private. And while Snape would love to call it arrogance, it wasn't. It was sad.

Merlin he needed a vacation.

Steeling his resolve, he turned to face the Gryffindor once more.

"This time, Potter, I will enter your mind quietly and remain there. You will try to find me and expel me."

"Legilimens," Snape whispered, falling deep into Harry's mind. Shifting through the boy's memories, Snape knew the best place to hide. The last place the boy would wish to look.

The Veil. It was always there, lingering around the boy's other memories, almost tainting them, bleeding into the happy ones and caressing the painful. Stepping around the archway something caught his eye. Taking a closer look he noticed that the thin gauze billowing around the archway was blowing in the wrong direction. Taking a closer step, another archway came into view.

Severus Snape stopped in his tracks. There was only one archway in the Department of Mysteries.

This was not good. And knowing Potter, it was practically ominous.

After his initial shock, several thoughts flooded his own mind. But one kept coming back over and over.. Was this the Dark Lord's doing? Mentally he reached out with his mind to get a sense of where Potter was, still a million miles away. Slinking his mental tendons back, he stilled himself to not alert the boy where he was. Once he felt there was no threat, he walked cautiously towards the second archway and noticed that behind the transparent gauze lay a box. His interest piqued, he reached out of and gently touched the box and held his breath, waiting for Potter to sense his presence. When he detected no threat of discovery, Snape gently opened the box.

It was like falling into a pensieve. Instantly Snape knew this was not something Voldemort had planted. This was some memory Potter had buried deep in his subconscious.

And somehow, that scared him even more.

A wave of hot shame flooded his senses. He felt instantly guilty, but it was not coming from within him. The emotions were so fierce that he had yet to take stock of the room around him. Doing so now, he noticed it was the living room at Grimmauld place. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room announced Christmas. He was standing in front of the fireplace, before him on the battered old sofa sat the Boy Who Lived.

He looked happy.

There was a loud sound, and a screech. Looking up he noticed Black had just walked in.

"Well that explains the emotions," Snape humphed wryly to himself..

"Sirius," Potter greeted with what was akin to hero worship. "Happy Christmas!"

Snape could feel another wave of emotion. This time it was relieved expectation. Harry had been waiting for this. Alone time with Black.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" Black inquired. Snape couldn't help but take notice of the leering in the dog man's eyes.

"Yes, Sirius, it was the best Christmas I have ever had. Thank you."

"I know one way you could thank me," Snape heard Black mumble. Looking then at Potter, it was clear the boy had not heard.

Sirius Black took a seat on the rather large sofa a tad too close to Potter for Snape's comfort. With a sureair, Black placed his hand on Harry's knee.

Snape felt his stomach drop. Oh Merlin no, he cursed himself as he felt Harry's emotions rise up. This time pride and happiness. Was the child so attention starved?

"I am so lucky to have you, James," Sirius whispered, leaning in close to the boy.

"I'm Harry," the child replied uneasily.

A wave of muted fear murmured around Severus.

"I'm glad you're happy, James," Sirius purred, nuzzling close to the boy's ear.

"Sirius?" Harry questioned, as the hand on his knee softly traveled up his thigh.

"Let's make this night really special. Let me take care of you."

Severus felt vomit rise up in his throat. The wave of fear doubled.

"Sirius, look at me," Snape heard Harry beg, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. Where the hell were the Weasleys?

"I see you, James," Sirius said, peering into the wrong eyes.

There was a new undercurrent to the fear, despair.

"I see you, James," again, softly.

Sirius cupped Harry's face in his right hand, his left still rubbing Potter's thigh. Slowly he leaned down and kissed Harry.

Harry, to Snape's relief squirmed away, giving Sirius only the briefest taste of a kiss. But the move was not enough to get away. Black pinned Harry down to the couch.

A deep laugh erupted out of Sirius, shocking both Harry and Snape.

"Oh James, don't tell me you don't want it."

Harry shook his head. "I'm …I'm Harry." The voice was so weak, so… so sad that Severus felt his heart fall upon hearing the words.

Oh please, Black, Snape said aloud, not your godson. Don't do this to the boy.

"I know you're happy….I can feel it." And with that, Black reached down and grabbed Harry's crotch.

Fight Harry, Snape yelled, feeling the boy's emotions wash over him.

"Please," Harry begged.

And this time Sirius claimed the boy's mouth.

Fear. Despair. Powerlessness.

The boy was whimpering. But not the whimpers of a person enjoying passion, but the cursed whimper of a child watching its dreams destroyed.

Severus felt the bile rise up again.

Suddenly there was a loud banging sound from the other room. Snape heard Molly shriek then yell at the twins. Snape stared at the door, willing them to come in and save the child.

But the door would not budge.

"What was that?" Sirius asked. He too was watching the door. "Do you think we woke your parents, James?"

"Yes," he heard Harry sob. Quickly Harry wiggled out of Black's now loose grip. The action unbalanced Black causing him to tumble to the floor, crashing into the coffee table.

Harry didn't pause to see if his Godfather was alright. He stumbled getting away from Black, falling hard to his knees. Snape watched as the Boy Who Lived crawled underneath a buffet table against the far wall. The boy who fought the Dark Lord year after year now sat, out of sight from his godfather, knees drawn up to his chest both hands clasping his mouth willing himself not to make a sound.

Shame. Wave after wave of shame flooded the room.

Snape watched the scene for several minutes, lost in the tide of shame.

A noise brought him out of his musings. It was the Floo, behind him. He watched as he himself came through the fireplace.

"Black," he heard himself sneer.

And then Snape remembered. This happened last Christmas. The Christmas before Black fell through the Veil.

He remembered coming to headquarters that night, to give his report on the Dark Lord. He remembered stumbling over Black, he remembered the insults they exchanged. He remembered that Black had threatened him with the Marauders, who were in the next room. He remembered spelling the mangy mutt to sleep, and leaving him on the floor. He remembered deciding that for once Albus could come to him for information, and then leaving.

He could hear it all being replayed now. It was in front of him, should he glance to watch. But Severus couldn't take his eyes off the boy curled up under the table. He couldn't ignore the flood of shame and despair that he was bathing in.

He heard the Floo open and heard himself leave. The moment the flames flickered out, he saw Harry Potter look up.

And then the world went black.

"Professor Snape?"

His head was throbbing.

"Professor Snape?"

Severus slowly opened his eyes.

"Yes Potter. I am fine. Merely bored to near death by your pathetic mind." Snape saw the brat roll his eyes, "Get out, Potter. Clearly we are done."

But the words were a lie, they were just beginning.

April 3rd

Snape watched the 6th year Gryffindor Slytherin Potions class carefully. He needed Potter to screw up. However, the impossible brat was managing to brew his potion correctly. Surly this was because he was following Granger's every move. Briefly, he looked up to the clock. He was running out of time. With a dramatic flare, he folded his arms, snaking his right hand up the sleeve of his left.

"POTTER!" Snape bellowed from the front of the classroom. Taking long powerful strides towards Harry's desk and slamming both hands down with such force that he saw the cauldron shake. When he was quite certain he had the whole class' attention, he lifted the dragon tooth up until it was eye level with Potter. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Sir?" The boy looked confused. Well he should be.

"Don't play those idiotic games with me, I saw what you were about to do!"

Silence. Snape let himself smile just a tad.

"Miss Granger, if you will enlighten us what would happen should your dunderhead friend carelessly drop a dragon tooth into a cauldron of shrinking solution?"

"It would blow up, sir."

"Five points, Miss Granger, from Gryffindor for understating catastrophe."

"Sir, that is not my dragon tooth," Potter was turning red. He was what Snape had classified as level three pissed. Time to take it up a few more notches.

"Indeed it is not. It is mine," Snape drawled, trying to sound bored. "Should this class have been purely Gryffindor I would not have minded so much painting it red, but seeing as there are innocent students here as well I cannot condone such an action."

"But…" the boy stammered. Level four, Snape smirked.

"So besides stealing from my stores, you were intent on murder. Is that it, Potter? Pretty doggish thing of you to do."

"I wasn't trying…"

"Do you think yourself above Azkaban, Mr. Potter? Think your celebrity would keep you out?"

'Come on, Harry', Snape urged, 'call me a git so we can get on with it.'

"Think parents wouldn't mind their children being murdered by the Boy Who Lived?"

"Why you greasy git, you know I didn't put…"

Thank Merlin, Snape mentally sighed while a sneer maligned his face. "Everybody out. NOW!"

He saw Potter make a move for his bag and grabbed him by his robe. "Not so fast, Potter."

Within a minute, everyone had deserted his lab. Snape was sure however, Miss Granger was waiting anxiously outside. Praise Merlin he didn't have to deal with Weasley this year as well.

Snape abruptly turned and walked over to his desk. With a smooth calculating move, he opened a desk drawer and retrieved a book. Sliding back to the boy he began, "You will write a 2 foot essay on the mental effects of a prolonged stay in Azkaban prison. You will gather your research from this book." He said slamming the book down in front of the boy. "You have till Monday. Is that clear?"

Pure hate radiated from the boy's eyes. 'Good,' Snape thought, 'hate me.'

"Yes, SIR," the boy spat.

"Then get out!"

April 6th

Harry hated Ron. Hated him with ever fiber of his being. While Ron Quidditch Captain Weasley was off flying circles around the pitch, he was trapped in the back corner of the library with Hermione, reading the bloody book Snape had given him as punishment for that bloody dragon's tooth.

He had been over it and over it with Hermione. There was no way that tooth was his. It had to have been planted there by a Slytherin. Sneaky bastards.

Harry tried to force his hate down. If he was honest with himself it wasn't really hate he was feeling but envy. If only he could fly one lap around the pitch he was sure he would feel better. If he could just get his mind off this book.

He had every intention of just skimming the book and writing a half hearted essay. But there was a passage in the third chapter that caught him and wouldn't let go. As it was he had read the small book all the way through and some sections, like chapter three more than once.

It was horrible. Disgusting. The words in the book covered him, like grime on his skin. He couldn't make sense of it. Why should reading it make him feel so…so shameful and dirty? And why couldn't he look away?

"You're making that face again," Hermione whispered softly. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry wanted to tell her, but he didn't want her to feel dirty too.

"Please, Harry, tell me"

"It's just so…horrible."

"How much have you gotten on your essay?"

"An opening," Harry said flatly, looking back at the book.

"What's it about?"

"Long term effects of Azkaban. This witch followed up on all these people who had been wrongly imprisoned. And what effect it had on them mentally."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't. I mean, look at Snuffles."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry demanded. Why was his heart beating so fast?

"Nothing bad, Harry, but Remus said he had changed. You would have too, never feeling a moment of happiness in that place. It's inhumane."

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

"What did the book find?" she pried.

"Just that a lot of times the people would revert to a happier period in their lives mentally.. They were more prone to drink or do drugs, anything to keep…feeling…Sometimes," Harry continued after a while, "Sometimes they would fall into the past so hard they really believed they were living it."

"I don't think I understand," Hermione whispered.

"Well there is this once case study, it's horrible really, but this man spent ten years in Azkaban for killing his wife. But he didn't. When they discovered the mistake, they released him to the custody of his daughter.

"She said everything was fine, he was really happy to be home and all. But he started drinking. And when he drank he called her Victoria.. Her mother's name.

"The one that was murdered?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry nodded and continued. "This one night he was drinking pretty heavily, and he walked in to her bedroom and kept calling her Victoria. Then he…"

"No." Hermione gasped.

Harry nodded his head again. "They arrested him. He kept claiming he was innocent. When they gave him Veritaserum, he denied it. He was so furious that someone had… had raped his daughter. He almost convinced the Auror too."


"This is interesting," Harry replied. "It was Moody who was on the interrogation unit at the time. He asked him where he had been."

"With Victoria," Hermione answered for all of them.

Harry numbly nodded his head. "With Victoria," he echoed back.

April 9th

"Again, Potter. Clear your mind. Legilimens!"

Snape swam freely into the boy's mind. It wasn't hard to do, but the boy's apparent lack of sleep made it like slicing warm butter. It was obvious the book had upset him. He could see how it puzzled the brat that the book upset him more than Granger. Snape hazarded a glance at the veil memory, and noticed that while the second archway was gone the box remained. It was a promising sign.

Taking himself forcefully out of the boy's memory, he let himself fully take stock of the child in front of him. He looked exhausted. Unlike the memory, that was an easy fix.

Striding deliberately to his desk he poured himself a glass of water and made a show of drinking it.

He heard Potter gulp. "Sir, may I have a glass of water?"

"No Potter, do you think the dark lord will stop and offer you one?"

"Why are you always such a…"

"Careful there, Potter, lest you be serving another detention."

Snape heard the boy growl. "Very well, Potter, have some water."

The boy had moved to cross the room and now stood with his back to his professor. Snape swiftly took a vial out of his pocket and murmured an incantation. Quickly the liquid disappeared. He had 20 minutes.

He waited until Potter brought the glass up to his mouth and pointed his wand. "Legilimens!"

He heard the boy choke. Just as soon as he had entered the boy's mind, he left. "Pathetic."

Potter was trying to control himself, swallowing down what coughs he could. "How dare you!" he finally managed to cry out.

"How dare I?" Snape said enraged. "I am trying to teach you, idiot, a lesson and you act as if I am ABUSING you! Class is over, Potter."


Snape waited till the boy was at the door before he ordered him to wait.

"While your essay on the effects of Azkaban was dull, I hope your next essay will have more passion to it," Snape sneered.

"What essay is that?" Harry asked, still enraged.

"The essay I am about to assign you for your attitude just now. Two feet. The classifications of Abuse…All Forms. Due after class on Monday."

Potter's mouth was hanging open. If he didn't get him out of the room soon, the boy was likely to fall asleep in the dungeons.

"If you are incapable of leaving, Potter, I can escort you back to the tower myself and tuck you in."

Snape watched as his student turned and ran out.

April 12th

Harry was not going to cry. Not in the bloody library, no matter that they were at the corner table and most definitely not in front of Hermione. She would simply ask too many questions.

Not that he was sure what the questions she would ask, or even what he would say to her. He just knew he didn't want to be having this conversation. He had less than a foot to go. He needed to stay calm and finish.

But why did it feel like his skin was crawling. Why did he feel like everyone here knew something…dirty about him. He hadn't done anything!

Why couldn't he stop thinking about that father and daughter from Azkaban?


She didn't let on that she noticed him jump when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Sweet Merlin, half of the library must have seen it.

"Are you alright?"

"Sorry, 'Mione, just dozing off."

"It must be hard, being trapped in here with me and not on the pitch with Ron."

"It's alright."

"How is your essay coming along?"

"Almost done. Just have to finish the part on se-s…sexual abuse."

"You said that an hour ago, Harry," Hermione replied, knitting her brows together. "Do you want to go get something from the kitchen?"

"No," Harry said, the thought of food nauseating him. "I just need to buckle down and finish."

Hermione gave him a soft smile and settled back to reading her own book.

Harry picked up his parchment and scanned his essay. He had started with verbal abuse, simply to piss off Snape. It had been rather fun to write, almost like an attack on the man. Then he started on physical abuse. He was shocked to learn that the Dursleys' actions qualified. It was reading about sexual abuse however, that stopped him dead in his tracks. Particularly one section, which he read over and over.

"Three common emotional consequences of sexual victimization are a sense of somehow being responsible and therefore feeling guilty, an altered sense of self and self-esteem because of involvement in sexual abuse, and fears and anxiety.

Feeling responsible. An offender may make the victim feel responsible for the sexual abuse, for the offender's well-being, and/or for the consequences of disclosure. Victims may also feel guilty for not having stopped the sexual abuse as well as for any positive aspects of the abuse, such as physical pleasure, the special attention given by the offender, or an opportunity to have control over other family members because of "the secret."

The role of the Mind Healer is to help the child understand intellectually and accept emotionally that the child was not responsible. The adult sexually abused the child; the child did not sexually abuse the adult. It was the adult's job – not the child's – to stop or prevent the abuse"]

This was getting ridiculous, Harry thought as he pushed the book away. He refused to notice that his hand was trembling slightly as he began a new paragraph.

April 13th

"Class Dismissed," Snape announced to the eager room. Then over the immediate bustling, "Mr. Potter, I do believe you have something for me."

Snape placed a vial of potion on the corner of his desk, and watched as the Gryffindor approached essay in hand. When Potter was a few feet away from the desk he threw the parchment onto his professor's desk.

Snape peered into those green eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Potter, I won't need a Sleeping Draught now that I have this to read."

Harry let the insult slide over him before releasing a breath. Turning sharply he started to return to his desk.

Then there was the sound of breaking glass.

"Insolent child!" Snape bellowed.

Bewildered, Harry turned around. "What happened?"

"You know what happened, you careless cretin. You deliberately knocked over that potion."

Potter looked down at the ground. A thick blue liquid was devouring broken glass. How could he have knocked over the glass, Harry wondered, he hadn't been anywhere near the desk.

"Evanesco!" Snape spelled the mess away. "Well Potter?" Snape demanded.

"It wasn't my fault, sir."

"It wasn't your fault," Snape sneered, "of course not. No Gryffindor would ever sabotage a Slytherin's grade in such a fashion. Detention, Mr. Potter."

Snape continued to hold the boy's stare. He wondered if Potter could turn any redder.

Finally, with a huff, Potter stormed out of the classroom, Granger in pursuit. And as Snape watched the fuzzy haired know-it-all leave, he hoped for once she would figure things out.

April 15th

It took all of Harry's Gryffindor nerve to raise his hand. Just to raise it.

What was wrong with him. It had to do with Snape. That he was sure about. Snape was after him for something. Some wrong he allegedly did. But Harry couldn't figure out what it was.. Even Hermione was asking what had happened.

Then again, Hermione suddenly wanted to know an awful lot about Sirius too.

And between the two of them, Harry thought he was losing his mind. He just felt so…so bad. There was a bitter taste in his mouth all the time. He felt nauseous. He felt dirty, even when he was in the shower. It was like he was ashamed of something, guilty, but he didn't know why.

Maybe it was all those rotten books Snape had made him read. He was starting to have more nightmares too. Not the normal kind either. His new nightmares involved some sort of box.

Well, he didn't have any nightmares last night. But that was only because he zonked out 20 minutes after dinner. Hermione said both she and Ron had tried to wake him. But to no avail. She said it was almost like he had been drugged. In the end, they had had to levitate him to his bed.

Just then the door opened and a very angry looking Potions master stood in its shadow.

"You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Harry croaked out. Why was his mouth dry all of a sudden?

"Take your seat, Potter, I do not wish to spend all of my night babysitting the likes of you."

He noticed Potter did as he was told.

"On your desk you will find parchment. Tonight you will be writing lines," Snape snorted taking a seat behind his desk.

Harry looked down at the paper, and then to the blackboard. Nothing was written. "What do you want me to write, Professor?"

"I thought you could use the time to practice your defense, idiot child."

There was a silence that was unnerving.

Fine, Harry thought, "What defense, sir?"

"This one," Snape said sarcastically as he pointed his wand to the chalkboard. Behind the professor in bold letters the sentence appeared.


"500 times I think, Potter, will make you say it with more conviction."

Harry thought he was going to vomit. And it wasn't just his stomach. His hand suddenly felt numb. And he was sweating, which was really bizarre, no one sweated in the dungeons but Neville.

"Well what are you waiting for, BOY, get to work."

Harry picked up the quill. It took him a full minute to get his hand to grip the thing right. What was wrong with him, it was a stupid sentence. Nothing more. But his chest knew different even if his mind was claiming innocence. His chest felt like it had been emptied out and was now caving in on itself.

'I'm Harry,' he managed to write, it looked like chicken scratch, 'and it's not my fault.'

A tear escaped his eye.

'I'm Harry,' he said to Sirius.

'I'm Harry not James.'

'I'm Harry,' he wrote.

'I'm Harry.'

"No cheating, Potter," a dark voice descended in his ear. Harry jumped at the closeness of his teacher. "No writing 'I'm Harry' then adding the rest. Do I make myself clear? 500 times I want the sentence 'I'm Harry and it's not my fault.' Do I make myself clear?"

"Well then, WRITE!"

Harry watched as his professor once again took his seat behind the desk.

And then he remembered, he had been there that night too.

Harry grabbed the parchment in a cold fit of fear. No one could see this. No one. Snape would tell everyone about Sirius. The thought of Malfoy knowing….No. he didn't care if they expelled him there was no way he was staying for this detention.

Quickly he was on his feet backing away from the desk and stumbling into another.

"Mr. Potter, where do you think you are going?" Snape demanded.

Even if Harry wanted to answer, he couldn't.

Instead, he ran to the door. It took him several tries to get the door open, but finally he was free. He ran into the corridor and knocked into something and fell hard to the floor.

Harry heard a hump, and for a moment thought Snape had hexed him. But then he saw frizzy brown hair.

"Harry, get off me."

Hermione appeared out of thin air. "I borrowed your dad's cloak," she said by way of explanation.

The thought of his dad made his stomach drop.

"'Mione, we have to get out of here," Harry whispered fearfully.

Hermione didn't look upset, but she slowly got herself to her feet. Looking over Harry's shoulder she saw the Potions Master standing in the doorway of the classroom. He didn't look mad or upset, she noted to herself, he simply held her gaze for a moment before quietly closing the door.

"It's alright, Harry. Let's go to the Room of Requirement and hide there."

Professor Snape let his back fall upon the door of the classroom. He was glad he was right about Granger. In a fair world, he would have awarded her points.

April 17th

"Harry," Hermione started, finally getting her friend alone. "There is something I have to tell you."

Dark green eyes looked up. They seemed so distant.

"I noticed something about those books Snape gave you," she said quietly. "They were all borrowed from the same witch. Laurel Ash. She is a Mind Healer."

"So?" Harry asked, still miles away.

"Maybe she has worked with the Order. Maybe that is how he had them."

Harry wanted to pretend that he didn't know what she meant but he did. He couldn't deny that he felt a little better with Hermione knowing. She didn't even seem to be that upset with Sirius, which had helped. She too had read that section of the book. He wasn't sure if he could take her hating Sirius.

"We could ask him, or Dumbledore," she offered.

They had taken to referring to Snape as him. Why, he wasn't so sure. He shook his head no. He didn't want Dumbledore know.

"Madam Pomfrey, then. She would be obligated by her oath."

"Madam Pomfrey," Harry weakly agreed.

"I'll go with you," She said simply. It wasn't a request and he knew she meant now. He didn't want to go right now. He wanted to sleep more. He wanted to feel a little better before he went. More than anything he wanted to go back to March.

Instead he put one foot in front of the other and walked with his friend to the infirmary. Both were oblivious to a pair of black eyes watching them.

April 29th 2009

Dear Professor Snape,

I know they told me I could trust you. And looking back, I should have known all along, First year with the broom, the way you threw yourself in front of me and my friends when Remus turned into the werewolf. Even though we all knew that you were just as afraid of him as we were. You gave Umbridge some fake potion to prevent me from talking too much. And, of course, you tried to save Sirius even though you hated him.

Did you know you are a part of that memory? I remember hearing you come through the Floo and thinking that even without trying you could save me. If I hadn't gotten away, you would have made Sirius stop. But I also feared you would announce it in the Slytherin common room. So, in the end, I buried you too.

I am sorry, sir. I am sorry that it took me these four weeks of April to figure it out. You know, that I could trust you. That you were…well, you.

I am sure even now, writing this, that I didn't figure it all out.. That I didn't see something you did, some small trick that in the end only continued to help me more. I have a sneaking suspicion that you dosed me with a sleeping potion a couple of times, without my consent.

The Mind Healer has helped. I've been seeing her a couple of times a week. But she says that I have processed quite a bit already. Thanks to you. She says I still have a lot of work to do, and several more sessions. But I don't feel so…bad anymore. You made sure of that.

She has helped me see the man, not the saint. Kind of like you helped me see the effects of Azkaban on his mind. I know you would say that I was a foolish idiotic Gryffindor, but I wish it wasn't like that. I wish the world was fair. Then Sirius would never have been in Azkaban, the Dursleys would never have hurt me and maybe, we could have been friends.

My Mind Healer told me it might help to keep a journal, she even charmed one for me so no one would know. That way I could write down when I started to feel…things. She said it would make me stronger, more clear-headed.

Dear Diary seemed stupid. Even for a foolish Gryffindor.

I want so badly to thank you. Not just for Sirius, but for all of it. I want you to know that I trust you. I really want to tell you what happened, all of it. I think it's because I know you won't think it too horrible, or disgusting. I know you won't look at me differently. I mean you haven't yet. And it's strange that I know I would feel more comfortable talking to you about this than the Mind Healer, even though we never really talked before.

But I'm not so foolish as to know I can't. Voldemort is still out there somewhere. And he can still read minds. I know you are a skilled Occlumens, but it's still a danger I won't put you through. I know you still have to hate me in class, and I have to fight you right back. And while it won't look different to the rest of the class or the world, it will be. Because I can distinguish now men from the saints and sinners. We all have a part to play. And I'll try my best.

So I'll tell you here, in this journal. I mean if it's supposed to make me strong, who better to write to? You're the strongest man I know. And maybe after the war, if I survive, I'll give it to you. And then you would know, really know, how I feel.

Until then, there is only one thing I can do, and I hope you'll understand.

April 30th

Harry slowly put his books into his bag. He was stalling, waiting until the last student left. His plan was thwarted when a Slytherin approached the desk. But Snape must have sensed that Harry had wanted to talk to him because he quickly dismissed the student.

"Mr. Cain, I will address your concerns tonight during study group," Harry heard his professor say quietly. Harry was putting his last book away when he saw the brown haired, freckled boy pass him and leave the room.

"Mr. Potter," Snape sneered, "Is there, perhaps, some asinine reason you are dawdling?"

Harry felt his Gryffindor courage falter. But only for a moment.

"Professor Snape, I um, wanted to turn this in," Harry said as he approached his teacher's desk.

"Hurry up then, I haven't all day."

Harry hurried his pace

"I… um, Last time, detention," Harry stammered, he could feel his heart in his chest pounding. He looked up and watched as Snape's eyebrow arched.

"Potter. You are trying my patience."

"I'm sorry I ran out, sir." Harry rushed, "But I finished, like you wanted me to. I …" But Harry said no more. Instead, he placed the parchments on the desk between them.

Snape, in turn, grunted and looked back to the essay he was grading. Out of the corner of his eye the Potions professor watched the Boy Who Lived through just about anything, turn his back and walk away. Without being watched, he pulled the stack of parchment close and read the first of what he honestly believed was 500 lines.

'My name is Harry and it was not my fault.'

A small half smile formed on the older man's lips. The lines were obviously redone. Gone was the nervous scribbling of a worried child who didn't believe. No, these lines were written boldly, as if to prove a point.

Looking back up, he noticed the boy near the door.

"Mr. Potter."

The child stopped and turned to face him once more.

Resting his hand on the parchments, Snape eyed the boy carefully. "I take it I will not be forced to assign more detentions in the future?"

"No, sir," Harry replied.

The end.

A/N: The book on sexual abuse was lifted directly from .