Nothing but darkness and pain surrounded him. He felt light, like he was floating. His limbs wouldn’t obey his instructions and his eyelids refused to open. He managed to turn his head, and a faint moan escaped his throat as pain splintered across his body.

Where am I?

The last thing he remembered was running through the trees, the wet, slapping sound of his feet against the thick mud as he ran and ran and…no, wait, that wasn’t right. His brow twitched and furrowed as he tried to remember. He had stopped, and the Professor had caught up with him, knocked him down. Harry had grabbed his wand and….something…he’d used a spell. There had been a flash of light….Snape had fallen and it was raining and….oh God….he hadn’t moved, he wasn’t moving, he cast the killing curse, and Snape was dead! He was dead!

But now there was darkness. Thick, almost suffocating blackness. Pain coming in waves each more intense than the next. Again Harry tried to move, tried to reach up and brush away the pain from his head. He felt so weak, so drained. Maybe the spell had hurt him too? The agony was so intense, crushing him, grinding him into the ground.

Maybe this is what dying felt like.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his wrist. Stiffening in fear, Harry tried to pull away, but the hand held fast, restraining him. Gripped by terror, his throat constricted, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. He tried to open his eyes but they refused. Everything felt so heavy, like he was made of rock.

He felt an arm snake around him, pulling him into a more upright position.

“No…” he managed to whisper, his throat tight and dry. He felt something cold and hard at his mouth and his head lolled as he tried to turn away. The sensation returned, but this time, a cool liquid lapped at his lips. Water? God, he was so thirsty. He opened his mouth slightly, tasting the offering, testing it with the tip of his tongue, the cool, blandness of it. Yes, it was water, and he allowed it to flow into his mouth bit by bit, his parched throat aching with each swallow.

There was a voice now. A far away sounding voice, muffled, as if they were talking through a pile of blankets, and Harry strained to listen as the voice continued, the high pitched drone confirming it was a female, and Harry’s heart leapt at the sound.

Madame Pomfrey! Hogwarts! They found me!

Maybe Professor McGonagall was there too and the Headmaster. He tried to speak, tried to call out, begging his limbs to obey so he could raise his arm and feel a reassuring hand in his. It was all he needed. He just needed to know he was safe.

Another glass was pressed to his mouth. More water? With a great deal of effort he parted his lips, but this time there was no water, but a foul tasting liquid, thick and bitter as it slid over his tongue. A potion? Harry jerked as if electrocuted. No! No potions! Potions made by Snape, potions to hurt him, to torture him. No!

Adrenaline surged through his veins as panic washed over him. With a newfound strength he turned his head and lifted his hands to his face, desperately trying to protect himself. His movements were slow and clumsy as he tried to cover his head, and from nowhere, hands came to subdue him, and it took all his strength to fight against them.

“Please…don’t….no” he begged, his voice little more than a strained, whisper, his words contorted as he choked on the viscous fluid, gurgling, sputtering, gasping for air.

A body pressed against his side, and a hand touched the back of his head, steadying it. Harry instinctively recoiled from the touch. The arm that was around him, pulled him towards the body. Harry fought weakly, pushing with all his might, but after only a few moments of feeble struggling, the last of his power gave out. He couldn’t fight anymore. Weakness engulfed him and he slumped against the form. He felt tears prickling his eyes, and he tried to blink them away, but his lids still refused to move. He felt the warm tears slip down his cheeks, and defeat overtook him.

A sob escaped his throat and he swallowed hard, trying to suppress the emotions. Feeling just made everything so much worse. He’d already made the mistake of allowing himself to feel. He’d let Snape make him feel safe once.

But not now.

Not ever.

He felt the hand to the back of his neck, and he was slowly laid back against several pillows, his body stiffening again as he was positioned, his shoulders tensing, half expecting the hands at his throat, the tendons in his neck straining in anticipation. His head fell to one side, his cheek brushing up against soft robes as he took a ragged breath.

Harry froze.

This wasn’t Madame Pomfrey. It wasn’t McGonagall, or Dumbledore. Hell, he would have been ecstatic if it had been Filtch.

But it was none of them.

In that short breath he had caught a familiar scent. Mint, the subtle aroma of Gypsywort and wild ginger, and the faint, woody smell of a fireplace.

Oh, God, it couldn’t be. No. No, he was dead!

Frantic, his breathing quickened. His arms were heavy as lead but he tried to move them anyway, but all he could manage was a weak twitching of his fingers. A hand covered his and a soft rumbling reverberated through his body as a voice sounded in his ears, and he thought he heard someone calling his name. Another glass was at his lips now, but Harry had lost all ability to function. His head swam with confusion and fear. There was a pause, and then he felt slender fingers between his lips, opening his mouth gently to receive the fluid. The liquid flowed into his mouth, and the fingers moved to his throat, softly stroking to stimulate the reflex to swallow, and Harry did, unable even to grimace at the taste.

How could Snape be alive? Maybe he’d only been stunned? Maybe he’d called for help and Madame Pomfrey had taken them both back to the infirmary? Harry’s mind whirled with uncertainty. No, he had killed Snape, hadn’t he? But how was…maybe the spell had failed…maybe he hadn’t done it right? It was Snape holding him, he was certain of that, but…but….how?

Within moments the pain that had been lashing at him began to recede. Another vial met his lips, and the fingers again gently opened his mouth. They helped him swallow three more foul tasting concoctions before his head was allowed to rest against the Potion Master’s chest.

His breathing came easier now, though his throat still burned, pleading for the relief of cool water.

Snape was speaking again, and the gentle rumbling from his chest reverberated through Harry’s head. He could barely make out the voice. Everything sounded contorted and unintelligible, like he was underwater. Testing his strength, he slowly pulled his arm to his chest. He gingerly flexed his fingers and flinched as pain shot up each finger and radiated across his palm. He gasped at the sensation, sending tendrils of agony through his head.

Suddenly the pillows were being removed from behind him, and he was laid down against a soft mattress.

Snape’s body moved away from him and was replaced by a blanket. Harry tried to call out for help, but in his weakness he only whimpered softly. A hand was instantly in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He would have given anything to know where he was. There must be someone else there with them. If only he could open his eyes, or speak! He had to tell them!

Oh, God, no! Please, please! Someone help me!

Suddenly he was so very tired, and he realized he’d been given a sleeping potion. It had been days since he’d really slept, but regardless, he desperately tried to fight the elixir. Exhaustion overtook him, and the last thing he felt as he was dragged into sleep was a gentle hand in his.

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Severus crouched on bended knee at Harry’s bedside and drew a hand across his brow. He ran the hand through his hair and looked up at Poppy, who had settled into the room’s only chair, a look of relief on her face.

“He’s just fine, Severus.” she said comfortingly as she reached out and patted the man’s shoulder.

“Epidural hematoma?” Severus snapped. “Cerebral contusion? Intracranial hemorrhage? Compartment syndrome?” He paused and looked up at the Mediwitch, eyes blazing. “Which one of those injuries would you grade as just fine, because even with my limited knowledge, I seem to remember them being classified as extremely dangerous.”

Poppy slowly withdrew her hand, her eyes narrowing defensively as she sat upright in indignation at the scathing retort.

“Poppy.” Severus breathed. “Forgive me, please. I…I am….”

The Mediwitch’s face relaxed into a sympathetic smile as her colleague offered her his hand, which she took lovingly.

“Worried.” she said, finishing the man’s sentence for him, perfectly able to articulate what Snape could not. “You’re worried about Harry.” She rose, and Snape stood with her, their hands still intertwined. “You can admit it.” she continued, her eyes sparkling. “With all the talk of Harry at the conference, it’s easy to see you have affection for the boy.”

Severus’ eyes widened at the revelation, aghast that he was so transparent in his fondness for a child he thought so little of only weeks before. He quickly pulled his hand from Poppy’s grasp, causing the woman to smile broadly.

“Don’t worry, Severus,” she tittered. “I won’t let anyone know that you have a heart. Your secret will be safe with me. Confidentially is my forte you know.”

“Honestly.” Severus replied, trying to sound disgusted, but he couldn’t help the scant smile that erupted across his face, gone in an instant, but there long enough to confirm to the Mediwitch that she was right in her assumptions.

Poppy closed her fingers around the worn handle of her medical bag and lifted the heavy case from the floor.

“Do call, dear, if you need me further, though I suspect you’ll have little to worry about from here on in.”

Severus nodded, his eyes moving to the door as Della stepped into view, a large cup of coffee in her hands.

“Della, see Ms. Pomfrey to the floo, and Poppy…” he paused, as if trying to determine the most ardent way to thank the woman who had saved Harry. “Thank you, Poppy.” he said earnestly, lacking the composure at that time to speak with any eloquence. His mind was elsewhere.

Della handed the cup to her master with a low bow, then turned and bowed equally low to the Mediwitch before leading the woman out into the hall.

Severus turned his attention back to the sleeping boy, and he found himself again in the position of standing over the unconscious child as he assessed his injuries, running his wand over the frail body. The bruises were fading already, thanks to the heavy application of one of his strongest healing salves, and the inter-cranial pressure was normal, though it had come dangerously close to damaging the brain tissue before Poppy had arrived.

He returned his wand to his robes and lowered himself into the chair. He felt a fleeting sense of déjà vu sitting there again, watching Harry sleep, more than likely trapped in nightmares. How could he not suffer from them after this experience? Severus’ heart clenched for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day as he imagined Harry losing control of his broom, heart beating wildly as he fought desperately to control it, the panic of feeling nothingness under him as he fell, the ground rushing towards him. He stood abruptly, causing the chair to clatter backwards against the hardwood floor, and Harry flinched, obviously conscious of the noise, and Severus reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s, which trembled at the touch.

Taking in a deep breath, jaw set in determination, Severus stalked out of the room. He would find Craig and he would find out what happened to his child, and he would-

He halted suddenly. His child? What on earth was he thinking? He didn’t think of Harry as his child.

Of course he didn’t.

Shaking his head, he continued his stride down the hallway. He was being emotional, far too sentimental in his apprehension over Harry’s condition, that’s all. He liked the boy, yes, and it was true that he felt certain warmth towards him, but nothing more than that, and his robes billowed behind him as he descended the stairs in search of answers.

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“Craig?”

The man looked up from the couch, his face shaded with worry as Snape approached.

“How’s Harry?” he asked, standing to meet the Professor, who promptly motioned for him to sit, and he lowered himself back onto the couch as Snape took a seat in the chair opposite him.

“Stable.” Severus replied, his eyes narrowing in recollection of the frantic healing he and Poppy had performed. “He is out of the woods as they say, however I’m sure his status will warrant further concern upon waking.”

Craig nodded silently, then dropped his eyes to his hands as he wrung them together in his lap, and Severus recalled the same anxious performance from Harry more times than he could count. Craig looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears as he whispered in a grievous tone.

“Severus…I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” Severus asked, leaning forward in his chair. “You said he went flying. What was his emotional state? Was he feeling out of sorts? Had he been eat-”

“No.” Craig cut in, his voice strained as he shook his head. “I mean yes, yes he went flying, but he was fine, he was happy, he didn’t say anything about not feeling well. I…I don’t know…I…he just…and I said it was ok, and he was gone for so long and I went to look for him and…” He stopped, visibly upset now, and Severus placed his hand on the man’s knee.

“Craig, I’m not blaming you. I’m sure you did what you thought was best at the time. I’m simply attempting to gauge Harry’s state when he went flying. Had he been sleeping without incident?”

“I think so. I mean he looked tired, but I dunno.” Craig replied, seemingly calmer now at the Professor’s reassurance. “Those spells you put up, the thing that was supposed to warn me if he had a nightmare?”

“Wards.” Snape replied.

“Yeah.” Craig said, nodding. “They never went off or anything.”

“How about after my departure?” Severus asked.

“Well, he was…I mean… he missed you.” Craig said slowly, as if he wasn’t sure of his next words. “After you left, and he found the broom, I think he...” he paused, the recess almost unbearable to Severus, and Craig cringed at the piercing look the wizard shot him. “I think he’d been crying.” Craig stated softly, dropping his eyes for a moment before meeting Snape’s gaze once again, seeing the guilt flood across the wizard’s face. “But he was fine after that.” Craig continued. “We went out and he rode the broom for a while and that was it, ya know? No problems.”

“And his reaction when you explained my being delayed?” Severus asked hesitantly, half wanting to hear the boy had been unaffected, knowing his feelings of guilt would be bolstered by hearing the boy had been too eager for his return.

“He was pretty disappointed.” Craig replied. “I told him just what your message said, that someone got sick and couldn’t give their speech, and that the Minister asked you to step in. I told him you’d only be gone two more days, and that’s…” Craig’s face fell, and Severus gave him an inquiring look. “That’s when he went flying.” Craig finished softly.

Severus held a crooked finger to his lips, head bowed, deep in thought, and when he did speak, he had to force himself to address the young man without the blatant accusing tone he would generally use when asking such a question.

“The bruises,” he said starkly. “on Harry’s neck. What do you know of them?” He watched as Craig’s face tightened a fraction, the movement so insignificant it would not have been detected, other than by one accustomed to reading the faces of dishonest students. Severus took in a short breath at the possible revelation.

“Oh.” Craig said meekly. He coughed nervously, his eyes darting around the room before meeting Snape’s now heated gaze. “Well we were just playing.” he stated, offering the Professor a hopeful look. Craig sighed in resignation. “Look I’m sorry, Harry was upset because you had to stay longer at the conference. There was nothing to do inside, and, well I just started being silly, ya know? I threw a cushion at him, so he threw one back, and before you know it we’re bashing at each other with pillows and being guys and wrestling around. I guess it just got a bit too rough. You should see the bruises he gave me.” Craig finished, rubbing at the top of his arm. “The little guy’s pretty strong when he gets going.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed.

“You mean to tell me the bruises around Harry’s neck were the result of innocent horseplay?” he said incredulously.

“Alright.” Craig sighed. “Guys get stupid, ok? It just got out of hand and Harry was laughing the whole time. I was just trying to take his mind off you not coming back, and once we got back from town, he was happy and not even thinking about –”

“From where?” Snape asked, eyebrows raised, anger seeping into him at Craig’s sheepish look, and Severus’ body stiffened, his eyes glinting in annoyance, and a look of horror swept over Craig’s face at the change.

“Look, I’m real sorry.” Craig said quickly, shifting back a little against the couch in alarm. “Harry was upset about you being gone and he was really begging me to take him to the mainland. I thought a little trip might cheer him up, ya know? We were gone all of twenty minutes, nothing happened; we got some snacks, we came home, the kid was fine. I thought it would be alright. I’m sorry!” he finished, beseechingly.

Severus shook his head, hand raised in conciliation. It was obvious that Craig’s treatment of Harry had been less than thoughtful, and though he doubted there was any real maliciousness on the young man’s part, there was a seed of doubt planted in Snape’s mind about the accuracy of Craig’s recollection of the events over the last few days. He shook his head softly, now more than ever aware of how his actions had indirectly caused Harry’s condition.

“There is no need for contrition.” he said gently. “Though I daresay it was not the most appropriate outing, especially after my instructions.” He paused and placed both hands on his knees, pushing himself to stand, and Craig did the same. “It seems I was in error to attend the conference.” Snape declared, his voice tinged with regret. “I should not have left him as I did.”

“With a Muggle.” Craig said softly, his eyes downcast, and Severus immediately clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“No.” he affirmed intently, and Craig’s eyes rose to meet the Professors. “I left Harry with a capable young man, a friend, one who no doubt gave that child more enjoyment than a decorous Potions Professor could have. It was my own selfishness that caused Harry’s injuries.” Snape shook his head solemnly. “I was too caught up in my work to see he was not ready for my departure, and I am glad you were here for him when I was not.”

Craig smiled weakly, and Severus gave his shoulder a light squeeze before dropping his hand to his side. “I will have Della escort you home.”

Craig watched as the Professor departed, waiting until the man was out of sight before letting out a breath of relief. A moment later there was Della, offering her hand, leading him up onto the hearth, and in a blink of an eye, Craig was gone, and upstairs, Severus sat across from Harry’s bed, his head turned towards the window, staring out towards the mainland, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he waited for the child to awaken.

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Smack

“You filthy freak! You’re nothing but a worthless little bastard! You deserve everything I give you!”

The belt rose again and came down hard on the boy’s back. Blood began to seep from a rip in his shirt.

Smack

Harry crawled across his room, desperately reaching for the crack in the floor where his wand was hidden. If he could just reach it. Just a little more…

Down came the belt again, the buckle making a sharp, wet, slapping sound as it spattered blood across the wall. His arms gave out from under him as the belt came down again and again, and he slipped into darkness.

Then came the hands.

They were everywhere, coming out of the darkness to assault his flesh. He slapped frantically at them, trying to push them back into the shadows, but they kept coming, and coming.

“Mr. Potter, you can’t fight me.” The low silky voice was at his ear, and he swatted at the sound, his hands finding nothing but emptiness.

“You can’t stop me, Harry.”

It was at his other ear now, and the frightened boy jumped in panic, scrambling backwards up the bed until his back hit the wall with a thud.

“Harry.”

The whisper echoed in the empty darkness, reverberating until his name was a million murmurs all at once, repeating, echoing off the walls and filling the room. Suddenly, Snape stepped out of the shadows.

“I can’t wait to tell my Slytherins about you.” He breathed, his voice barely distinguishable amid the continued whispers. “I’ll tell them all about you, Harry.” he murmured, his hand reaching out to stroke Harry’s cheek as he looked at him in adoraration. “Such a trusting boy.”

Suddenly his hands were at Harry’s throat and squeezing and squeezing and…

Bolting upright in bed sent flashes of pain through Harry’s body. His hands came to his throat as he desperately tried to pry invisible fingers from his neck. His screams came easier now, and he could hear his frantic, strained shrieks echoing off the walls.

Suddenly, strong hands were on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his throat. His cries turned to pitiful pleas as he fought off his attacker.

“No, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” His voice cut out as his already parched throat constricted with fear.

A strong arm wrapped around him and pulled him close. Harry fought against the touch, his frailty all too apparent as he was unable to pull away. He finally found the presence of mind to open his eyes, the intense light of the room causing him to wince, and he snapped his eyes closed again, opening them for a brief second, barely able to lift his eyelids from the fatigue. He caught sight of a blurred, black-robed figure before his eyes shut in defiance.

Slowly, his mind cleared and the recollection of his last moments of consciousness returned to him. He needed to think, to find out where he was and who else was there. He balled his hands into fists, crushing his fingers into his palms so hard that he thought they might snap under the pressure. Gently, the Professor guided him back so he was lying down, and then felt the familiar cool glass against his lips. Shaking, he called on all the courage he could muster and allowed Snape to guide the liquid into his mouth. He gagged on the thickness of it, and Snape’s fingers rested delicately on his throat, stroking softly to encourage him to swallow. Harry flinched at the touch.

“Good boy.” Snape said quietly.

He’d said the words so softly that Harry almost doubted he’d heard it, but again came the voice, a deep, silky whisper, just like in the dream

“A few more now. Come on.”

Harry tried to open his eyes but found it impossible. There was a deep throbbing radiating through his head and his head felt aflame with searing heat.

More horrid potions were poured into his mouth, and the Professor helped him swallow each one, not that Harry had a choice, he was so weak. Each gulp played havoc on his wounded throat and he grimaced accordingly. Fingers pressed gently at each side of his throat, probing at the glands in his neck, and Harry flinched violently at the touch. The hands retreated, and then were back, the pads of Snape’s fingers barely pressing at the skin this time as he continued his examination. Harry tried not to wince at the pain, but his face deceived him, and he felt the bed shift as the Professor moved. There was nothing for a moment, and then Harry felt the shock of a cool cloth on his forehead, and a hand tenderly brushing the errant strands of hair from his brow.

Harry tried to lie quietly, but with each stroke to his brow he cowered instinctively, waiting for the hands to latch into his neck and crush the life out of him, his whole body tensing with each touch.

With much effort, he dragged his eyes open, expecting the bright light to assault his eyes, but the room was dimly lit, and everything swam for a moment as his vision adjusted.

Immediately Severus was over him, brow contorted with worry, and he reached out a hand to touch the boy’s face, alarmed when Harry shrank back, hissing in pain as his bruised back pressed firmly against the mattress. He wasn’t expecting such fear from the child, especially now that Harry could see him.

“Shhh.” he soothed. “Harry, it’s all right. It’s Professor Snape.” He watched in shock as his words did nothing to settle the youngster, almost flinching himself as Harry’s body trembled uncontrollably, his breaths choppy. What on earth was causing such a response? He again ran his wand the length of Harry’s slender frame, the diagnostic spell showing nothing in the way of relapsing injuries, and Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry’s heart rate and blood pressure, which were increasing in severity by the second.

“Harry.” he said gently, attempting to convey as much tenderness as he could with his words. “Harry please, calm yourself. It’s all over, there’s nothing to fear. You’re home and you’re safe.”

“Over?” whispered Harry, his voice sounding ragged and strained, and Severus reached for the glass of water on the side table, carefully supporting the boy’s head and allowing him to sip at the cool liquid.

“Yes, it’s over.” Snape replied assuredly, letting Harry’s head return to the soft pillow. He placed the glass on the table and turned back to Harry, surprised to see the child’s eyes glistening with tears.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, concerned, but Harry only looked at him with a terrible, quiet, desperation, and Severus’ stomach dropped as Harry spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Please, I’m sorry.”

“Child.” Severus murmured, taking Harry’s hand, which immediately clenched to a fist in his palm. “It is I who should be apologizing. You have done nothing wrong.”

Harry nodded weakly, thankful that the ordeal was over. Perhaps there would be no more beatings, for a while at least. He would do his best not to anger the Professor. Regardless of what Snape said, Harry knew it was his fault, and he’d be better from now on. He wouldn’t give the man another reason to beat him. He didn’t understand what Snape wanted from him yet, but he knew enough to know he had to be good, had to do as he was told, had to fear him, just like Uncle Vernon. He thought he could hate the Professor, but the fact that the killing curse had failed told him that there was no way he could hate Snape for what he’d done. Harry had deserved it, just like his uncle had always said.

He stifled a yawn, wincing at the pain cascading across his head, and Snape released his hand, which was still fisted tightly, and Harry pulled it close, clutching the hem of the blanket with white knuckled force as the Professor returned to the chair. So the man was staying then. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest. There was no way to cast the silencing spell, not with Snape here, and he had no clue where his wand was. The nightmares would come, and Snape would hear his cries, and then he’d find out Harry had lied about not having them, and then…and then…

Whimpering, Harry shuffled under the heavy duvet, desperately trying to sit up. Severus was at his side at once, his hands on each of Harry’s shoulders, trying to guide the panicking boy back to a level position.

“Harry, please-” Severus began, his voice laced with concern as well as bewilderment. What was going on? The boy was terrified!

“My room.” Harry whispered, close to tears at the thought of being beaten again. If he was in his room, perhaps Snape wouldn’t hear his screams at night. “I have to sleep in my room. Please…I’m sorry, I’m…I need to…please, Sir.” He wrestled against Snape’s gentle hold, grabbing at the mattress trying to pull himself up, and he gasped at the agony that spread throughout his body, his back, head, everything, everywhere.

Completely undone at Harry’s behaviour, Snape released the slender shoulders and moved his hands to the boy’s wrists, pulling gently to allow Harry to sit up. Harry gingerly slid from the bed to the floor, his knees buckling under him as his bare feet made contact with the wood, and Severus’s hand flew around Harry’s waist, lifting him to stand on now steady legs.

Ignoring the pain, Harry walked slowly across the room, the effort with which he took each step evident on his face, and his brow gleamed with perspiration at the struggle as he made his way across the room and out into the hall.

Severus walked behind him, utterly lost as to how to explain Harry’s reaction, and a little fearful to disallow the boy’s wishes. He watched as Harry continued down the hall, the contusions on his neck and upper back visible above the line of his shirt, the mottled red and purple smudges a reminder of the pain the child must have been in, but still he walked, shuffling towards his room in determination.

Harry entered the room, pausing a moment, taking a step back, almost into Severus, who watched him with astonished interest. The mattress was bare, and the crumpled sheets lay in a pile across the shadowy room. Harry moved to the bed and climbed up onto the mattress, easing himself down slowly into his stomach, shaking as he felt strong hands on his torso assisting him. He lay shivering, as much from pain as from fear, and he clenched his eyes shut, praying the Professor would just leave him in peace. He heard the man speak his name, and he slowly opened his eyes to see Snape crouched down at the side of the bed, staring at him, his dark eyes searching Harry’s face for emotion, but Harry refused to show anything, his face blank.

“Harry.” Snape repeated. “You can’t sleep on a bare mattress. I’ll make your bed quickly, then you can rest.” he said, his eyes glancing at the pile of sheets on the floor.

Harry jerked at the man’s words. No! Not the sheets that were ripe with the scent of Snape, the scent of pain and fear. He had almost died on those sheets, choking and screaming and dying. No!

Harry’s breathing quickened, his body heaving with frenzied inhalations.

“Nooo.” he managed to cry, tears biting at his eyes, and he felt the warm wetness on his cheek as they spilled onto his face.

Severus’ concern leapt into overdrive. Something was wrong, very wrong. This was not the reaction of an injured boy, not just physically injured at least. Harry’s emotional problems had returned full force, and Severus realized in one jolting moment that everything Harry had accomplished since his arrival on the island had been undone. The boy was a mess, shaking, breathing erratically, eyes wide and unseeing as he lay shuddering on the bed.

Quickly, Severus rose and pulled his wand from his robes, conjuring a heavy blanket, which he draped over the trembling child. He cast a warming spell then crouched back down so he was in sight of the boy.

“Harry.” he whispered, afraid to use any more forceful form of speech. He waited until Harry’s eyes darted to his and remained before speaking again. “Harry I’m going to leave the room. I want you to know that you’re safe here. No harm will come to you, do you understand?” There was no response. “I will return once you have had time to rest.” Severus finished softly, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy so fearful of him once again, the same boy who had hugged him of his own free will just days before, now staring at him with eyes like a trapped animal.

Severus sighed and dropped his head, staring at the floor, feeling completely lost as to how to handle Harry’s situation. His eyes fell on a collection of short wires under the end of the bed, and he reached out, picking a few up and studying them in the low light. It was like straw, crisp, broken bristles that…

Bristles?

Giving Harry a quick glance, Snape slowly rose and walked into the center of the room. He withdrew his wand from his robes and whispered the lumos spell, a gentle, white light surrounding him at the whispered word.

Surveying the room, Severus walked slowly past the windows, eyes to the floor, searching for…well, not even sure what his suspicion was at that point. Another abandoned bristle caught his eye, and he added it to the collection as he continued his slow, deliberate pace across the room, coming to a stop at Harry’s trunk. Another crushed length of straw, this time accompanied by a sharp shard of wood, and Severus’ heart raced as he knelt down and carefully opened the lid of the trunk.

His eyes widened at the sight. Hundreds of shredded broom bristles lay inside on a bed of crushed wood. The Professor gingerly reached inside, his hand reaching into the shattered chips of broom handle, his fingers plucking a larger shard of wood from the wreckage. He held his wand to it, his breath catching in his throat at the golden HP shimmering in the light. Unable to even form a coherent thought, he returned the chunk of wood and closed the trunk lid.

He stood and gathered the discarded sheets before walking to the door. He turned, watching the charmed blanket rising and falling jerkily from the boy’s stammering breaths. He closed the door softly, and stood in the hall. Della’s small body appeared at the other end, her head tilting to one side in befuddlement at seeing her master’s room empty.

Severus made his way towards the little elf, anger welling inside him, his suspicions of Craig now confirmed, his rage almost overwhelming. In a blink Della was at his side, and he stopped abruptly, dropping the sheets into her open arms. Without a word he stalked past her, pulling open the laboratory door with such force that several stones were crushed, the dusty fragments of rock crumbling to the floor as the door slammed against the wall. Withdrawing his wand, he stabbed it against the pale stone, nostrils flaring, wand gripped so tightly he could almost feel the very core if it against his skin.

Something had happened over the last four days, something both Craig and Harry were keeping from him, one out of fear, the other out of deception, and Severus Snape was going to find out exactly what the hell it was.