Pulling the boy over to where the women stood watching, Snape covered Harry’s ears with his hands. Ignoring the boy’s annoyed look, he spat out the truth of what he had seen.

“Somebody has beaten the child.”

“Well, yes, Severus, that is abundantly clear.” McGonagall was looking at him as if he’d grown another head.

“No you foolish woman, before this! He’s got marks on his back. They’ll need to be looked at when you examine him.” Poppy, her hand at her mouth in shock, just nodded mutely.

“Fine, Professor,” McGonagall interjected, “you can unhand him now. And really, you could have just used the Imperturbable Charm.”

The potions master removed his hands, allowing Harry to hear again, and watched, amused, while the two witches attempted once again to get him up on the examining table.

“Oh for pity’s sake! The boy’s miniscule, even for his age. Just put him on the table yourselves!” He earned a glare from Potter at the ‘miniscule’ comment, which told him that there was still some spirit left in the boy after all. Good, he thought, there’s no joy in insulting someone who hasn’t the wits to care or fight back.

Before Harry even had a chance to brace for it, he found himself hauled up by his underarms and unceremoniously dumped on his behind on the table. While the hands lifting him had taken care not to aggravate his injuries, the action was so abrupt he let out a squeak of surprise, only to force it back when he felt like he was swallowing rocks and razor blades. This was followed far too quickly by a wave of dizziness so strong that Harry reached out instinctively to steady himself.

When his head settled, he opened his eyes to discover he was clutching the robe sleeve of his potions professor. The man was staring at him much like one would a specimen under a microscope. Harry blushed and withdrew his hand, but refused to look away. The man had been picking on him since the first day he arrived at Hogwart’s and after several months Harry was growing (mostly) immune to it.

But still, that doesn’t mean you have to go clinging to the man like a baby, he berated himself.

As Snape backed off, Popopy moved forward, waving her wand and muttering something Harry couldn’t decipher. Frowning, she began to poke and prod at his neck. “Does it hurt to speak, Harry?”

He nodded emphatically, perhaps too emphatically, because another wave of dizziness overcame him. He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and he leaned into it until he regained himself.

“Well,” Poppy continued, “it seems his vocal cords are bruised, he likely won't be able to speak for some weeks. No surprise really, seeing the condition of his neck. What on earth they did to cause such damage, I’ll never know…” she ranted. Harry tried to imitate the arm that had wrapped around his neck when he was attacked, but no one was paying attention to him. Well, except for Snape, who appeared to have one eye on the women and one eye on him.

Indeed, Severus kept one eye trained on the Potter boy at all times just in case the insolent child tried to run off for yet a third time. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on the boys reactions, given the whole wardrobe fiasco. And who knew better what to look for then himself?

Casting a meaningful look at Snape, Poppy turned to Harry and quietly asked him to remove his robes and shirt. The potions master saw the colour drain from the boy’s face, but he began to remove the requested clothing. It took him some time, as his hands were shaking.

Heaving a purposefully weary sigh, Severus piped up, “Would you like madame Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall to assist you with your buttons, Potter?” Harry only blushed and shook his head, but he managed to steady his hands and finish doffing his shirt.

Once again, Poppy began to examine him, making her way to his back slowly so as not to startle him. Despite her best efforts, the-boy-who-lived still appeared overwhelmed, and only became more tense when she waved her wand over his back.

“Harry, what happened here?”

“It’s not like he can answer you.”

“Right, of course. Harry, did someone…” but she couldn’t finish the thought.

Taking the unicorn by the horn, Snape stepped in. The last thing they needed was anyone getting all weepy while trying to figure out what happened. He stopped in front of Potter but made a point to keep his distance. With a small flick of his wand a chair came flying out of the corner and set itself down directly behind the man, allowing him to sit and maintain eye contact with the boy.

Or so it would be if the boy ever raised his eyes from the ground.

“Potter, look at me.” His voice commanded obedience, and obedience was what he got, much to his surprise. It was difficult to keep a steady lock with those eyes, but he did it, if only because he wasn't about to let a scrawny 11 year old “hero” show him up.

“You have scars -” a small hand went reflexively up to a furrowed brow, “on your back.” Harry did not acknowledge or deny, he just kept looking at the man before him.

“I am going to ask you a question Potter, and I require an answer. A nod in the affirmative or the negative will suffice. Has anyone ever hit you on your back, used something like a belt or a stick to hurt you?”

That had been harder than he thought, and still the blasted brat wasn't answering. No movement of his head whatsoever. He was trembling slightly however, and his eyes had taken a glassy sheen. Brilliant.

“Harry,” McGonagall started, “you can tell us, you have nothing to fear. We have seen this before, and some of us have lived through it.” At this last she threw a significant look at Severus, who chose that moment to explode.

He rose from the chair so quickly that it clattered to the floor. “How DARE you? You have no right to share information about my childhood!”

“We are asking him to share his private information and to trust us with it, but you are not willing to do the same?” she threw back at him. Neither of them noticed the horrified look on Harry's face, or the fact that he now sat stiffly and warily.

“My past is irrelevant to the ---”

“The two of you stop it this instant or I shall cast a body bind on you both!” Madame Pomfrey had withdrawn her wand and now had it pointed at the teachers, as if to prove she was very serious about her threat. Serious or not, it was effective, as both Minerva and Severus backed down. Snape righted the chair and retook his position.

If there was any student in the school he most desired to keep that particular piece of information from it was the one sitting in front of him now. Curse that woman! Meanwhile Harry had begun to relax a little and was gazing at him not with the look of triumph he had expected, but rather a questioning expression.

Snape gripped the arms of the chair – hard.

“It is true.” The words ground their way out of his mouth. “What Professor McGonagall implies is true, and surely you trust your head of house, if not someone who has been there himself?” A small, slightly hesitant nod. “Then I will ask you again. Has anyone ever hurt you like I described earlier?”

Another nod, equally as small, but undeniable. And in that moment, Severus secretly wished to split a bottle of calming draught with the boy. Ignoring the choked sounds eminating from behind him, Snape continued.

“Was it your family? Your Aunt or Uncle?” Another nod.

“How often?” Harry looked confused, and just peered at him. Setting his voice determinedly he instructed, “hold up fingers for how many times it has occurred.” He left the 'if you have enough fingers' part to himself.

Slowly a hand uncurled itself and the boy-who-lived held up four fingers.

And with that, Snape spat out “I've heard enough!” and stormed out of the room, robes billowing dangerously.