Whilst Harry Potter squeezed out enough bobotuber pus to fill twenty four-ounce bottles, Severus paid a visit to the Headmaster. He had been planning this visit ever since he had directed Potter to the Infirmary the first time, and he was annoyed that he actually had more evidence now to lay at the feet of Dumbledore than less. What had the Headmaster been thinking to leave Potter with Muggles? Especially those Muggles? Minerva had said, more than once, that they were the worst sort. And now he knew exactly what she'd meant.

He had been sickened, really, by the callous disregard with which the Dursleys treated their nephew, the lengths they went to, to ensure he felt unwanted, and the outright viciousness that they let their own progeny get away with in regards to his cousin. The whole thing had made him faintly nauseous, and not only because he knew Lily would have been sick at heart about what had happened to her son.

It was with this sense of indignation on behalf of one of his students that he sat in Dumbledore's office and stared at the man over his folded hands.

"You visited the Dursleys today," Dumbledore said, after Severus had waved away his offer of tea or lemon drop or any other damned thing.

Severus was not even surprised at the Headmaster's knowledge. "I did. I found the circumstances of Mr. Potter's health at the start of term rather troubling, even for someone from a Muggle home, and I wished to find out what I could about those who raised him. It is my practice for all new Slytherins to make a home visit."

"I understand, Severus," Dumbledore said quite calmly. "There's no need to justify yourself."

Severus scowled. With what he had learned today, it was Dumbledore who would need to justify his actions. If he could. "Indeed. And I admit I am troubled by what I learned."

"Ah."

"Ah? That's what you have to say? Did you have any idea what those Muggles subjected him to?"

"He was safe there."

"Define ‘safe,'" Severus snarled.

Dumbledore peered at him over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, looking faintly disappointed in Severus' vehemence, but with the beginnings of a glazed expression that Severus knew too well, having seen it many times when they discussed similar problems his Slytherins had suffered in the past. "None of Voldemort's supporters have been able to breach the blood wards enacted on that property on the night after Lily's death. So long as Harry's aunt gives him hearth rights for a minimum of two weeks a year, every year, that will remain true."

"And meanwhile, the Muggles can beat him, starve him, and lock him in a cupboard, as they have for ten years! But that's all fine, isn't it, so long as he doesn't face a potential threat from the Dark Lord, such as the one he has already faced at school."

"Severus, I understand how-"

"You understand nothing!" Severus gripped the arms of the chair till his knuckles turned white. It was always this way, with Albus. He saw everything in the big picture, but never suffered qualms over the details of what his plans and machinations meant to others. Especially when the others were Slytherins. "Do you want another Dark Lord on your hands? You'll get one if you allow that abuse to continue without stepping in. How will he ever trust the Wizarding world, or not think the worst of the Muggles, if all he knows from both is pain and misery?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his continued calm like a stabbing pain in Severus' side. "I certainly do not believe it will come to that. I know you have been looking out for the boy since he came to Hogwarts, and from all reports, he is fitting in well with his classmates-"

"And he has almost died twice already!"

"Once by his own hand, of course."

"Of course." Severus wasn't sure, exactly, why he had bothered coming here. It was obvious he was going to need to see to this situation on his own. Potter, having committed the cardinal sin of being sorted in Slytherin, was beneath the Headmaster's notice.

He swallowed thickly. "I captured some of their memories. Would you like to see what they have done to your Golden Boy?"

Dumbledore waved a hand as if batting away a fly. "That will not be necessary. You will keep a good eye on him, I'm sure. I know how protective you are of your snakes."

Severus gave him a thin smile and rose. This meeting was done, so far as he was concerned. "Very well. Good evening, Headmaster."

"Good evening, Severus."

Rather than look in on the boy - and the Baron, too, no doubt - Severus retreated to the comfort of his quarters and a brand new bottle of firewhiskey. He cracked the seal on the bottle, thinking uncharitable thoughts about the Headmaster, who he had counted as a friend for more than a decade. And more than a friend, a mentor, a guiding hand . . .

Yet, Severus knew that Albus' ambivalence about Potter's plight was nothing new. Albus had, for many years, shunted to the side those issues he did not want to face, as though, if he ignored them, they would simply go away. Often times, for instance, it was the hard cases that ended up in Slytherin, for one reason or another. Those children who had managed to get through their first eleven years with less than the requisite amount of love or caring, or existed on more than their fair share of violence, often found companionship and loyalty among their peers in the House of the Snake. Severus' first rule, laid down on First Night for years now, ensured that.

And Albus, whatever rationale he used to delude himself behind those bright blue eyes, just turned his back in essence. Oh he said he did not wish to interfere in House issues, or get in the way where Severus was obviously far more skilled and already involved, but the truth was, he just did not want to acknowledge the problems so many of these children faced at home, because they were Slytherin problems.

Severus knocked back two fingers of the burning liquid, and poured another glass before he sank in front of the fire and watched the flames flicker and cast orange shadows in his rooms. He had hoped, despite all evidence to the contrary, that Albus would change his stance for Potter. But it was not to be.

Very well, then. As Albus was leaving the boy completely in Severus' hands, then Severus would take him up on the offer of autonomy. Completely.

---

The next night was Thursday, and after a perfectly horrid day of classes in which no fewer than three cauldrons exploded and a dozen detentions were awarded, Severus, ostensibly grading papers, waited impatiently in his office for the Potter Brat to arrive. Funny how, until this moment, when the Brat was more than a quarter hour late for his last night of official detention, Severus had gone a full twenty-four hours or more without thinking of him as The Brat.

Shaking off the fit of sentimentality, as it would do neither of them any good, Severus made numerous more red marks on the essay in front of him and wondered where in blue blazes the boy was now. Had he gotten into another literally bloody mess from which he would require rescue and copious amounts of healing? Perhaps he was suffering a fit of pique after Severus' foray into his mind several nights ago? Or maybe he decided he was too good for detentions after all, blowing off the punishment just like his father would have?

Severus had to admit, the last seemed unlikely, as Potter had, thus far, shown remarkable adherence to the detention schedule until now. It was likewise unlikely the Brat had forgotten the session altogether . . . although, it was possible he had assumed he was finished with them now, since he'd been given a week's detention, starting last Thursday, and thus he would have been done last night, Wednesday. But they had discussed the fact of his having missed Saturday, due to his being indisposed, had they not?

Regardless, Severus expected him to be here, and had even set out a crate of dead toads for him to section and remove the organs from, and he was not one who enjoyed being kept waiting.

When it reached half past seven, Severus decided, in lieu of becoming increasingly frustrated, that perhaps the Baron could clarify the matter, and so he called for the ghost to pay him a visit, if he was willing.

It was another few minutes before the Bloody Baron drifted through the wall into his office and hovered by the door. "You rang?"

Severus looked up from his marking, as he would not have for a student, and scowled. "Where is the Potter boy?"

"I should know because . . ."

"Because you saw him last. Did he say anything to you about tonight?"

"Perhaps."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Don't you play games with me," Severus snarled. "What did the boy tell you?"

"Are you worried about him?"

Severus was on his feet, giving the ghost his best menacing glare. "Shouldn't I be? The boy was nearly killed in this dungeon. If I hadn't got to him in time-"

"But you did. And yes, he said many things to me last night. Most notable was a translation of the Parseltongue from the night of the attack."

That halted Severus, briefly. He relaxed his stance somewhat. "What was it then?"

The ghost smirked at him. "Do you want to know that, or what he told me about this evening?"

"Oh, for goodness sake. Just give me the damned translation."

"Language, Severus Snape. You're sounding just like a school boy I know."

Severus sneered. "Would it help if I said please?"

"It might at that." The Bloody Baron smiled, showing teeth. "In between bouts of angst and anger over your treatment of him the night before last, the boy translated the Parseltongue thusly: ‘There has to be an end to it, an end to this half life,' and, 'I did not return to be disobeyed by a lesser servant,' and, 'You are weak, too weak; I need another to sustain me. Bring me his blood.' Apparently he said other things as well, but Harry Potter claims they were variations of the same."

Severus nodded, a small sigh escaping him as he sat down again. Whoever attacked the boy wanted his blood. And the ‘having returned' part was especially troubling, although if he were to be perfectly honest, he already knew who the Parselmouth was, and he knew who it was that had returned. He just . . . didn't want to. He really didn't. It had been ten good years since the Dark Lord's last stand. Ten long, fulfilling and almost-entirely-free-from-Death Eaters years.

He was going to miss it.

Despite that, he wasn't going to let the Dark Lord take another of his Slytherins away from him, not by recruitment, and especially not by death. So . . . "Yes, I am worried about him." He ran a hand over his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose before gazing up at the Baron again. "Will you tell me where he is?"

The Bloody Baron's eyes narrowed, and he considered Severus for a long moment before he nodded. "I believe the first Slytherin Quidditch practice is this evening. By your own words, he was to be the Seeker."

"Why, that little-"

"I tend to think," the Baron interrupted, as Severus made for the door, "that given your last interaction, yelling will not put you in good stead with the boy."

"He has yet to see me yell!" The door slammed against the wall.

"Indeed," the Baron agreed as he floated faster to keep up with Severus' long strides. "But calling him out in front of his peers will not endear you to him."

"I should care about that?"

"You should . . . but only if you want him to trust you with his secrets."

Once more brought up short by the Baron's words, Severus halted in his tracks. Still fuming, he clenched his hands into fists several times before he was calm enough to speak without shouting. But what the Baron said made sense, Slytherin sense, if nothing else. And Severus was self-aware enough that he could recognize the root of much of his wrath was pure relief that the boy was not bleeding in a corner somewhere, beyond help. That he had worried for nothing.

"What's this about secrets? You know something else, don't you?" he asked the ghost, once his anger was under control.

"I know very little, actually," the ghost said, and if he had corporeal form, Severus might have hexed him for his droll response. "Except this: the boy's scar was inflamed last evening, looking as though it was newly cut."

"Did he say why?"

For some reason, this amused the Bloody Baron, who chuckled softly before saying, "No, he did not."

"He was a little snot about it, wasn't he." It wasn't a question, and the Baron did not reply, but Severus could just imagine the conversation about the scar, given how much trouble the boy had been over just going to the Infirmary. Severus sighed, thinking about the night he had startled the boy in his bed and seen the inflamed scar after the boy had suffered nightmares, and he adjusted his steps to bring him to the Slytherin Common Room instead. "Very well. But for this infraction, he will need to make up not only tonight's detention, but may be awarded many, many more."

He would leave a note to that effect where the boy would be sure to find it. And this way, with many of the Brat's evenings accounted for, Severus could not only keep a close eye on him and his connection to the Dark Lord, but also make sure he was both well protected and that his penchant for rules breaking was thwarted.

The Baron gave him a sly sidelong look. "Of course, Severus Snape, this will put you in his company far more often."

"A regrettable side effect," Severus sighed. Very regrettable indeed.