Severus nodded, though he was certain the boy was lying. Well. There would be time enough to learn why exactly. "Detention tonight at seven, Potter. For lack of regulation pajamas."

At a minute before seven, a knock sounded on Severus' office door. He called, "Enter," and from the corner of his eye, watched the Potter Brat sidle in with a blank expression, the same one he'd worn at breakfast and dinner, the only times Severus had seen him during the day. The expression had Severus curious, if only because he was sure it was masking other, probably far more annoying, feelings. He used that same expression himself and knew what it was for.

Without looking up from his grading, he put as much coldness as he could into his voice and said, "Cutting it a little close, weren't you?" just to see how the Brat would react.

The boy's expression did not change, though Severus was sure he caught a flicker of something -- resignation? Rebellion? -- in his eyes. It was hard to tell without looking at him full on. Even so, he was surprised by the Brat's next words. "Yes, sir. Sorry."

Pointing his quill at a chair in front of his desk, Severus said, "Sit," and was equally startled when Brat Who Kept Surprising Him obeyed without question, merely clasping his hands together in his lap and sitting with his head down, shoulders hunched, almost perfectly still. Too still, really, for an eleven year old. Severus was used to fidgeters, and knee bouncers and shoe scrapers of all kinds. He wasn't used to children who sat still, especially without being told to do so.

When he felt he'd given the boy enough time to fret, Severus put down his quill, capped his ink bottle and looked up. He'd known the boy had kept his own gaze on his hands, but it was quite another thing to see the bowed head in front of him. What the hell was going on here?

Where were the arrogance and snide remarks? Where was that Gryffindor bravado? He'd assumed the Brat would still possess it, even if he wasn't sorted into his father's House. Was the boy a coward, then? Was that why he'd been sorted into Slytherin? He shook his head. Such ruminations were getting him nowhere.

A note from Madam Pomfrey sat to one side on his desk, and Severus tapped it lightly with his index finger, considering its ramifications. As she always did when one of his Snakes came to see her, she'd alerted him to the child's ailment and advised him of her subsequent treatment and any necessary aftercare. She also mentioned that she'd observed some odd behavior from the boy, and that he was too skinny by far for his height, which was also under par for his age. In the process of checking his scar for infection, she had slipped in a few other diagnostic spells, and thus determined that Potter was malnourished and dehydrated, and that the prescription for his glasses was not correct. She was almost positive that more comprehensive scans would reveal further abuses of the boy's body, but she was not "allowed" to do any more without permission from either his guardians or his Head of House.

She finished her note with a warning -- either Severus would deal with Potter's condition and give her the permission she wanted, or she would go directly to the Headmaster with her findings and request permission for the full medical work up from him. The warning irritated Severus more than anything else, and if he admitted that he had them, it would probably have hurt his feelings. Slytherin House attracted more than its fair share of students from less than ideal homes, and he had always been first on the spot to make sure each of them would return to a situation, for winter or summer hols, where at least they were not deliberately injured, and their basic needs were met. Never in the past had he neglected to do what was right by his Snakes, and the implication that he would fail in his duty to Potter was insulting.

And yet, Poppy knew him better than almost anyone else, had known him when he was a student, and she knew his history with the elder Potter and his Marauders, having seen him for treatment often during those years. She was one of only a handful of people -- all right, one of only two people -- whose opinion he trusted. If she saw some reason to question his ability or desire to rectify Potter's situation . . . Well.

Since Severus never appreciated the Headmaster meddling with his Snakes, and since no matter his feelings toward the boy, Potter was a Slytherin and thus he had a duty towards him, it was a foregone conclusion what he would do. The question was . . . how? How was he going to address this situation, when it was all he could do to look at the boy and not want to chuck him out of his office?

Why did the Brat Whose Very Existence Tormented Him have to look so much like James?

"You went to the infirmary," he said at last.

The boy did not look up. "Yes, sir."

"And?" Though his Snakes were usually more reticent than most, thus ensuring he had plenty of experience in the art of dragging answers from the reluctant, he still detested the practice, and annoyance sharpened his voice.

The boy flinched slightly at his tone. Not much, not enough for most to see, but Severus caught it, and filed the reaction away for further reflection. "Madam Pomfrey said the scar's not infected, sir. She gave me a salve for it."

"Let me see it."

Potter's head came up, finally, and he brushed back the hair from his scar with a rather odd expression.

Severus sneered. Really, did Potter think Severus was a member of his fan club? "Not the scar, I know what that looks like. The salve."

Cheeks and ears reddened as the boy rummaged in his book bag and handed over a blue jar. Severus pulled off the lid and sniffed the contents, just to make sure of what it contained, before nodding and returning it. Topical analgesic and anti-inflammatory. He'd made it himself over the summer. "Very well. See that you use it as prescribed."

"Yes, sir."

Suppressing a sigh, Severus watched the boy a few minutes more, after Potter's gaze returned to the floor. What was he going to do? He had to admit, finally, that the boy's behavior troubled him, too. But without details of the life Potter had had before, he couldn't really know anything, and he much preferred to work from a position of strength when questioning his newest Snakes. The owl sent to Potter's aunt and uncle in Surrey, to arrange a home visit, had not yet returned, and was the only one still outstanding. This fact caused him some concern; even if the Dursleys were taking their own sweet time to reply, the owl should have returned by now. He would send a follow up tomorrow, if he still had not received a response.

Moving another sheet of parchment in front of him, Severus now debated giving it to the boy. If Poppy's suspicions were correct, it might do more harm than good. But if not, if the boy had merely neglected his own health by not eating properly, then the list should just serve to remind him that here he was not a pampered prince. And, naturally, Severus doggedly clung to his own rationale over Poppy's. For once thing, it made more sense. Surely Albus would have made sure the Hero of the Wizarding World was well kept.

Once decided, Severus said in an even tone, "I have an additional list of rules for you. Your behavior at meal times has not gone unnoticed, even by those of other Houses. I require all Slytherins to maintain proper decorum, especially when in such a milieu." And then he waited.

There was quite a long pause before Potter lifted his head. His jaw was set in a determined line that Severus had to admire. "Yes, sir. Prefect Flint mentioned the problem to me earlier."

"Good. See that you incorporate these rules, effective immediately." Severus handed over the parchment, though he nearly took it back when he saw how badly the boy's hand was shaking.

"Yes, sir."

Still trying to provoke a response, Severus curled his lip slightly. "You have not read them as yet, Potter. Do so now, that I may answer any questions you have."

He watched as the boy read over the list. Miss Torrance's script was easy to decipher, but Severus had detected Mr. Flint's more proletarian efforts in there as well. The items included such rules as "Don't grab food off of platters, use the spoons and forks provided," and "Chew with your mouth closed, as watching partly digested food swishing around inside your gob is disgusting," and "Don't wipe your mouth on your sleeve or any other part of your robes." Potter's face paled as he read through the list, then reddened once more, and his hands were shaking even harder when he had finished.

Expecting an explosion of some kind from James' son, Severus maintained his quiet tone and said, "Do I need to explain any of these rules to you, Potter?"

The boy squeezed his eyes shut as his face slowly adopted that blank mask. Severus waited, fascinated, until the boy had gathered his emotions well in hand and viciously suppressed them before he finally caught his eye. The despair and shame in the depths of those green eyes told him more than he wanted to know about how right Poppy's suspicions probably were. But he was amazed, yet again, when the boy spoke distinctly, with no hint of the pain lurking just below the surface. "No, sir. They are quite clear."

Severus held Potter's gaze for a long moment and had to fight to keep from sating his curiosity and Legilimizing the boy on the spot. It would do neither of them any good at this juncture. But he would get the boy's story one way or another. There was more than one way to skin a Kneazle. Finally, he gave Potter a tiny nod. "Very well. Dismissed."

Gathering his things quickly, Potter fled his presence, and Severus could scarcely blame him. It was well past midnight before he returned to his quarters, and he could not remember much from the essays he'd graded . . . which was probably just as well.

No alarms went off that night, thank Merlin -- he would not have been responsible for his temper if they had -- and he woke more refreshed than he'd been since before September 1st. During breakfast, he watched as Potter meticulously and scrupulously followed the new rules, but the boy held himself rather more rigidly than he had at previous meals. Next to him, young Malfoy kept giving him odd looks as he single handedly carried the weight of conversation between them, and Severus did not miss the frankly appraising looks from Nott.

As the owl post arrived, Severus watched the Brat receive his most recent missive. Potter read the order to present himself to Madam Pomfrey for a full work-up and paled, then tucked the parchment into his pocket. Unlike yesterday, he did not immediately leave for the Infirmary, instead pouring himself more juice. Just as well, if he was as dehydrated as Poppy claimed. But when he stayed through the rest of the meal, waiting until his year mates were done so they could go to their first class together, Severus scowled. Why had the Brat chosen now to cease being obedient?

Still aggravated hours later, when he heard from Poppy that Potter had not yet returned to see her, Severus sent another note at lunch time, assigning the boy yet another detention for that night. At this rate, he would have the Brat every night for the whole term! The very idea made him ill.

At the Slytherin table, the Brat clutched the newest note in a white knuckled hand, and turned a scorching glare on the Head Table, specifically on Severus. Some backbone, at last! But Severus merely lifted his eyebrows in response.

Potter's eyes narrowed, and he flicked a glance down the table, toward the Headmaster, or maybe Hagrid, and suddenly clutched at his scar as the color drained from his face. Frowning deeply, Severus observed the boy as both Malfoy and Nott leaned in solicitously and the Brat waved them off. The pain must have faded quickly, for a moment later, Potter had removed his hand and flushed with embarrassment -- likely for making a spectacle of himself again -- and gone back to his meal, though he merely poked at his food instead of actually eating anything more.

Suppressing a sigh, Severus ignored the stuttering Professor Quirrell beside him and swept from the Great Hall. Before his next class arrived, he sent a second letter to the Dursleys and jotted a few notes in the files he kept on each of his students. The rest of the day passed more quickly than he would have liked, given what he had facing him after dinner, though his first seventh year NEWT class took some of the edge off.

When Potter arrived, promptly as always, he let the boy sit and fret in front of him again, while he finished marking the last of his summer assignments.

When he put his quill down, he observed the boy for another minute, taking in the mulish expression, and the tightness of the narrow shoulders. "Have you been to the Infirmary, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," came the response, a bit sullen in his estimation.

"Today?"

The boy's head came up and there was no doubt of the insubordination flaring in those green eyes. "No, sir."

Right. Severus stood. "Then we shall make the trip now. Let's go."

Eyes widening, Potter made no move to rise, but slid as far away as he could while still remaining on the chair. "No, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"I . . . I said, no, sir. I don't need a, what you call it, a work up? I'm fine. Really."

"Potter." Severus set his expression in stone. "Get up this instant; I will not brook your insolence. As your Head of House, I will decide how you serve your detentions, and this time, it will be in the Infirmary." He paused and then continued in his silkiest tone, the one that sent even some of his colleagues into paroxysms of fear. "Don't make me drag you through the halls."

The boy swallowed, and glanced at the door as if weighing his options. They were, admittedly, few. Under the pretense of moving things along, Severus took a step towards him, lifting a hand as if to grab his collar, and the boy jumped from his seat. Potter's hands went up as if in supplication and he sprinted for the door. "All right, all right. I'm sorry . . ."

Severus followed him out, ready to grab him if the boy made a break for it, and they made their way to Pomfrey's domain.