Craig effortlessly kicked open the heavy oak door, leaning into the slab as he pushed it open wide, and carried Harry into the foyer.

He called out his brother’s name, and Ernie appeared at the top of the stairs, his face an expression of alarm as he saw the boy in Craig’s arms, head slouching lifelessly over Craig’s forearm, his muddy limbs dangling, dripping mud.

Ernie’s tiny legs were almost unable to keep his body upright as he fled down the stairs and towards the front door, the furious winds driving rain into the foyer. He withdrew his wand and threw his hand to the sky, shouting in panic the words that would send a voluminous jet of red sparks out into the sky where they exploded in a fiery ball amid the dark clouds. He hoped to Merlin that Severus would see the signal through the storm.

Craig was already heading up the stairs when Ernie, throwing himself with full force up each step, shouted to his brother to take Harry down the hall to the first open door. Craig entered Snape’s bedroom, seeing Della, her eyes for once not wide with fright, but narrowed in determination as she guided the man towards the bed and helped him lay the unresponsive child down.

“Ernie,” Craig wheezed, gasping for breath after his mad dash across the island. “Ernie, I don’t know if he’s breathing.”

He drew his forearm across his brow, his wet sleeve doing nothing to soak the droplets of water streaming from his sodden hair.

“There was so much rain; I couldn’t tell if there was a pulse. I couldn’t feel anything.”

“Help me with this,” Ernie said, his tiny hands motioning towards a footstool in the corner.

Craig quickly crossed the room and carried the stool to the side of the bed where Ernie climbed atop it, vials in hand as he assessed the unconscious boy in front of him. He pressed his fingers to Harry’s neck, and the room fell quiet, save for the rain pelting against the window, as Ernie stood as still as stone, hopeful to feel the delicate throb under his fingertips.

The seconds felt like hours, but after a moment, Ernie let out a relieved breath as he felt Harry’s thready pulse.

Quickly, he grasped his wand and waved it above Harry’s head and torso, frowning at the diagnostic spell’s revelation.

“Ernie?” Craig asked anxiously, seeing his brother’s vexed look.

“He’s alright,” Ernie replied, flashing a hesitant smile. “Help me here, will you?”

He uncorked a vial and motioned to Craig to lift Harry’s head. He carefully poured the thin, blue liquid into the side of the boy’s mouth, nodding gratefully as Harry swallowed automatically in his unconscious state. Ernie handed the empty vial to Della, who was standing wringing her hands in quiet panic. The second vial, filled with a thick, brown concoction, was slowly administered in small dollops. Ernie again held out his hand to Della, who took the vial and pressed a warm, wet cloth into his small palm.

The sound of the front door slamming shut alerted the three to Snape’s presence in the manor, and it was only seconds later that he flew into his room, pulling his drenched cloak from his shoulders and throwing it to the floor, his face fraught with apprehension.

“How – “ he started, throwing an inquiring look at Ernie.

“He’s fine, Severus,” the tiny man cut in as the Professor swept across the floor to Harry’s side. “He’s very cold, very wet, and utterly exhausted, but he’s fine.”

He handed Severus the cloth, and stepped down from the stool to allow the man access to his charge. He glanced between the two men, then walked over to Della and patted her arm gently.

“Della, how about a round of hot drinks, hmm? We’ll come down to the kitchen in a while.”

Della looked towards Snape, awaiting an approving nod before disappearing. Ernie turned to Craig, who was standing at the end of the bed watching the Professor gently wipe mud from Harry’s face.

“Craig, why don’t you go and get a nice, hot coffee into you?” Ernie said encouragingly, giving his brother a telling look.

Craig nodded, knowing his brother and Snape had issues to discuss that didn’t involve him. He put a comforting hand on Snape’s shoulder, earning a small, appreciative nod from the man, and headed out into the hall, closing the bedroom door softly behind him.

“Of all the ridiculous things...” Snape murmured as he set the dirty cloth down on the bedside table.

“Severus,” Ernie said gently, coming up beside his friend and stepping up onto the stool once more. “Severus, I performed the routine diagnostic charms.” He paused, not sure how to phrase his findings.

Snape nodded. He withdrew his wand and cast a cleansing charm on Harry, then on the bed linens. He reached over and pulled the covers up over the unconscious boy and turned towards Ernie, who was staring at him with a concerned look.

Snape frowned. “What is it?” He asked, knowing such a fretful stare from his friend was cause for alarm.

“Severus...the results were very troubling. It showed a history of massive soft tissue damage. There was evidence of multiple broken ribs, fractured fingers, and a poorly healed broken wrist.”

Snape nodded slowly. “I believe he has been mistreated in the past by his relatives,” he replied, anger welling inside him as his suspicions about Harry’s abuse were confirmed.

“Not only that, Severus.” Ernie continued. “There’s evidence of past Catabolysis. He’s anemic, and his glycogen levels are barely registering.” He paused again, allowing his friend to absorb the information. Snape knew the ramifications of his findings as well as he did.

“He has not been eating.” Snape said softly, realizing the effect Harry’s emotional state was having on the boy’s health. He turned his gaze to Harry and sighed. “I was not aware his nervous condition was causing such behaviour. The boy has a…difficult time discussing his past, something I will remedy when he awakens.”

“Well that won’t be for a while. I administered a sleeping potion along with the internal warming draught,” Ernie replied, not noticing Snape’s head jerk towards him, a pinched look on his face. “The poor boy needs a good, long rest.”

Snape brought his hands together and steepled his digits, resting his furrowed brow against the tips of his index fingers. He grimaced, knowing that the boy had been forced into a nightmare filled sleep from which he could not escape.

“Ernie,” he said somberly. “Forgive my lack of etiquette, but Della will provide you and Craig with anything you need. I must remain with Mr. Potter. I trust you can find your way out.”

“Of course, Severus,” Ernie replied, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “After thirty years of friendship, I think I can excuse you for not walking me to the door.”

He smiled warmly and gave Snape’s arm an affectionate squeeze before stepping down to the floor and making his way towards the door. He opened it and turned back towards the Professor.

“You know, Severus, it’s good to see you worrying about something other than lacewing flies and sopophorus beans for a change.”

Snape looked up to see Ernie’s mischievous grin. He narrowed his eyes and forced back a sardonic smile.

“Get off my island, dwarf,” he drawled, sending Ernie into his characteristic fit of high pitched giggles. Ernie pulled the door closed, his shrill laughter fading as he headed downstairs.

Snape turned back to Harry, his eyes narrowing in earnest now. How was it that the boy had been in his presence for four days and had eaten so little? Diagnostic charms did not lie. The boy was starving. He rubbed his chin in thought. It was the prior evidence of a Catabolic state in the child that concerned him the most. The condition was only seen in severe cases of starvation, where the body began to break down muscle tissue in a last ditch effort to keep the heart and nervous system alive. How on earth could Harry’s family have denied him food to the point where his body literally began to consume itself? No wonder the boy had begun to fall apart as the end of term neared. The terror of knowing that starvation and brutality awaited him at home must have been almost impossible to bear, and now Severus had further information about the physical abuse the boy had suffered. Severe soft tissue damage was indicative of harsh and multiple beatings. Obviously some so violent that they caused broken bones.

He shook his head, unable to comprehend the cruelty and aggression the boy must have faced in his short lifetime.

Snape suddenly realized he was still completely saturated from being out in the storm. Ernie’s revelation had been so disconcerting that he’d not even felt the cold, but he shivered now, wrapped in his icy, wet garments.

Giving Harry a troubled look, he went to his bureau and gathered a change of clothes. He dressed in the en-suite, glad to be warm once more. He pulled a chair over to the bed and fell into it, exhausted not only physically from an afternoon scouring the island, but mentally from discovering proof of Harry’s maltreatment.

Della appeared, handing him a large mug of coffee and informing him that both Ernie and Craig had departed. Severus sipped the sweetened beverage, grateful that the little elf with her uncanny knack of knowing what her master needed before he asked for it, would keep him well supplied with coffee for the rest of the night.

The drone of rain on the window calmed him somewhat as he sat staring at the boy, lying so quiet and still in Severus’ large bed, and he wondered how long he would have to wait before the nightmares took hold.

He had a dreadful suspicion he would not have to wait long.

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It was barely an hour later when Severus, who was deeply immersed in proofreading his lecture on the use of Acromantula venom in potions, heard the quiet rustling of Harry’s hand shuffling under the heavy blankets. Lowering his parchment, Snape sat for a moment, his onyx eyes narrowing in anticipation as the subtle scuffling of limbs slowly became more aggressive.

He rose, and carefully set his parchment and quill on the bedside table as Harry’s small frame stiffened, his forehead clenched in a fearful grimace, taking in several quick breaths, then exhaling heavily, a barely audible moan escaping his lips before he lapsed back into silence, his body still but for the steady rising and falling of his chest.

Snape let out the breath he’d been holding, feeling his shoulders settle as the moment of tension passed. If this was the extent of the boy’s reaction to his nightmares tonight, he would welcome the coming hours.

Della appeared in the doorway just then, preferring to enter quietly from the hall so as not to interfere with any aid her master could be administering. She padded across the room and handed Snape a fresh mug of coffee, which he took gratefully, granting the elf a few moments of bliss at his whispered thanks.

“Della is following your instructions and staying away while you are tending to little master, Sir,” she whispered, her large eyes staring up at him as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“I see that,” Snape replied in a hushed voice, pressing his lips to the rim and taking a sip of coffee. “Thank you, Della.”

The little elf clasped her hands together and held them to her chest, smiling briefly before her face took on its usual, forlorn expression.

“Is little master to be waking soon?”

Severus looked down at the house elf, his dark eyes flashing with annoyance.

“No, and Harry can thank that pea-sized little twit for filling him with sleeping draught!” he snapped in a harsh whisper. Della flinched and let out a muted squeak before tiptoeing towards Snape, taking her master by the hand and patting it gently as she always did when he was upset.

“Master Snape, Sir, maybe you are giving little master a potion for waking?”

“No, there is nothing that can be given to counter a sleeping draught without causing an increased heart rate,” he replied. “In his fragile state, it would be foolhardy to attempt it. We must simply wait.” He sat back down in the chair and let out a frustrated sigh. “This is ludicrous,” he said softly. “He is wounded far more deeply than I have the ability to aid.”

“Little master is scared,” Della whimpered. “Little master is in darkness.” She cocked her head and said quietly. “Like Master was.”

Snape froze, glaring down at the little elf.

“We are nothing alike,” he hissed angrily, causing the creature to take several steps back in fear, her pillowcase garb fluttering around her bony knees. “My associations were by my own choice,” he finished.

Della timidly made her way towards the irate man. She took his hand again and looked imploringly up at him.

“Darkness is darkness, Master.”

Severus looked down into Della’s large eyes. She was right. His own pain led him to devote himself to the dark cause, not solely out of willingness, but out of the belief that there was no one else in which he could place his faith, and when faced with the decision to trust or to retreat into darkness, he had chosen the latter. With all that he had faced, what was stopping Harry from following the same path should it present itself?

“When did you become so impertinent?” he growled. He paused, then in a softer voice, whispered “And so insightful?”

The little russet coloured elf gazed back at him in adoration, her tiny fingers stroking the back of his hand, the gesture meaning so much more to Severus than just an act of comfort. The little creature may have been a servant, but after so many years, she had also become a friend, able to see through her master’s harsh exterior like no one else.

Severus sighed. In order for him to achieve Harry’s trust, he would first need to understand the source of the child’s fears. If Harry was emotionally unable or unwilling to articulate it, Severus would have to acquire the information himself.

“Leave us,” he whispered.

“I am being here if you are needing me, Master,” Della squeaked faintly, bowing low and disappearing with a soft pop.

Severus stood, and removed his wand from his robes. He moved closer to the sleeping child, and reluctantly reached out, pressing the tip of his wand to Harry’s temple.

He took a steadying breath, unable to think of a single way he was going to explain this to the boy as he closed his eyes and focused his mind on the word he did not even have to speak in order to slip inside Harry’s mind.

Legilimens.

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Severus Snape had witnessed many atrocities in his lifetime. In his service to the Dark Lord, he had been privy to some of the most deplorable acts imaginable, but the horror of Harry’s childhood stirred repulsion within the man that paled in comparison to the abhorrence he felt for any act committed by Voldemort.

As he explored the layers of Harry’s mind, he was met by wave after wave of shocking imagery, each act of violence towards the boy more unspeakable than the last. He could only stand helpless, observing a five year old Harry experiencing his first beating by his vile Uncle, his stomach churning as the boy bit into his own flesh in order to prevent his cries of pain as the belt was flung with so little mercy against his back.

Sickened, Severus continued his exploration through the heartbreaking memories. He looked on powerlessly as he watched the starving boy locked in a cramped cupboard, his stomach churning in agony as his Uncle taunted him through the vent with a plate of food. Countless beatings, heavy fists brought down in anger against Harry’s frail form, words of hatred spat by his Aunt and cousin. Weeks of isolation, tears cried in desperation at the withholding of food and innumerable incidences of savage beatings, each time the child left to lay alone in fear and anguish as his family continued their daily routine, paying no heed to the battered youngster hidden within the confines of the dark cupboard.

The scenes played out for what felt like a thousand lifetimes, though it was only close to an hour before Severus pulled himself from Harry’s subconscious. Weak from disbelief, he staggered to the en-suite and ran a sink full of cold water, splashing the frigid water to his face as if it could wash away the depravity he had witnessed. All trace of composure vanished as he returned to Harry’s side, studying the pale features of a face that had seen more injury and neglect than any child should ever be forced to endure.

He fell once more into the chair, reaching out to rest his fingers against the boy’s wrist, checking his pulse. He said nothing, his voice lost to the deafening sound of his heart still beating fitfully against his chest in outrage.

The child’s skin was cool to the touch and his fingers lay curled against his palm. Severus gently unfurled the digits and slipped his palm against the boy’s, his own strong fingers curling gently around Harry’s hand. For some reason, it did not feel unnatural. The act of providing reassurance to others was not something he felt comfortable with, but to his surprise, the action of offering solace to this particular child did not feel put on, in fact, it came effortlessly.

Suddenly, without so much as a whimper of warning, Harry drew in a deep breath and let out a piercing, feral scream, his back arching, arms thrown out to guard against an invisible foe. Taken aback by the abrupt display, Severus’ hands encompassed Harry’s small, clenched fists, holding them to the boy’s chest as he tried to keep him against the mattress.

“Harry!” He called, his voice firm with determination. “Harry, it’s alright, there’s nothing to harm you here. You’re safe.”

“Nooo!” came the terrified cry, too deeply immersed in nightmare to have any awareness of the Professor. “No…I’m sorry…I’m sorry! Please!”

The words were slurred as Harry’s head thrashed violently back and forth against the pillow, his face twisted in fear, tears leaking from his tightly scrunched eyes. A quickly drawn breath caught in his throat as he fought against Snape’s restraining hold, and his cries turned from fear to desperation as he begged in a half sobbing whisper.

“Nuh…no…please I…please...”

Then a final plea, his voice broken, sounding so utterly frail and despairing as he whispered his last please before falling limply against the mattress, soaked with sweat, his limbs jerking sporadically, chest heaving.

Snape wiped his own perspiring brow and pulled the discarded blankets back up over Harry’s body. He sank back into the chair, his eyes clouded over in grim anticipation of the next nightmare.

For the next twelve hours, Severus stayed at Harry’s bedside. Between states of frenzy, the boy would remain in a fitful sleep, sometimes with periods of complete calm, though the rare tranquil moments were generally followed by an event much like the first attack. First would come the frantic jostling of limbs, arms flailing, shielding against whatever horror the boy was experiencing at the hands of his Uncle, and the breathless, pathetic murmurs for help, begging for lenience. Then, finally, Harry would fall into acceptance, weakly begging through barely moving lips for the cruelty to end, no longer bothering to fight against the blows.

Severus would take the boy’s hands in his, sometimes murmuring words of reassurance, sometimes remaining silent, but each time cursing his well meaning friend, who, through an act of compassion, had unwittingly sent Harry into torment.

Then finally, as the first tendrils of sun scuttled up onto the horizon, Harry’s eyes flickered open. He reached towards his face, nuzzling a crooked finger into the corner of each eye and rubbing firmly at the crusts of sleep there. He felt drained, completely eaten up inside. Last night had been the worst ever. Usually he would awaken from a nightmare soon after it began, but this time he’d stayed asleep, reliving past horrors over and over without the release of bolting upright in bed, panting hard as he realized he was safe at Hogwarts, and then spending the remainder of the night pacing the floor in an effort to stay awake.

But this wasn’t his room, and this certainly wasn’t Hogwarts, because as far as he remembered, his room there didn’t come furnished with a lightly snoring Potion's Professor out cold in a chair beside the bed. Harry furrowed his brow as he recalled his mad dash for freedom across the island, and then being lost in the storm. There was little he could remember after that. They had found him; that much was obvious, he thought, as he carefully and quietly sat upright. He was wearing his black pajamas, and he blushed at the thought of Snape changing him. He hoped the man at least had the courtesy to use a charm that did it instantly.

Barely making a sound, he slid out from under the covers and crawled down to the foot of the bed, keeping his eyes glued on Snape, who made little movement save for a few twitches of his hooked nose. Harry noticed the man was still dressed. He must have spent the night at his side, he thought, and the barely there feeling of happiness again bloomed inside his chest for a split second, eliciting a half smile from the boy as he nimbly slid to the floor.

He had almost made it to the door when he heard the chair shift behind him, and he froze in place, too worried and embarrassed to turn back and see whatever unpleasant emotion would be glinting in the Professor’s eyes.

“Mr. Potter.”

The drawl was unmistakably sharp, and Harry flinched instinctively, his bottom lip retreating to his mouth to be fretfully chewed as he turned to face Snape.

The man was standing now, his rumpled robes unable to attain their usual intimidating billow as he stared at Harry with eyes that seemed to see into his very soul.

He looked tired.

Harry raised his eyebrows, daring to look, Severus noticed, as innocent as possible, as Snape extended his index finger, and very slowly beckoned the boy to him.

“Sit,” he said crisply, pointing to the bed, and Harry slowly made his way back across the room and clambered up onto the soft mattress, sitting cross legged, staring at the shirt buttons that snaked up to the man’s throat.

“Harry,” Snape started, causing the boy to look up at hearing mention of his first name before staring into his lap, trying to avoid eye contact.

Severus took a deep breath as he returned to his chair, exhaling arduously as he searched for a place to begin in the wreckage that was Harry’s situation. He might as well start with an admission, he thought, knowing that the sooner the boy knew what had happened, the sooner he would be free to allow the pain and hurt that lived so deep inside him, to be released.

He reached out, and with a slow, deliberate movement, set a few fingers on the underside of the boy’s chin, lifting the head until his onyx eyes met Harry’s wary, green orbs.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, moving the hand from under Harry’s chin and resting it lightly against the warm forehead. He noticed the boy’s hands flex quickly at the touch before being clasped together and shifted to Harry’s lap where his fingers tangled themselves together nervously.

“Fine, Sir,” Was the barely whispered response, and Snape pulled his hand from the boy’s forehead and rested it on top of Harry’s writing hands, calming the franticly twisting digits.

“Harry –“

“I’m sorry, Sir!” Harry blurted out, interrupting the Professor. He continued, ignoring the man’s raised eyebrows. “I’m sorry I ran off. Please don’t…please don’t…” he lapsed into silence, though his quick, nervous breaths were loud enough to send Snape’s raised eyebrows even higher in concern.

Severus moved his other hand to Harry’s own, grabbing the boy’s hands and holding them firmly.

“Please don’t what?” He asked, pausing to allow the child a few moments to collect himself, and Harry took a deep breath, staring back at the Professor with a look in his eyes that Severus, without any hyperbole, could only describe as pure terror. It took several moments more before the tiny, soft voice formed the heartbreaking plea.

“Please don’t send me back.”

Severus’ face collapsed into a confused look.

“Harry, I never said anything about sending you away.”

“I know, but…but you said that last night we….there was something, but you didn’t finish it, and you were looking at me like…like…and I thought maybe –“

“Harry,” Snape cut in, tugging on the boy’s hands gently in order to interrupt his wild train of thought. “I have no intention of sending you home.” He took a deep breath. “Especially since I am aware of their treatment of you,” he finished softly, eyeing Harry carefully to see his reaction.

The boy’s hands, which had been trembling against Severus’ palms, froze instantly, and he felt the fingers crumple into fists as Harry registered what the man had just said. They stared at each other in silence, Harry’s eyes widening in disbelief before flickering towards the door. Severus caught the motion instantly.

“Harry,” he said quickly, his voice a little harder now to convey his seriousness. “Harry, you are not running this time. This needs to be discussed.”

He felt Harry’s hands trying to pull out of his grip, and he tightened his hold on the boy, forcing him to stay seated.

“Harry, listen to me. I saw what happened. I saw what your Uncle did to you.”

“No,” came Harry’s frantic reply. “There’s nothing…I don’t know what…” He gulped, trying to force down a mouthful of air so he could speak. “Nothing happened!”

“Harry, there is no need for denial. I used an ability known as Legilimancy. It allows me to see inside your mind, to see your memories.” He shifted the chair closer to the bed until his knees pressed up against the side of the mattress. Harry sat mere inches from him, his shoulders rigid with panic as he struggled against the Professor’s strong hold.

“No! You didn’t see! There’s nothing to see!” Harry shouted, shaking his head frantically, his eyes glistening.

“Yes, Harry,” Snape said gently. “I did see. I saw him starving you. I saw him beating you, and locking you away. There is no need to hide from it anymore.”

“No,” Harry whispered desperately, knowing that no matter how many times he repeated the word, that the Professor was telling the truth. The man wouldn’t lie, not about this, and Harry’s heart clenched fearfully as the full force of the situation hit him.

Snape knew everything.

The Professor opened his mouth to speak again, but a popping noise interrupted him, and his head whirled towards the sound as Della appeared across the room holding a steaming mug of coffee. She took a step forward, then paused, her wide eyes unblinking as she realized she had walked in at a very inopportune moment.

Harry took the opportunity to pull his hands free from the Professor and slip off the bed, quickly making his way across the room before the man had a chance to reclaim his hold on him. Della eyed him keenly, a smile appearing on her face, her ears darting up in happiness at seeing the boy up and about. She turned her smile towards her master, but it quickly faded as his stern gaze fixed upon her, a silent reprimand at her intrusion, and her ears drooped, coming to rest on her shoulders as Harry skirted around the little elf and pulled the bedroom door open.

“Harry,” Snape called, careful not to inject his annoyance at Della into his voice.

“I need to get dressed,” Harry replied, knowing how lame his excuse was, but caring little at this point. He would have said he was going skydiving if he thought it would convince Snape to let him leave.

Severus let out a sigh, and nodded.

“Alright, but we are not finished our discussion,” he stated.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said quickly, and all but ran out the door and down the hall. Snape heard the rapid footsteps on the hardwood floor, then the slamming of a door as Harry fled into his room.

He sighed, glaring towards Della, who offered him a hesitant smile as she slowly backed out of the room, coffee sloshing onto the floor from the cup held in her trembling hands.

Severus rose to his feet, standing alone now in his bedroom. He walked to the door and stared down the hall at Harry’s closed door, then in the other direction, seeing a flash of pink as Della hurtled down the stairs.

He rolled his eyes.

“Wonderful,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“Absolutely, bloody wonderful.”