Summers always were Albus Dumbledore’s least favourite time of year. The castle was barren, there were no laughing children filling its halls, and paperwork could be found on every flat surface possible.

So when the Sorting Hat jumped from its position behind the Headmaster’s desk to the top of the man’s head, Albus sighed in relief at the distraction from timetables and registries.

Albus chuckled. ‘Indeed it has. Have you any pressing concerns for me, or perhaps you are simply in the mood for a nice chat this year?’

‘Pressing matters,’ the Hat said seriously. ‘Five years ago, I wrongly sorted three students. This fall, they need to be properly placed. The fate of our world may depend on it.’

Albus blinked. Of all the things he and the Sorting Hat had discussed over the years, a wrongly sorted student was never one of them. ‘If I may ask, why were these students wrongly sorted?’

The Hat made a movement that Albus equated with a shrug. ‘It was where they needed to be at the time.’

‘And now…?’

‘You understand.'

Albus sighed. ‘May I so inquire who these students are?

The Hat nodded. Or at least bobbed its tip in a way that one could perceive as a nod. ‘Mr. Neville Longbottom, Miss Hermione Granger, Miss Ginevra Weasley, and Mr. Harry Potter.’

‘Four? I believe you said three students were wrongly sorted?’

The Sorting Hat chuckled. ‘Three students from five years ago, Albus…. However, as Miss Weasley will join her peers in their sixth year this term, you see my dilemma?’

‘I believe I do,’ Albus said with a light chuckle. ‘I’m not quite so senile to ask your reasons, but I can’t help but wonder where these students will be sorted now.’

‘Good try, old man. You’ll just have to wait and find out at the Feast, as I tell you every year….’

Albus sighed, shaking his head. ‘Indeed, you do.’

‘You should inform your tall, scowling one that the year will be a trying one. Especially for him.’

A loud, hearty chuckled escaped the Headmaster’s lips. ‘I will be sure to inform Severus of your predictions. I’m certain he will wish to brew extra Headache Potions.’

‘If you say so. Until next year, Headmaster….’

-----

Summers always were Harry Potter’s least favourite time of year. Ever since he had been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, summers were the only time he ever had to return to the Dursleys. Stuck with your only living relatives while one taunted you, one starved you, and one beat you wasn’t much fun. At least they had never claimed to love him. He could handle the pain, no matter how bad it got, knowing that they never gave one damn about him, anyway.

No, the real pain only began after his fifth-year. After the disaster at the Ministry, Harry spent all but the last two weeks of his vacation at the Dursleys’ before he was finally whisked away to the Burrow. He couldn’t have been more thrilled to escape the Dursleys’ and be with a family who loved him when he was grieving so horribly over Sirius’ death. Even Percy had moved back home, and the family was in high spirits over his reconciliatory attitude. So when Molly Weasley found him crying late one night--or it may have been early morning, he wasn’t quite sure--he was relieved that someone who genuinely cared about him might be able to help consol his pain.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Oh, stop whinging,” the older woman sneered, scowling at him from the kitchen sink as she prepared a kettle for tea.

Harry looked up at her with wide-eyes. “Excuse me, Mrs. Weasley?”

The robust woman turned on him with such anger in her eyes that it made Harry back up, nearly tumbling from his chair.

“You heard me, you little snot!” she snapped. “Haven’t I given you all you’ve asked for these past years?! And yet you still found it in you to put my children in danger, not to mention murdering Sirius?!”

Harry felt his heart stop. Murdering Sirius…. That was what he’d done, wasn’t it? It was his biggest fear being confirmed by the woman he regarded as something like a mother and it hurt. It hurt because he knew it was true. No one could deny that it was his fault that Sirius had died.

“Mrs. Weasley,” he whispered, nearly begging. “I’m so sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to kill him. Please, forgive me!”

He sobbed, falling onto the hard wood floor of the Burrow kitchen. Mrs. Weasley stood over him, pot of tea in hand and her face contorted with rage.

“You’re sorry?! I’ll show you sorry, you dirty whelp!”

The next thing Harry knew was pain, lots of pain. He felt as if his very skin was melting from his bones, until he looked down, and realised it was. Or, almost was, for the angry red burns that were popping up all over his skin as Mrs. Weasley poured the boiling tea water all over him.

He screamed. Only it wasn’t the kind of scream you could hear for miles and miles, it was the kind of scream he had perfected at the hands at Vernon Dursley. It was the scream for when the pain was so complete, so soul-consuming that you couldn’t make a sound, wouldn’t, because screaming and crying only made it worse. So he screamed on the inside, where the only one to hear his pleas was the one person who thought he deserved the pain in the first place: himself.

Just before he passed out, one fleeting thought crossed his mind.

----

The Sorting took longer than ever that year. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because of the sheer energy it was taking to keep a straight face. Harry Potter was digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands, he was sure he had drawn blood by now, but he needed something, anything to take away from the white-hot pain of sitting on a hard wooden bench when one’s skin was seared.

The summer at the Burrow had been downhill from the moment it began. Mrs. Weasley punished Harry every evening without fail, and every evening, Harry cowed at the rage in his once-surrogate mother’s eyes, all the while knowing that he deserved worse, much worse.

He’d begun to pull more and more into himself by the day. The rest of the Weasleys assumed he was struggling with the grief of Sirius’ death. And he was. To Harry, however, the worst part was the hugs. Whenever Harry was looking particularly pale or upset, Mrs. Weasley would hug him, all the while whispering sweet nothings in his ear about how things would get better and how he shouldn’t be upset.

So as large platters of food appeared on the table, Harry sighed in relief, grateful for the distraction and an end to the silence of the Sorting that forced him to remain still. Eating as much as his queasy stomach could handle, Harry set down his utensils, waiting quietly for the end of the feast so he could sneak up to his dorm and apply some Burn Salve to his legs. Of course, he’d apply only the slightest amount, so he could sit without drawing attention, but not enough to take away the pain. The pain was his punishment; he didn’t deserve to have it disappear.

“Before I dismiss you all, I would like to request that the 6th year students remain behind,” the Headmaster instructed, ignoring the confused glances and whispers that followed his announcement. “Once again, the Forbidden Forest and all Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes are banned. First years, please follow the Prefects. Dismissed.”

Harry let out a groan, digging his fingernails deeper into his palms as he stood, following an equally confused Hermione and Ron to the front of the Hall.

“Ginny!” Ron called out, as the redheaded girl made her way forward with the sixth-years. “Oi! You’re not a sixth-year, what are you doing here?”

Ginny smirked at him. “Oh, yes I am, dear brother. Just you wait and see.”

Ron looked to his friend questioningly and Harry simply shrugged. Ginny had only been at the Burrow the last week of the summer holiday. From what he had heard, Dumbledore had sent her to something akin to a summer camp. But then again, he might have had it all wrong. He hadn’t exactly had his mind on camping at the time….

“Now, I know most of you are eager to return to your dorms and catch up,” Albus began, his eyes sparkling madly at the class that had caused so much ruckus during their time at Hogwarts. “However, the Sorting Hat has presented us with a problem. It appears that four of you have been intentionally sorted in the wrong house, and the Sorting Hat feels it is imperative to correct this mistake now.”

Cries of disbelief and confusion spread through the group of students. Harry felt his stomach sink. The hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin… now it was actually going to do it.

“Now, now,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The Hat indeed has the power to do this, and not to follow its advice in such a manner would be imprudent, to say the least. As it is, I must ask Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter to please come forward.

How Harry made it to where the Headmaster was standing, he didn’t know. His mind had gone numb from the moment Dumbledore had explained why they were being held behind. He was switching Houses… to Slytherin, of all places. Snape was going to be his Head of House. Harry’s only consolation was that he may be able to provoke the Potions Master into aiding his punishment. After all, he couldn’t see the man denying a chance to hit the famous Boy Who Lived…. ‘Yeah, lived to kill others,’ Harry thought, sure now that his fingers were going to split his hands in two.

“As you may have noticed,” Dumbledore continued, ignorant to the ranting and confusion coming from his students. “Miss Weasley has been moved ahead, and will now be joining the sixth-year curriculum, thanks to an extensive tutoring program she engaged in this summer, allowing her to take her OWLs several weeks ago.”

“WHAT?!” Ron bellowed. Harry glanced between the Headmaster and Ginny, wondering why she had been enrolled in a tutoring program in the first place. Well, at least she’d be able to protect herself around him. The less people he could hurt, the better.

“You may ask your sister to explain in detail later, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall snipped at the boy from where she stood behind the Headmaster with the other Heads of House.

“Indeed,” said the Headmaster jovially, “for now is the time to find out where the four of you truly belong!” He turned his smiling eyes on Harry and the three others. Harry discovered he couldn’t quite find the same joy out of watching those eyes twinkle anymore.

“Mr. Longbottom, if you will,” McGongall called, lifting the Hat so she could place it on the boy’s head.

The Hat appeared to have a small discussion with the boy, before yelling “Hufflepuff!” across the mostly empty Hall. In a similar fashion, Hermione found herself sorted into Ravenclaw, and Ginny, into Slytherin. That surprised Harry most of all, but couldn’t find the energy to really care. Professor McGonagall called his name and Harry methodically made his way forward, sitting on the stool and waiting for his fate to worsen.

Harry closed his eyes slowly, wishing the floor would engulf him in the silence that followed the pronouncement. Harry avoided his friend’s gazes as he stepped toward the Headmaster, watching the reflection of the ceiling on the tiled floors as his Gryffindor robes and tie were spelled into their Slytherin counterparts.

“Well, Potter, this is an interesting development, indeed,” Malfoy said smugly, eyeing the boy with a new appreciation in his eyes.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry replied, but his voice held no heat. It was dead, lifeless, just like Sirius, and he would find a way to atone for that, too.

Without so much as a goodbye from Ron and Hermione, Harry found himself being led down to the Slytherin common room and right before the last person he wanted to see: Professor Snape.

The man crossed his arms with a scowl, eyeing the two for several minutes, during which the entire common room was silent.

“Perhaps the Hat was right,” he muttered. “This year will be trying, indeed.”

Harry tried to scowl, but when pain shot through his cheek, he settled back into the neutral expression he’d adorned all summer.

“Well, as shocking as it is to have the two of you in my House,” Snape began, managing to only sneer slightly as he flicked his gaze over Harry, “I expect this evening will dissuade many notions you have previously held about the House of Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry very much doubted that, but he wasn’t in the mood to say anything to that effect.

“As I instructed the Prefects to inform the first years of the House rules, I will request that the both of you come to my office,” Snape said, nodding to Harry and Ginny. “The rest of you are dismissed. I expect you all to be in bed by ten o’clock. You know how to contact me if I am needed. Thank you.”

He turned back again to Harry and Ginny. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, follow me.”

Ginny nodded, quickly following the man out of the common room and down a series of dungeon corridors. Harry followed numbly behind, shocked by the behaviour he had seen in only the five minutes he had been present in the Slytherin common room.

First, when Professor Snape spoke, the students listened. Not the sort of half-hearted listening students did in classes, but watching and listening to him intently, as if every word was the most important thing they had ever heard. And they were organized. The thing that surprised Harry most, however, was Snape.

The man hadn’t started with some scathing comment about Harry’s ineptitudes or fame. He hadn’t sneered, well, not all that much. And he had enforced a bedtime. In Gryffindor tower, it was not uncommon for students to be up well into the early hours of the morning working on assignments or simply chatting with friends. Ten o’clock? Harry didn’t think he’d been to bed by ten o’clock since he was a toddler.

---

Severus Snape’s mind was reeling as he led the pair of students down the winding corridor that led to his office. In truth, there was a direct hallway from the Slytherin common room to his office, but the walk would give him proper time to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t everyday at a resorting took place. It also wasn’t everyday that Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter were sorted into Slytherin.

Dismantling the wards on his office door, Severus entered, ushering the two inside.

“Please, sit,” he said, motioning to two chairs in front of his desk.

He watched as Miss Weasley looked up expectantly, with eyes filled with more mystery than any other discernable emotion. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, was completely closed off, his face so empty that he could have been more successful determining the boy’s emotions from a rock. He watch as the boy took a seat in the large high-backed chair, starring at his hands as he tried to slowly unclench them, rubbing his palms after freeing his fingernails from the flesh.

Severus diverted his gaze from the boy, wondering just what he had gotten himself into this term. Potter was the Boy Who Lived, pampered and brought up like a prince. Even with the loss of his godmutt, it was unexplainable to Severus Snape why the boy would end up in Slytherin House of all place.

Severus eyed the pair speculatively, a tiny seed of doubt planting itself for the first time that perhaps Albus had been right. No, there was no way that Harry Potter belonged in his House, no way that his childhood was anything less than perfect. Clearing his head, Severus leaned back in his chair, deciding exactly how to approach the coming conversation.

“I must admit that I’m surprised at finding the pair of you in my House, despite the rarity of a resorting,” he said simply. “You see, Slytherin is not only the House famous for producing dark wizards. Slytherin is the House of broken children, as well; home to those whom have suffered trying childhoods and have seen depravity beyond what a child should ever witness. I find myself at a loss as to why either of you have been resorted here.”

Well, sometimes the direct approach was the best, he’d decided. He felt something inside him clench as he watched the Weasley girl pale and Potter’s hands once again form the piercing fists that were drawing blood from his palms. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. He’d seen students do that before, although it was usually the precursor to self-injury. Surely Potter had no reason to feel that degree of self-loathing?

“S-Sir?” Miss Weasley asked, and Severus could hear the trepidation in her voice. “Perhaps we were resorted here for a different reason? I mean, surely not all Slytherins have a background of child a-abuse.”

The stutter was not lost on Severus. Being a spy had made him especially sensitive to the changes in voice and body language that revealed the truth behind one’s statement.

“You are correct, Miss Weasley,” he said slowly, eyeing the girl for any other signs that she could be hiding something. “There are children in Slytherin House for other reasons, but they are very few and far between. It is a documented statistic in our world that one in four children is abused. Do you find it odd that there is a House in the school for such children?”

Severus watched as the girl visibly swallowed before shaking her head a little. Sighing to himself, Severus slowly began to resign himself to the fact that he had just acquired two new students in need of a lot of help. Whether or not they would admit it, the signs of child abuse were clearly written all over the pair of them. Although it was well hidden, someone with personal experience in hiding the effects of abuse and dealing it with year after year had no problem seeing what was right in front of him.

Potter. Oh, how he did not look forward to those discussions. Had Potter remained in Gryffindor or resorted into any other House, he would not have this dilemma. He had refused to admit that Potter had less than a perfect family life for years. As much as it pained him to say, he was going to have to admit to being wrong. He could only hope that Potter was one of the borderline students of his House, who had taken the greatest amount of emotional impact from the least abuse. At least then, he could perhaps save some face.

“I understand that you are probably less than comfortable with the proceedings tonight,” he said. “Unfortunately, there are several rules I must impart on you before I can allow you to return to the dorms.”

He watched as the two children looked at him warily, as if expecting to be tortured in their new common rooms. Had the pair not been sorted into his House, he would have taken joy at the sight. However….

“The first rule of Slytherin House, is that we protect our own,” Snape stated, regally announcing the unwritten laws that governed his House. “For example, Mr. Potter, I do not care how much you and Mr. Malfoy argue, or even hex each other down in the common room. However, the moment you step into the Hogwarts halls, you will watch over each other as if you have been best friends your entire lives. Is that in any way unclear?”

The boy’s lip had unmistakably curled up at the pronouncement, but he nodded his head in affirmation without protest. Potter’s behaviour was almost worrisome; it wasn’t like the boy to simply accept orders.

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly, meeting his teachers gaze for just a moment, causing Severus to freeze. Pain. There was a nearly unbearable amount of pain in Potter’s eyes, as if the boy were being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse right before him. Merlin preserve him, Severus Snape had a long night ahead of him, indeed. He would not offer the boy assistance while in the presence of Miss Weasley, he had more decorum than that, but he could hurry along the proceedings as much as possible.

“The second rule is that you are not to miss a single House meeting,” he continued. “They are held every Wednesday and Saturday, without fail. I will make rounds through the common room every evening, but you are required to be there for the mandated meetings. Failure to do so without just cause will result in a punishment.”

“What punishments, sir?” Potter asked, croaked, really, if Severus wanted to admit it. It was almost as if the boy’s voice held hope. Hope for what, exactly, was the problem.

“That brings me to the third rule, Mr. Potter,” he stated, motioning to the boy. “You will do everything in your power not to have points deducted from Slytherin, and I will never take them from you. Inner-House matters will be dealt with in the House, and have no bearing on the points counters. Punishments will be at my discretion, but much like any ordinary detention, with perhaps an exception to extraordinaire circumstances.”

For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed as if Potter had deflated a little. Severus furrowed his brow, now utterly confused with the boy before him. Miss Weasley was still watching him intently, as if trying to discern his ulterior motive. That was never a good sign. His experience was that those suspicious of ulterior motives had some kind of past with sexual abuse.

Severus let out a tiny sigh before continuing. “Otherwise, I’m sure either your Housemates or myself can clarify the intricacies of our House.” He turned to the Weasley girl. “Miss Weasley, I would like you to stop by my office tomorrow morning before your classes. The door next to the fireplace is a direct hallway to this room, and you should feel free to knock on the door to speak with me anytime. You will be rooming with Pansy Parkinson and Daphe Greengrass this term. You are excused to get settled.”

He watched as the redhead child nodded and said her thanks, before making her way from the office. Potter’s body visibly tensed as the door clicked shut once again, and Severus turned his tired eyes on the boy, knowing that the conversation was going to be a difficult one, indeed.

Setting a scowl on his face, Harry looked up at Snape, who sat gazing at him with cool assessment.

“Mr. Potter, if you would please accompany me,” the man said finally, standing and gesturing a hand toward his office door.

Sighing, Harry hoisted himself from the chair and followed the man out of the office, through the dungeons once again. Focusing his attention on his feet rather than direction or the pain coursing through his body, Harry took note of step after step, how his ankles flexed on the stairs, and the slight burn in his calves as they finally reached level ground again.

“We’re here, Potter.”

Harry looked up at the open door, seeing through into the neat interior of the hospital wing.

“What is this?” he asked the man, flicking accusing eyes on his new Head of House without making a move into the wing.

“Do not fight me on this,” Snape responded, his voice sounding weary to Harry’s ears. “Go into the hospital wing, Potter.”

Anxious eyes darted between the doorway and his teacher before Harry finally took a step into the hospital wing. He didn’t know what Snape wanted, but Harry was fully prepared to lie should either Snape or Pomfrey ask how he’s feeling. There was no way he would let either of them take away the pain that he so deserved.

“Who is it this term, Severus?” Pomfrey asked, bustling into the wing before looking up with wide eyes to see Harry and Snape. “Oh, Mr. Potter. Congratulations on your resorting.”

Harry nodded numbly, furrowing his brow at the question glance in the nurse’s eyes.

“I take it you want a full work-up, Severus?” Pomfrey asked Snape, who gave a curt nod in response. “Very well. Please sit on the bed, Mr. Potter. This will only take a moment.”

Harry self-consciously took a seat on the white-cotton covered bed, hanging his head to look at his clenched fists once again. Pomfrey set a sheet of parchment on the nearby table before setting a quill on its point. It reminded Harry vaguely of Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Notes Quill, only in a red and white stripped pattern, rather than the sickening acid green.

Waving her wand and muttering a series of incantations that Harry had never heard before, the quill began writing as a faint blue light left the nurse’s wand and swirled itself around Harry. The boy tensed, watching the light warily before it quickly disappeared.

“Okay, just another moment,” Pomfrey replied, setting another quill and parchment, handing the first one to Snape.

Harry didn’t watch this time as a purple light enveloped him. He kept his eyes strictly on Snape, who read the parchment with a neutral expression. What had been written on that sheet? Did Snape really think him stupid and had Pomfrey run some sort of mental check-up? Harry’s breath quickened at the thought that they would find any of his injuries, but he forced himself to calm and dismiss the idea. Snape didn’t care about him; he’d just as soon add to Harry’s injuries before attempt to have someone heal them. With that calming thought, Harry closed his eyes, wishing desperately that the was all a dream, and he’d wake up in the morning to Ron’s snoring in the Gryffindor dormitory.

“Oh, dear,” he heard Madame Pomfrey say on a sigh. “I’ll be back in a moment Severus.”

Cold hands covered his own clenching ones and Harry flinched. His eyes shot open to see Snape’s black ones starring at him and Harry pulled back, trying to get away from the intense gaze that was boring into him.

“Relax them, Potter,” the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle without the sneering tone as he rubbed at Harry’s fingers, coaxing them to unclench. Slowly, Harry let his hands relax, if only to pull them away from Snape’s.

A moment later, Pomfrey returned, her arms laden with several potions and jars of salve.

“Please remove your shirt, Mr. Potter,” the woman said, setting the potions on the nearby table.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked coldly, his spine straightening as his muscles tensed, ready to flee from the room.

“Please remove you shirt so we may heal your injuries, Mr. Potter,” the nurse repeated, her brown eyes looking at him compassionately as she spoke.

Harry drew his wand at pointed it between Pomfrey and Snape. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“Expelliarmus,” Snape incanted calmly, sending Harry’s wand flying across the room.

Harry opened his mouth to rage at his teacher, but couldn’t find the words. “I… I- you bastard!”

“Mr. Potter!” Pomfrey said, admonished, but Snape simply waved her off. The man stepped forward, coming to stand mere inches in front of Harry. Gritting his teeth, Harry scowled at the man, restraining the urge to reach out and strangle him.

“What exactly do you think those reports told me, Mr. Potter?” he whispered.

“I don’t know!” Harry yelled. “For all I care, they showed you’re just a greasy git!”

Not rising to the bait, Snape leaned even closer. “They’re wizarding medical reports, Potter. The first one shows any injuries you are currently suffering from. The second one reports all the injuries you’ve suffered in the past year. What do you think they tell me, Mr. Potter?”

“Not a damn thing,” Harry snarled at the man, feeling his eyes burn in his anger.

“I am not going to ask you to tell me how you acquired these injuries,” Snape continued, still whispering. “However, you will have them healed. Do not force me to seek the Headmaster’s assistance, Potter.”

Harry seethed. How dare Snape try to blackmail him?! “I don’t want your help and I don’t need to be healed!”

Snape grabbed his leg just above the knee, causing Harry to cry out in pain as the man pushed on his burned skin. His mouth was suddenly filled with a thick potion, and Harry growled as Snape let go of his leg to clamp a hand over his mouth, forcing Harry to swallow the liquid. Harry’s pain quickly faded away, but his eyes were now filled with tears of rage as he swung his arm, intent on dealing Snape any damage he could manage.

However, Snape must have been ready for that as he deftly caught Harry’s wrist, pinning it to his side with a calm look on his face. Harry felt a hot tear run its way down his cheek as he clenched his fists in Snape’s grip.

“I. Hate. You,” Harry bit out, panting so hard in his anger that he thought he could easily cast the Cruciatus Curse on Snape.

The man simply let out a sigh. “I know, Potter. I know.”

----

Not for the first time, Severus was grateful that Hogwarts employed Madame Pomfrey as their resident Healer. Very few Healers would sit by and let Severus handle his students as he did, but Poppy allowed him to do as he saw fit, knowing that year after year, his methods achieved positive results.

The results of Potter’s physical work-up had been startling to say the least. Severe burns to his back and legs, torn cartilage in his jaw, and several hairline fractures on his ribs were the boy’s most pressing concerns, not to mention the puncture wounds on his palms from the boy’s fingernails or the various scratches and bruises littering his body.

Despite the current injuries that would have left in boy in nearly unendurable pain, over the past year he had suffered four fractured bones, a contusion to his liver, and what had to be lash marks from some implement on his back.

So, while grabbing the boy where Severus knew that his skin was burned was not the most polite way of going about things, it enabled him to give the boy a Pain-Killing Potion strong enough to numb the pain and allow Potter to think clearly.

“Let me go,” Potter ground out, his eyes now closed as tears dried on his cheeks.

“Are you going to allow us to heal you, or will I be forced to restrain you again?” Severus asked, trying to sound stern without being harsh.

Potter hung his head. “Why does it matter? I don’t want to be healed. Leave me alone.”

Severus glared at him. “It matters because, while you may prefer to use your pain as some sort of self-inflicted punishment, it is not productive and I will not allow it.”

The boy looked up with wide eyes. “How do you know…?”

Severus unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up his robes on his right arm, baring pale skin marred by many silver scars running in straight and diagonal lines up his forearm. “You are not the first youth to believe that physical pain can detract from the emotional, Potter, self-inflicted or otherwise.”

Severus had half-expected Potter to take his orders stoically, as he had taken everything else that evening. However, the anger and rebellion, while quite unexpected, were a good sign. That ability to feel, even if only in anger, meant that he had not been broken.

“Now, will you remove your shirt and trousers and allow us to heal you, or do I have to seek out the Headmaster to obtain permission to restrain you?” he asked, wishing desperately that this had been any other year, where he would be sitting in his office having a nightcap, not trying to heal a reluctant Potter and having his every belief of the boy challenged to utmost degree.

“No!” Potter shouted, looking alarmed. “Please don’t get Dumbledore, please, just… don’t!”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Pomfrey corrected from where she stood behind the boy.

“Please remove your shirt and trousers, Po- Harry,” he tried, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. As if the boy’s first name had some miraculous effect, Potter nodded and slowly began removing his robe--Slytherin, Severus noted with a wry smirk--before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his trousers. Madame Pomfrey conjured a screen around them to ensure privacy and Severus cast a Warming Charm in response to the boy’s shivering as he sat on the bed in his pants.

“I’ll work on his jaw and ribs, you begin on his back, Severus,” the nurse said, handing him a jar of Burn Salve.

Nodding, Severus moved behind the boy only to hesitate for a moment in complete shock. Potter’s lower back was covered in blisters that appeared almost in deformed ribbons, the surrounding skin a bright red. Severus knew those kind of marks from his other charges, not to mention his own experiences. They were scald marks. What shocked Severus the most, however, were the large, sporadic, crisscrossing scars that covered nearly the entire expanse of the boy’s back. He nearly asked the boy how he’d hid them for the past five years, but knew that they would only draw the boy back into himself, most likely fleeing the hospital wing in the process.

“Poppy, do you happen to have any Scar Balm on hand?” he asked the Healer quietly. Moving to accept the jar, Severus saw Potter’s shoulders shake slightly before silent tears began coursing their way down his cheeks. He kept silent, allowing the boy to believe he couldn’t be seen if he so chose, moving back behind him to gently dab on the two potions onto the boy’s back.

Poppy left the room to fetch Bruise Paste for the boy as Severus started in on his legs.

“So, uh, how come you know about healing, sir?” Potter asked awkwardly. A quick glance upward showed Severus that the boy had stopped crying and was now looking for conversation to keep his mind from focusing on what was happening.

“Healing and potions go nearly hand-in-hand, Potter,” he replied, still focusing on a particularly nasty burn where he had grabbed the boy earlier, a tiny flicker of guilt passing through him. “If it requires a potion, I am qualified to heal it.”

“Oh,” the boy replied simply. “W-what do you need to become a Healer?”

Severus looked up again, quirking an eyebrow at the boy.

“Better Potions grades,” he replied sarcastically, letting a smirk grace his features as the boy blushed. Was becoming a Healer one of the boy’s ambitions? Last he knew, Potter was itching to be an Auror. Then again, the past few hours had begun to dissuade many of the notions he had previously held. Besides, ambitions were a sign that the boy wasn’t suicidal. Severus certainly wasn’t going to question a good thing.

Madame Pomfrey returned just as Severus finished dabbing the Burn Salve on Potter’s legs. She handed the boy several vials of potions, glaring at him slightly when the boy raised his nose in trepidation of the concoctions.

“Now drink up, Mr. Potter,” she instructed, handing him the first vial. “The first two will heal your bones and liver, and the last two include a Nutritive Potion and one to balance your electrolytes. You should apply the Bruise Paste upon waking, is that clear?”

Potter nodded before quickly downing each vial, wrinkling his face and scoffing in disgust, causing Severus to smirk at the boy.

“Now, I’m inclined to keep you here for the night, however,” she began, holding up a hand to cut off Potter’s protests, “I also acknowledge your need for a good night’s sleep. Therefore, I will allow you to return to your dormitory with the promise that you will come back for a check-up tomorrow. It is a Saturday, so you should have no problem finding time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied, looking down once again. Severus wasn’t sure if it was the need for attention that upset the boy, or the fact that the nurse had covered his possible means of excuses.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said sincerely, nodding at the boy before turning to Severus. “I’ll leave you to return him to the dormitories.”

The Hogwarts nurse left for her office, leaving Severus and Potter in the wing, standing in an awkward silence. The boy shivered, and Severus noticed that he was still sitting on the table in his shorts.

“Put your robes back on and we’ll head back, Potter,” he said, turning to give the boy privacy before removing the conjured screens when the boy was fully clad once again.

The pair walked in silence down to the Slytherin common room, giving Severus time to sort out his thoughts on the boy who lived to be the bane of his existence.

Severus sighed. He certainly could not deny the evidence of child abuse staring him in the face, but not for lack of trying. Albus had certainly told him on many occasions that Potter had not had a ‘fairy-tale childhood’ as the old man put it, but he had never once mentioned the extent of abuse that the boy must have suffered. Abuse always started off simply, getting worse the longer it had time to occur. Anyone with Potter’s injuries had to have been suffering for quite some time.

He wondered if the old man knew what was happening to his ‘saviour.’ Although his first instinct was to say that he would have done something, had he known, he also knew that it wouldn’t be the first time that Albus sacrificed someone for the greater good. His own life was a recurring testament to that fact.

Also, what had happened to the arrogant, cheeky child who had a penchant for talking back in class? Had the signs of abuse and obvious depression always been there for Severus to see, only choosing to turn a blind eye? Or had the boy managed to hide his troubles for the past five years, perhaps the death of Sirius Black eliciting the now-noticeable change in the boy’s demeanour?

He wanted to tell himself that the boy was simply too good at hiding his abuse, that know one ever could have realised until now. Unfortunately, Severus may be excellent at lying and misdirecting others, but he could never lie to himself. Now looking back on the situation with an open mind, he knew that he should have noticed the signs. The way that Potter clung to any adult who gave him positive attention, while outright rebelling against any who belittled him, the fact that the boy never received any mail from home and stayed at the castle over holiday, if not joining in on the Weasley celebrations. Sighing, Severus knew that he should have seen, should have stepped in where no one else dared to interfere.

Even if he still held no affection for the whelp, he would not abandon the boy to be mistreated any longer. Many people thought Severus Snape to be a cold, embittered man, and he was, but he was still a human, nonetheless, with emotions and empathy. He had vowed to save any child from the childhood he had and always upheld that oath in his term as Slytherin Head of House. He was not about to break that vow just because the child in question was Harry Potter. Perhaps Potter needed saving more than most….

“I… I don’t remember the password, sir,” the boy muttered, breaking Severus from his thoughts to realise that they had reached the common room entrance. Shaking his head to clear it, Severus took a quick minute to focus. He didn’t usually get lost in his thoughts like that, to do so could be deadly for him.

“The password is ‘Mongoose’,” Severus replied, watching as the portrait’s lock overturned to grant them entry.

“Don't mongeese eat snakes?” Potter asked with a confused grimace on his face.

“Indeed,” Severus said, scowling. “Albus’ idea of a joke.”

“Ah,” the boy replied simply, awkwardly shuffling his feet before the portrait.

Severus let out a long breath. “Potter, I understand this is a difficult situation for you to adjust to, as it will be for myself, as well. However, you are now a part of my House, and I will try my best to keep that in mind until we settle into a more cordial agreement. I believe this will be a trying year for each of us. You will be rooming with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Perhaps not your choice roommates, but I believe it to be a good situation nonetheless.”

“Thank you, sir,” Potter whispered, obviously unhappy with the news as he stepped forward toward the doorway.

“Oh, and Potter,” Severus called, stopping the boy who turned around to glance at him. “As I told Miss Weasley, you can contact me anytime through the door next to the fireplace. Do not hesitate if you require my assistance.”

A simple nod was all he received in response from the downtrodden boy before he slipped into the common room. Sighing, an act that appeared to be becoming regular, Severus briskly returned to his office, intent on a nice nightcap before bed.

----

Sheer physical and mental exhaustion weighed on Harry as he stepped into his new common room. Despite the situation, all he wanted was to fall into a warm bed and pretend that the whole evening never happened. In bed, he could pretend that he hadn’t been resorted into Slytherin and he could act like Snape hadn’t pretended to care about him. As much as Snape went on about Slytherin loyalty and taking care of their own, Harry knew Snape didn’t care about him at all, and he would only use any information that Harry gave him against him.

Finding a silent and barren common room would have been a welcome sight, but unfortunately a familiar blond sat staring at Harry from across the common room.

“Oh, great,” Harry muttered dejectedly.

“Potter,” Malfoy called, standing to meet him in the middle of the common room.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his voice tired and quiet. “I’d really like to just go to bed, so if you don’t mind-”

“I know Professor Snape informed you of the rules of Slytherin decorum,” the boy interrupted. “I also know that I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t want to share a common room with you, let alone a dorm. Let me make one thing clear, Potter. I have no problems hexing you six ways ‘til Sunday here in the common room. But I won’t piss off Snape by attacking you in the hallways. So until you get this resorting business cleared up, I’m offering a truce, for the hallways and all other areas outside of the common room.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s rant with a rather detached demeanor. The blond boy tried to look so haughty behind his speech, but it was so easy for Harry to drone him out that it was almost laughable.

“Why don’t we just call it a truce all-around, Malfoy?” Harry sighed. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but we’re in the middle of a war and this petty rivalry just… doesn’t seem important anymore.” Harry ran a tired hand through his hair. “Why can’t we just… coexist?”

That was all Harry did anymore, anyway, coexist with people. It was like he lived right alongside the world, moving in the same direction just outside the boundaries of life, but never truly able to touch it.

“Fine, Potter,” Malfoy spat, holding out his hand disdainfully. “Truce?”

Harry extended his own hand and didn’t even flinch when Draco squeezed it tight enough to bruise. “Truce.”

Harry awoke Saturday morning to an empty dormitory. Not that he minded in the least. The less he could see of Malfoy and the Slytherins that had taunted him over the years, the better.

Sliding out of bed, Harry noticed for the first time that he was able to stand without wincing. He frowned, realising how good it felt not to hurt, only to have the guilt come crushing down on him that he wasn’t being punished anymore. The pain was his penance; he didn’t deserve to feel this good.

Making his way to the shower, Harry grabbed the Bruise Salve that Pomfrey had given him. He’d be sure to use it and get through Pomfrey’s check up. Afterward, no one would be able to tell him he had to heal his injuries, and no one could stop him from being in pain. As much as Snape pretended to care, Harry knew he didn’t. No one cared for a freak. Why would they? All he did was get people hurt and killed. His parents, Cedric, Sirius…. How many more would have to die because of him? How much pain would atone for his sins?

After a long shower, he applied the Bruise Salve, using only the smallest possible amount just to conceal his injuries. Silently walking through the Slytherin common room, Harry made his way to the Great Hall, oblivious to the world as he walked.

Hermione waved at him from the Ravenclaw table when he entered, to which Harry twitched the corners of his mouth and nodded. Looking with a sigh at the Slytherin table, Harry took his seat next to Ginny, silently helping himself to a triangle of plain toast.

Food had always been a privilege to him, growing up in the Dursley household. Not only was starving a punishment, but Harry just simply couldn’t be fussed to eat anymore. He ate enough to stay alive and keep from feinting. Half a slice of toast in the morning, perhaps an apple at lunch and a few bites at dinner could keep him going without any problems. Sure, he was skinnier than most of the kids his age, but he wasn’t unhealthy or anything. He simply was. Maybe he could get some more of those Nutritive Potions from the hospital wing. Then he wouldn’t have to eat at all.

And Harry was a master of making people think he was eating. He’d learned the first time he stayed at the Burrow before second year, when his stomach was too starved to eat much, but Mrs. Weasley kept pilling his plate high. If he took a normal amount, ate a little and moved his food around a lot, people never gave his eating habits a second thought.

“What did Snape keep you after for last night, Harry?” Ginny asked, her chocolate brown eyes searching his faces with an odd expression.

Harry shrugged; he certainly wasn’t going to tell her the truth. “He just went over those rules again,” he said, surprised at how easily the lie slipped from his mouth. “He doesn’t think I’m going to follow them.”

Ginny’s lips quirked up. “Harry, you never follow rules.”

That got a flicker of a smile from Harry, before he remembered that breaking the rules had gotten Sirius killed. “Yeah….”

Ginny starred at him for a moment before returning to her breakfast. Harry was hoping to grab a glass of pumpkin juice and escape the awkward feeling of sitting at the Slytherin table, but fate really seemed to have it out for him this term.

“Morning, Potter,” a girl greeted, and after a quick glance up, Harry recognized the girl as Pansy Parkinson. She took her seat across from him with a blond girl. Daphne Greengrass, was it? Harry vaguely remembered the girl from potions classes.

“Er, hi,” Harry greeted lamely.

“We just wanted to welcome you to Slytherin house,” Pansy said, apparently oblivious to Harry’s discomfort with the conversation. “Don’t expect to be best friends with anyone, especially not right away, but you are one of us now.”

“Thanks…” Harry said, bewildered with the repetition of that phrase. You are one of us, we take care of our own. Perhaps the Slytherins really did live by that motto, even if it was… weird.

As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t help but look at the Slytherins and wonder what kind of horrible things they had suffered. Pansy Parkinson sat before him, now chatting amicably with Daphne, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And Malfoy, the pompous prick, how could anything bad ever have happened to him? His mother sent him care packages dutifully every week and Malfoy spoke of his father as if the sun shone out of his arse. The git probably got spanked once and thought it was child abuse, Harry thought angrily. There was no way he would believe that the spoiled prat had ever truly suffered.

Ignoring Ginny’s questioning glance, Harry left the Slytherin table determined to get his ‘check up’ with Pomfrey done and over with, especially before the hospital wing was inhabited with other students. Maybe afterwards he’d go to the library, or find Ron for a game of chess. Anything to get his mind off of the nightmare that was becoming his sixth year.

-----------------

“All done, Mr. Potter, you can put your shirt back on now.”

Harry self-consciously put his shirt on, shivering uncomfortably as the nurse finished her paperwork.

“Well, Mr. Potter, your body is back on the road to being healthy,” Pomfrey informed him. “I’m still uncomfortable with your malnourishment, but I think a few good meals will do the trick.”

Harry nodded, acting as if he planned to eat those meals as soon as possible.

“Otherwise, you should be fine, but be sure to come see me if anything changes.”

Finishing the last button on his shirt, Harry jumped off the hospital bed to make his way from the infirmary.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter!”

Harry turned around. Pomfrey looked momentarily uncomfortable before taking a few steps toward him.

“I know you and Professor Snape have a… history,” she said. “However, he’s a good man and you would do well to trust him. Though I am always here if you need something and are still uncomfortable to turn to him, whether it be for a Headache Elixir or just someone to listen.”

Harry stared at the woman. Never before had someone so blatantly offered to be there for him. To help him if he needed it, or simply to listen, not to talk. Harry doubted very much that he would ever take her up on the offer, but to know that it was there felt nice.

Nodding at the woman, Harry made his way out of the infirmary and up the stairs, headed toward the library when a loud voice caught his attention.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy approaching him with a scowl.

“What, Malfoy?” he asked shortly.

“Where are you going?” Malfoy asked in return. “The house meeting is in fifteen minutes. I know Snape told you about them.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I thought that was tonight….”

“No, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “Wednesday evenings, Saturdays after breakfast. That way he can catch the older students before we leave on Hogsmeade weekends.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely.

“Exactly. Now we either need to go now or we’re going to be late,” Malfoy sneered. “So let’s go. I don’t fancy getting in trouble for you.”

Harry followed Malfoy silently, as he was still rather unsure of his way through the dungeons.

“Why are you helping me?” Harry asked suddenly.

Draco turned and scowled at him. “I’m not helping you, Potter. I’m helping me. I’m a prefect, remember? And you’re a Slytherin now. If I don’t look after you, it’s my arse on the line.”

Harry stayed silent. Of course Malfoy was just looking after himself. It’s not like he cared for Harry. Not that Harry wanted him to. Not at all.

--------------

Harry listened half-heartedly as Snape droned on about the misconceptions of Slytherin House and how he expected them to make their House proud. One thing in particular, however, did catch his attention.

“Every week, you will each have a personal conference,” the man informed them, enchanting a large piece of parchment to attach itself to the dungeon wall. “This parchment shows the schedule of when your conference will be held. Be sure to check the schedule, as conferences start this evening. Bring any questions or concerns you may have to my office at that time.”

Harry gaped at his Head of House. He had to spend an hour alone with the greasy git every week? He wanted to scream. This resorting thing kept getting more and more depressing….

“Also, for any reason should I be absent at the time of your conference, rest assured that I will contact you to reschedule. I believe that concludes our meeting today. Motion to close.”

“Second,” rang out several voices around the room as students began to shuffle from their seats. Harry waited for a moment as the students cleared before slowly approaching the posted parchment with growing dread.

He began at the top of the list, reading down until he reached his name.

Harry groaned. That meant he’d have to meet with Snape tonight. Retreating back to a chair in the far corner of the Slytherin common room, Harry put his head in his hands. He just knew that Snape was going to push him for information, ask him who hurt him as was his teaching duty, and then tell him it was all his fault, anyway. Harry would lie and Snape would get angry and they’d fight. Why did Snape have to take him to the hospital wing last night, anyway? How did Snape even know?

Lifting his head, Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Malfoy handed Snape a piece of parchment with his head bowed. Snape read the letter, his face tightening slightly before handing it back to the boy. Harry strained as he tried to pick up the tense conversation.

“I have to go, sir,” Malfoy said quietly.

“I know, Draco,” Snape replied in equal tones. “You know what to do.”

Malfoy nodded. Blaise Zabini put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and Harry was surprised when the blond didn’t shrug him off.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” Zabini said, and Draco nodded once again, turning from the group and walking towards the fireplace. He pulled something out of his pocket before throwing it down, igniting the fireplace in green flames as he shouted, “Malfoy Manor!”

Harry watched with wide eyes as the boy disappeared, although none of the other students nor Snape looked particularly concerned. Well, on second thought, Harry realised, Zabini and Snape did look marginally more morose than usual. Harry shrugged to himself. Whatever was going on, he was not going to start worrying about Malfoy.

----------

Severus sat arranging student files in his office as a timid knock rapped on his door. A quick check of his watch showed that it was three minutes to eight, and three minutes until Harry Potter’s conference.

“Come in,” Severus said, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls.

In more than a decade of teaching, he had never once been nervous for a student’s first conference; leave it to Potter to be the first. Snape sighed as the boy cautiously entered his office, before waving him to take a seat in one of the opposite chairs.

“Oh, I’m not going to bite, Potter,” he said when the boy didn’t sit, spitting the words a little more harshly than intended. “Please, do sit down.”

The boy slowly sunk into the chair and Severus took a moment to calm himself. Since the previous evening, he had spent nearly every waking moment with his thoughts pondering the new revelations about the boy in front of him. As much as his stubborn brain did not wait to accept any other notions about Potter, in his heart, he knew that he had been wrong.

“Why so grim, Potter?” he asked, noting the boy’s tight expression.

Potter looked up with wide eyes. “I-I just thought you’d- well, you know.”

Severus raised his eyebrows. “You thought I’d question you about your injuries from last evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said meekly with a nod.

Severus sighed. “That is not what these conferences are about.”

“Then… what-?”

“I use these conferences to get to know my students, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. “Sometimes that means talking, other times it means offering my assistance on a difficult homework assignment or assisting in a hobby.”

The boy searched his face with untrusting eyes. “Why?”

“Why, what, Mr. Potter?”

“Why do you care?”

A part of Severus cheered at the question; that same question that nearly every one of his students asked him at some point in time. While the question was usually depressing for the child at the time, it was an achievement, if only a small one, when the child began to realise that someone, even if only Severus himself, actually did care.

“I told you last evening that nearly every member of Slytherin House has a history of child abuse,” he said, keeping level eyes on the boy. “If I do not care, who shall?”

A thin, pink tongue came out to wet Potter’s lip. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Despite what you choose to admit or I choose to accept, someone has indeed inflicted injuries on you, Potter, both physical and mental,” he said quietly, as the boy’s eyes closed for a moment. “We may not have a great past, Potter, but I’m hoping we can at least come to trust each other.”

Potter’s eyes studied him. “I don’t like you, Professor.”

Severus smirked. “And neither I, you, Potter.”

The boy fell back into the chair, rolling his eyes and fixing them on a vague point on the far wall. “Then what is trust possib-”

A loud, insistent knock came to Snape’s office door--the one that led directly to the Slytherin common room. Casting a glance at Potter, he flicked his wand at the door, permitting entrance to none other than Blaise Zabini.

“He’s back,” the boy blurted, panting. It was obvious that he had run down to Severus’ office. “It-it’s not good, sir. He’s barely coherent.”

-----------

Harry shot a wild, confused glance between Zabini and Snape.

With a curt nod, Snape quickly stood, making Harry flinch at the sudden movement. Waving his wand, several potions bottles came flying out of the cabinet and into the man’s outstretched hand.

Harry stood, wondering exactly what was going on while the Potions master eyed him speculatively.

“Come, Potter,” he said. “I think you need to see this.”

Harry followed nervously as Snape strode quickly down the narrow passage that connected Snape’s office to the Slytherin common room.

Pausing at the door, Zabini gave Harry a tight lipped smile that looked more contrite than friendly. Furrowing his brow, Harry followed the taller boy, walking down the hall as he pondered just what could be such an emergency.

When they reached the Slytherin common room, Harry was surprised to find it near empty.

One person laid crouched on the ground before the fireplace, trying pointlessly to hoist his shaking and twitching body onto the couch. Snape rushed forward, pulling the boy up onto the sofa. The boy cried out in pain, and Zabini sat next to him, offering a steady hand as Snape poured several potions down his throat. Once he was steady enough, the boy lifted his head and looked directly at Harry.

Harry would have recognized those cold grey eyes anywhere.

They belonged to Draco Malfoy.

“Cruciatus?” Snape asked seriously, causing Malfoy to break his stare at Harry and give a shaky nod.

“Why?” Harry asked breathlessly, not realising that he had spoken the question out loud.

Malfoy’s gaze snapped back to Harry, filled with such malice that Harry had to look away.

“Because I forgot to tell my loving father about your resorting, Potter,” the boy spat, and although his voice quaked and cracked, the power and hate behind the words was not lost on Harry.

Harry’s heart stopped as Snape continued pouring potions down the boy’s throat. Malfoy had been tortured because of him? Because he didn’t tell Lucius that Harry had been resorted?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words sounding pitiful and useless even to his own ears.

Malfoy collapsed back against the sofa, breathing heavily as Snape brushed the hair from his eyes. The boy sighed, a tired, resigned sound that clenched Harry’s heart.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punished because of you, Potter,” Malfoy said, his eyes closed and his head lolled back. “It won’t be the last either. Your sorrow isn’t going to change that.”

Harry swore he could feel the earth shift beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He couldn’t believe that he had been the cause of something so horrible once again.

He felt tears begin to prick at his eyes as his heart pounded.

So Harry did the only thing that he could think of, the only thing that made sense.

He ran.

Harry ran.

He didn’t spare one ounce of thought to where he was going or why. Just that he ran, as fast as he could, away from Malfoy, away from Snape and his false understanding, away from Slytherin and away from the guilt. Only when the crisp Scotland air hit his lungs did he realise how far he had ran--all the way to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Gasping in lungfuls of cold air that made his chest burn, Harry let out a sob of relief that the tower was empty. Finally catching his breath, he lifted his head, walking right to the stone ledge of the tower and looking out into the grounds.

The sky was beautiful at night, especially at Hogwarts. The air was so clear, the sky so expansive that the black seeped like ink into the eyes, and the tiny glittering stars mesmerized even the most jaded of minds. The sky was the only place Harry had ever felt whole. Flying or watching the sky had given him the feeling of sheer hope and possibility. The jaded grief of reality was but another sparkle in the endless sky, and he could just be free.

Suddenly overcome with the urge to get closer, to touch the sky, Harry climbed onto the ledge. His face burned as the cold air licked at his tear-stained cheeks. He made no attempt to stop the tears as he balanced himself on the thin rock, holding his head high as he looked out into the dead of night.

Harry’s eyes searched the sky calmly, as the adrenaline began to run out of his system to be replaced with dull, depersonalized numbness. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he mused. In fact, he wouldn’t mind feeling numb all the time. What was the point of feeling if all you felt was bad?

Harry slowly dropped his head, looking down on the grounds below him.

It would be so easy.

He could see Sirius again. He could finally meet his parents. He could apologise for getting them all killed.

It would be so easy.

…But if he jumped, who would be left to defeat Voldemort?

If he jumped, how many more would die because of his selfish decision?

Gritting his teeth, he clambered back down to the floor, brushing his shirt off as he looked around the empty tower. A lone telescope stood perched an arm’s length away. An expensive telescope, Harry noted as it sparkled in the moon light, probably left by a NEWTs student who had nothing more on their mind than getting a head start for the coming term.

Clenching his fists, the numbness morphed into anger as the injustice of it all boiled up inside Harry. He seethed that they could expect a sixteen year old boy to save the world, that he was left with no family besides a bunch of abusive excuses for human beings, that he couldn’t even be normal if he tried, before nothing was normal about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

His lungs let out a wail that was soul-deep, manifesting the sheer grief of his emotions as he swung, slamming the telescope into the stone wall as the glass exploded into a hundred pieces.

Harry winced as a sharp piece of glass imbedded itself in his forearm. Plucking out the shard, he watched in fascination as the hole in his arm began to ooze blood, thick droplets that slid down his arm and hit the stone floor with a soft patter.

Almost as if he were drugged, Harry watched the cut in awe, as the essence of his life slowly drained out, proving that despite it all, he was still a living, breathing human being. It didn’t hurt, not really, but the pain was an anchor. This was pain that was controlled, not inflicted on him by the world. It was as if his grief and guilt bleed out of that very cut, only to be replaced with focus and determination.

Sliding down the harsh rock wall, Harry looked between the glass in his hand and his bleeding arm.

Placing the glass to his skin, Harry pushed, pulling the shard slowly across his arm. He brought it down again, repeating the action as the guilt seemed to lift from him. When he finally dropped the broken lens, Harry looked at his arm, only to realise that the lines and scratches formed two words.

Harry shook his head in ironic exasperation as he lolled it back against the wall. Drowsiness crept over him as his eyelids fluttered open and closed. He couldn’t tell if it was from the emotional rollercoaster that had been his last few days or from the blood loss. Either way, Harry pulled the collar of his robe a litter tighter, his exhausted body quickly succumbing to the pull of sleep.

-------

Draco Malfoy dragged his feet along the quiet Hogwarts halls. After a great day of ‘bonding’ with his bastard of a father, Draco’s body was beyond exhausted, despite Professor Snape’s potions. His muscles ached and burned, his bones creaked and his head throbbed as if a herd of hippogriffs had trampled on it. And having been trampled by a hippogriff in his third year, he knew the feeling all too well.

The cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae that was his day, however, had been Potter showing up as he returned from his Father’s care. Draco had some choice words for the Boy Who Lived to Torment Him, and had been quite happy to see the prat run from the common room. He didn’t belong there, anyway. Unfortunately, Snape disagreed on Draco’s reaction and responded with quite the tongue-lashing. Like he’d said, cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae.

Draco huffed as he made his way through the halls. Sleep had eluded him as usual, and in his frustrating pre-sleep thoughts, he’d remember that he left his telescope in the Astronomy Tower the previous evening after calling his truce with Potter. So while aimless wondering was a frequent pastime of Draco’s, tonight, he had a destination.

Tiny lights glittered at the entrance to the tower, catching his attention and making him pause at the broken glass that littered the floor. Had Peeves broken his telescope? His state-of-the-art, multi-thousand galleon telescope? Setting his jaw and scowling, Draco took a deep breath before slowly turning the corner to enter the tower.

Red. Blood. Lots of blood.

Draco couldn’t recognise much, except for the excess of red blood on the tower floor. His eyes wide as saucers, he looked for the source, only to find an incredibly pale Potter lying against the far wall. Even in the dull light, the words ‘I’m sorry’ glittered menacingly at him as he nearly fainted from shock.

I’m sorry.

The same words Potter had uttered at him not two hours ago. Did Potter try to kill himself because of Draco? Was that possible? Why would the git do something so stupid??

Draco rushed forward, determined to see if the boy was dead or not, whether he should try to heal him or just go get help. The last thing he needed was for Potter to die and have the blame fall on him. The boy's arm was still bleeding steadily. That was a good sign. The heart had to be beating for blood to flow like that. Right?

Carefully placing his fingers on Potter’s neck, he detected a very faint, but steady, pulse. Nearly collapsing in relief, he pointed his wand at the arm.

“Episkey,” he incanted, watching as the first several letters slowly scabbed over and stopped bleeding.

He repeated the spell several times, until the boy’s arm was healed over. Looking around, Draco knew there was no one in this area of the castle to help him. He’d have to get Potter back to the dungeons on his own. He debated going to the hospital wing, but it was equally distant at the other end of the castle, and he rather preferred not to be blamed for hexing Potter or some such nonsense.

With a sigh, he carefully lifted Potter into his arms, noticing the boy was disturbingly thin. Shaking his head, he slowly made his way from the tower, his tired muscles protesting at the strain as he trudged through the castle.

Panting as he reached Snape’s office, he kicked the wooden door, hoisting Potter in his arms, lest the boy fall. Draco should have known the moment Potter was resorted, that their sixth year would be like none other. If anyone could make Draco question his beliefs, and Merlin forbid, make him feel remorse, it was Harry bloody Potter.

------

Severus sat reviewing lesson plans in his office when a loud kick thudded on his door. Narrowing his eyes at the late hour, he stood, making his way to open the door and berate whoever was on the other side. His Slytherins used the door that connected to the common room, there was no reason one of them would use his regular office door.

“What can you possibly require-”

Severus cut off as he noticed a pale, sweating Draco Malfoy holding an even more pale Harry Potter in his arms. Not levitating him, like the boy’s pure-blood breeding should have dictated, but holding him in his arms like a one might cradle a child.

Quickly taking the boy from Draco’s arms, Severus quirked an eyebrow at the blond’s actions, before transfiguring one of his chairs into a day bed and laying Potter on it. A quick wave of his wand summoned several potions to him, and he massaged the boy’s throat as he poured the potions in his mouth, triggering the swallowing reflex to ingest the liquid.

“Where did you find him?”

“The Astronomy Tower, sir,” the boy replied, dropping himself in another chair as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. Severus furrowed his brow at the uncharacteristic display, until he lifted Potter’s arm to apply a salve and saw the words carved there.

Severus sighed. Potter blamed himself for what Draco had suffered, and in turn, Draco was now blaming himself for what Potter did, even if he would rather die than acknowledge the fact. The two really were alike, as much as it pained him to admit. Both boys grew up in the worst familial situations, only to be singled out when they arrived at Hogwarts; Potter for his celebrity status as the Boy Who Lived, and Draco for his money and his name. No wonder they fought so much. Each boy brought out the worst traits in each other and inadvertently knew exactly how to make an insult hit home.

Draco cleared his throat. “I-Is he going to be okay, sir?” the boy asked awkwardly.

“Yes, I believe so,” Severus replied. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but a few Blood Replenshing Potions and he should make a full recovery”

“Oh,” Draco replied in a small voice. “Well… that’s good.”

Severus stared at the boy. “Potter fails his attempt at suicide and all you can say is ‘that’s good?’”

“With all due respect, I don’t think he tried to commit suicide, sir.”

Severus scowled. “You don’t consider slicing your artery in three places to carve an apology in your own flesh an attempt to kill oneself?”

Draco shrugged uncomfortably under his teacher’s stare. For all the boy tried to act as if nothing scared him, Severus was still the only person who could intimidate him. Besides his father, of course.

“Potter’s not the blood-and-gore, self-pitying type,” the boy replied.

“And you’ve suddenly become the expert on all things Potter?”

“‘Know thy enemy.’ Trust me, if Potter wanted to off himself, he’d sneak into the forest an take a potion or something. It wouldn’t be messy. And believe me, this was messy.”

“I’m beginning to believe there’s a lot more to Potter than we know,” Severus muttered, rubbing the boy’s fingers to get the blood flowing back through them. “I take it the Astronomy Tower is still unsanitary?”

Draco blinked. “I wasn’t actually worried about a few sullied stones while I was struggling to keep Potter from dying on me. Literally.”

Severus had to refrain from sneering at the boy’s cheek. “I wasn’t blaming you, Draco. I was merely inquiring if the room required my attention after Potter is settled."

“Oh,” the boy replied, his cheeks tightening as Severus realised he was holding back a yawn. Damn Lucius Malfoy and his ‘training.’ No sixteen year old boy should feel the need to refrain from yawning, of all things. Refraining from belching, poor manners and swearing--yes. Forcing your child to learn not to yawn, sneeze or cry was another thing entirely.

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening, Draco,” Severus suggested, watching the boy. “Suffice it to say that I shall be staying here with Mr. Potter this evening.”

Draco hesitated for a second after he stood, casting a quick glance at Potter. A glance that was not missed by Severus.

Severus would never go as far to say that Draco cared for the brunet boy, but he was also one of the few people who knew that Draco Malfoy had a heart. Rather like himself in that respect, the boy hid all his emotions away until the world thought him a cold, hollow shell. There were no more than five people on the entire planet that knew the truth, that Draco Malfoy was one of the most emotional people Severus had ever met; he loved and loathed with everything he had, although he couldn’t hate. The child was not inherently dark like his father. In fact, he was much like Potter, except he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. Yet another similarity of the two archrivals.

“Go, Draco,” he commanded softly. “There’s nothing else you can do for him tonight.”

Draco looked back at him, scandalized. “I didn’t ask if there was anything I could do for him!” he said. “I just…. Merlin, Professor! He nearly died because of me!”

“You need to understand that other people’s actions are not your fault,” Severus said calmly, watching the stoic teenager before him. “It’s a lesson both you and Potter have to learn. In fact, I insist upon it. Be here tomorrow at one for mediation.”

Draco let out a loud groan, letting his head fall back as he blew a tuft of hair from his eyes. Severus smirked, enjoying his pupil’s reaction. Mediation was easily the least favourite activity for many of his students, and Severus knew it.

“Must we, Professor?” the boy asked, a mix of dread and disgust pasted on his face.

“Yes,” Severus replied, smirking. “Now go get some rest. I will see you tomorrow.”

Grumbling, the blond boy departed, returning to his dormitory and leaving Severus to tend to a still-unconscious Harry Potter. Knowing the boy would be out cold for at least an hour with the amount of potions in his system, Severus stood, creaking his aging bones and began making his way to clean the mess left in the Astronomy Tower.

And what a mess it was.

Having been a Death Eater and later a spy, Severus Snape was all too acquainted with the more unpleasant aspects of the human body and all that it could endure. Where most people would have taken in the sight of the blood drenched rocks and expected a dead body, Severus simply sighed, shaking his head.

“Tergeo,” he incarnated, watching the mess siphon off of the floor and into oblivion. A quick “evanesco” banished the bits of broken telescope still littering the floor, and the Astronomy Tower was returned to its usual state.

With one last look at the now-clean tower, Severus made his way back to his own rooms, quite apprehensive about the conversations to come.

He had been sure that Potter wasn’t suicidal, in fact he would have bet on it, but now all evidence seemed contrary to his belief. Draco was nearly positive that it had not been a suicide attempt, and granted, the boy did watch Potter closer than almost anyone, but Severus had watched him, too, most especially these past few days. Harry Potter was an enigma, and if there was one thing Severus hated, it was working out a puzzle that he couldn’t complete.

Severus knew he didn’t have all the pieces. Something beyond physical abuse had led their boy saviour to self-injury, if not attempted suicide. Physical abuse was traumatising, but Severus had watched the boy take injury after injury in his years at school, without so much as batting an eye. No, Severus was sure that it was something on a deeper level, something he couldn’t yet get to, save breaking into the boy’s mind. Someone had said something to Potter, or done something so irreparable that it had torn the boy’s spirit into pieces.

“What has the world done to you, Potter?” he asked the still-sleeping boy rhetorically. “Fate must truly be ironic for me to be expected to save you.”

Steeling himself for the coming commotion, he pointed his wand at the boy’s heart.

“Rennervate.”

Bright green eyes popped open and looked around frantically, quickly locking onto Severus’ own. Even without Legilimency, Severus could see the trepidation and confusion pasted there.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” he drawled. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.”