And then the pain hit, and somewhere in his mind was a little voice telling him he was in shock and that’s why he hadn’t felt anything before, but in the next second, he locked eyes with Snape, shook his head uncomprehendingly, and dropped like a stone as the world turned black.

Severus managed to catch the boy before he hit his head on the stone floor, but only because he’d had years of honing his reflexes amongst negligent children and their exploding cauldrons. His next instinctive action was to stop the bleeding from the now-obvious chest wound.

He laid the Brat Who Lived to Give Him Heart Attacks out flat on the floor, cast a single Scourgify on the wound and once the wound was clean, closed it quickly with a swish of his wand. Next he checked to make sure the boy was still breathing and that he had a pulse.

The pulse was thready, but there, and the boy’s breaths were rapid and shallow. He then pinched hard on one of Potter’s earlobes, and the color did not return as quickly as it should. Damn. To keep the boy from dying of shock, Severus cast a single Warming Charm on the area to combat the dampness of the dungeon, then transfigured the chair and an empty jar into a heavy blanket and a thick pillow. The former of these he wrapped loosely around the boy, including underneath, adding another Warming Charm, and the latter he slid under Potter’s feet.

Having staved off death for the next few seconds, Severus took a half moment to firecall Madam Pomfrey from the Floo to the right of his desk.

As he did so, he wondered why the hell had this boy been up wandering the halls at two o’clock in the morning. Especially since, according to the monitors on Severus’ classroom and office, Potter had finished with his detention a good five hours before then.

Pushing those questions – which he would have answered, damnit! – from his mind as soon as she answered, he let Poppy know in a few terse words that her presence – along with at least one Blood Replenishing Potion – was required in his office. He hurried back to the boy as she gathered supplies and came through the Floo.

Potter’s face was white as chalk, and wet with perspiration, but when Severus felt his forehead, he found it clammy. His pulse was still weak, but had not deteriorated, at least, and he was still breathing, though he had not regained consciousness.

A moment later, Poppy was beside him, and he told her about the chest wound and what he’d already done to prevent the shock from worsening. She nodded, and rather than pour the Blood Replenisher down the boy’s throat, spelled it directly to his stomach, then followed it with another potion . . . he recognized it as one of his own. Blood Replenisher, but with a dose of dopamine, specifically for shock victims. Finally, she cast a spell to increase the concentration of oxygen in the air directly above the boy’s nose and mouth.

“Now we just need to watch and wait,” Poppy said with a sigh. She gave him a hard look. “Dare I ask what brought him to this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Tell me what you do know.”

The boy’s breathing had evened out, and when Severus felt for the pulse again, he was glad to find it more steady than it had been ten minutes ago, though still weaker than it should be. His relief made him more forthcoming than usual as he related the events that led up their present situation. If pressed, he would say he rambled. “I had an alarm go off in my quarters, alerting me that one of my students had opened the portrait door to their common room from the outside. When I investigated, I found Potter, standing in the middle of the room looking . . . lost.” He couldn’t find the right words to describe the look in the boy’s eyes when he’d spoken his name and he had turned to look at Severus. “Haunted” was almost right.

“I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing out of bed when I noticed his robes were covered in blood. He was standing, though, so I made him follow me here, to question him. I assumed . . .” He trailed off. He’d assumed since the boy was mobile, he was fine and had gotten someone else’s blood on him, somehow. He hadn’t thought the boy was bleeding out, for Merlin’s sake. Did Potter have no sense of self-preservation?

“And then?” Poppy prompted.

“And then I told him to sit,” he pointed, “right there, and to remove his robe and shirt so I could see if he was hurt. He did, and he was, and when I asked him what he had run afoul of, he claimed he didn’t know and then fell to the floor.”

“And you have no idea how he came to be injured?”

“None!”

“All right, Severus. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She frowned at the boy. “Do you know why he didn’t check in with me today?”

Severus scowled. “He didn’t?”

“No.”

“The little—”

Poppy cleared her throat before he could finish the sentiment. “I wouldn’t be too hard on him,” she said. “I imagine he had quite enough of my company the last few days. Do you know if he has been drinking the nutritive potion?”

“Yes, I made sure of that.”

“Good.” She leant over and checked Potter’s pulse again and nodded to herself. “He’s stable enough to move. I want to get him to the Infirmary.”

“Very well.” Severus Levitated the boy’s body and followed the Medi-witch out of his office and upstairs. They had hit the second floor when a huge crashing sound startled them both. Severus’ wand was already out, but he was surprised to see Poppy now clutching hers, and blocking the boy’s floating body as much as she could from where she stood.

A few seconds later, the cause of the ruckus became apparent as Peeves flew out of a classroom down the hall and, screeching to high heaven, careened toward them. His laughter was more . . . ebullient than Severus had ever heard it.

“His Bloodiness is sick today,

"Letting Peevesy out to play!” the poltergeist howled, and then hurled gobs of some sticky, pale green substance at them as he sped by.

Severus ducked automatically, and heard a wet, pulpy splat hit the floor just behind him. The green ooze sank into the floor, leaving only a damp spot, as it did everywhere it touched, except where it hit the wool of the Transfigured blanket wrapped around Potter. There, of course, it started to smoke and hiss as if acidic. Severus jabbed his wand at the offending ectoplasm and snarled, “Scourgify.” Thankfully, the ooze vanished before eating through to the Potter Brat’s skin.

Madam Pomfrey scurried ahead to the Infirmary and inside, then led Severus and his Levitated bundle to one of the beds closest to her office.

There, they made Potter as comfortable as possible, while still keeping his feet elevated. After casting a Warming Charm on his bed, Poppy unwrapped him from the blanket so she could clean him up and get him into non-blood soaked clothes.

Severus stayed to watch her work. He was just making sure the Brat wasn’t going to die, he told himself. And he wanted to be sure he could ask his questions when the boy regained consciousness. It wasn’t because he needed to reassure himself about the boy's well-being, or make sure Potter wasn’t frightened when he woke. Not at all.

More than two hours passed before Potter’s eyes flickered and his breaths – which had deepened significantly after Poppy spelled a pain relief draught into his belly – came more rapidly. A few minutes later, and he blinked his eyes open and stared around him, with that same lost, haunted look. Then those green eyes widened considerably when the boy saw who was sitting beside his bed. Even so, the boy fumbled for glasses weakly for a moment before Severus snatched them up and put them in his hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Potter’s voice was dry, rasping. He unfolded the dark frames and hooked them over his ears. His face was still pale, but not the grayish hue it had been earlier.

“Thirsty?” Severus asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Severus poured a cup of water for him and then helped him sit up. “Sip it slowly,” he told the boy.

Potter took several sips before he said, “I'm in the Infirmary, sir?”

“Yes,” Severus said slowly and let the boy finish his water. After he took the cup and placed it on the side table, he said, “And now, perhaps you can tell me what transpired this evening to cause such an uproar on your behalf.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“How did you manage to carve open your chest and bleed out half your blood?”

Potter’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, sir.”

“You have no idea how—”

“Severus!” Poppy was at the boy’s bedside, hand on her hips and glaring. At him! “Do not badger my patient! If you can’t remain calm, you have no place in my Infirmary.”

Severus gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement. He knew she was right, but he needed to get to the bottom of this. To let Albus know what had truly transpired if nothing else. Severus had sent the Headmaster a quick message, right after they'd come to the Infirmary, but they would need more information about who was trying to kill the Savior of the Wizarding World, and soon. “Very well. Mr. Potter, if you would please tell me what you do know about this evening. Where, for instance, were you coming from at 2am?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean,” he continued quickly when he saw Severus’ expression, “I didn’t realize so much time had passed. I finished detention and then walked back to the common room, except I got lost, and then the Baron was there, and—”

“Wait,” Severus interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You saw the Bloody Baron?”

“Yes, sir, and then he flew through—”

“When was this?”

“Well, right after I realized I’d missed a turn. Just after nine, I think.”

Severus pursed his lips and considered. Peeves’ chants rang in his ears, and what had he said, about the Baron being sick? “Did he look different to you, Potter?”

“Different? I don’t know.” The boy twisted his hands together, and Poppy gave Severus a baleful look, so he tried to stop scowling. But it was very difficult. “I mean, I’d only seen him at the Welcome Feast before, so I’m not sure if he was different. But then he said some stuff and flew right through me into the wall.”

The Baron had flown through him? Is that how the wound had appeared? But Severus had never heard of any ghost ever having any physical affect on a living being, except to maybe make them feel cold. But if not that, then how had the Potter Brat gotten the wound? “And then?”

“And then I went back to the common room.”

“And nothing attacked you on the way?”

“No . . .”

Severus grabbed at the boy’s hesitation as if it were a Featherfall Charm while he was in the process of careening headfirst off a cliff. “But?”

“Well, after the Bloody Baron was gone, I felt really tired, and sore, like I’d been in a fight. But I couldn’t remember anything about it. And it felt like it took a long time to find my way back.”

Hmmm. Severus drew his wand and in one lazy motion determined that, yes, the boy had been Obliviated recently. “It seems, Mr. Potter, that your memories of the events of this evening have been tampered with.”

“Sorry, sir?”

Severus grimaced. “You were Obliviated." He clarified further, when the boy's look of confusion deepened. "Someone cast a spell upon you, erasing or otherwise rearranging your memories. I would guess erasing, as you seem to have nothing to replace the missing time. Obliviate is not an easy spell; it is not taught in regular curriculum.” The ramifications of that were apparent to Severus, but probably not to the boy.

“So, it wasn’t a student, then.”

Huh. Potter was brighter than he looked. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem all that upset -- or surprised -- that he’d been the target of a fairly nasty spell. Maybe he was still riding a dopamine high. “It’s highly unlikely.”

“But who would do that?”

“That is the question of the hour,” Severus said. "The second being, why didn’t you keep your appointment with Madam Pomfrey?”

The boy’s mouth gaped open like a fish. “I, er . . .”

“She was very explicit in her instructions. I thought we were all quite clear that you were to check in with her today . . . or rather, yesterday afternoon. I believe, as well, that you and I have had a multitude of discussions on your inability to follow directions. Do we need to have yet another?”

Potter hung his head. “No, sir. ‘M’sorry.”

Severus watched him for a long moment, the twisting hands, the anxiety and shame writ large in his eyes, and he sighed. “I . . . understand if you are unused to receiving medical treatment,” he said quietly. “You are accustomed to dealing with your own injuries, are you not?”

A head nod, and a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

“As I thought. Here, however, you come under my purview, and I am not in the habit of letting students in my House disregard their health or well-being. You will attend your check-ins with Madam Pomfrey in the future, is that clear? Else you and I will have many long and tedious words on the subject.”

“Yes, sir,” almost a whisper.

“Good.” He rose from his chair. “Get some rest. It is Saturday, and you have no reason to leave this bed unless Madam Pomfrey allows it.” He glanced in her direction, and she gave him a look that spoke volumes about the likelihood that Potter would be out of her clutches before the end of the weekend, never mind later today.

“Good night, Mr. Potter.”

“Good night, Professor,” the boy said, and leaned back heavily on his pillows, eyes closed already.

And so Severus went in search of the Bloody Baron, to get some answers from the old ghost. After two hours of searching and calling, however, he was unable to make contact with the ghost, and so, quite exhausted from the night's events, he made his way back to his quarters in rather a foul mood. He fell asleep almost immediately and suffered dreams of violence and bloodshed, such as he had not in over ten years.