September 3rd

"How is he?" The low hum of a voice asked sharply, stirring Harry from his daydreams. Although the voice startled him, he didn't look in the direction of the speaker. As if he had to, he thought. Harry had become oddly familiar with that voice. If he were to be blunt, he would say that he would know that voice anywhere. But he wasn't blunt, and he wasn't sure if he could find the man's voice in a sea of others. It was Professor Snape's fourth visit in the last two days. Professor Snape seemed to like repetition, because the man showed up around the same time in the morning and in the evening.

"Better physically, but..." Madam Pomfrey's voice was soft and testing. It seemed as though she was daring Professor Snape to challenge her. "I'm unsure how he is... Mentally." She said the word 'mentally' very softly and Harry had to strain to hear it.

"I see." The sudden change in voice volume startled Harry. It was odd going from Madam Pomfrey's hurried whisper to Professor Snape's loud but smooth voice. Harry shot a shy glance at his Professor, to see his Professor observing him closely.

"He seems mentally stable to me." Professor Snape said after a moment.

"He just sits there, void of any emotion, and quiet as a mouse, sometimes I forget he's here. He does whatever I want him to without complaint. He also drinks the potions without so much as a grimace, it's as if he doesn't know how to feel." Madam Pomfrey's voice became softer. He looked to see them walking into the hall. He did not hear Professor Snape's response.

He suddenly felt exhausted. Not physically exhausted, but mentally. His brain was upset with thinking, and feeling. Thoughts ghosted through his brain, murmuring soft horror stories as they lurked in the deepest parts of his brain.

'What are you doing? Shut down, forget, don't move, and don’t breathe. Just sit there suffering, dying, and miserable. There is no impressing him. He hates you.' He flinched, physically and mentally shuddering with realization. 'Always wanting to have someone like you, you're pathetic.' 

"Mr. Potter."

"Sir?" Harry mumbled, as he stared at his hands, and chewed his bottom lip. He didn't look at Professor Snape. He knew that it would probably end up with him in trouble, but he couldn't look just then, not with his face so full of emotions. He swallowed down every feeling he had, and pushed them into a box in his mind. Leaving his face and mind free of emotion. Or so he thought.

"Look at me." The order was simple.

Harry looked up at him slowly. Obsidian eyes stared back at him penetrating his soul with a coolness that both shocked and annoyed Harry. There was a slow calculation in the way he stared. Harry wanted to look away. He wanted to run, scream and hide, but he couldn’t. He had to stay and he had to be perfect. He had to be the person that was wanted. He had to stop feeling, and start thinking. His feelings were threatening everything.

At that moment, gazing into those dark eyes, he felt the worst need to cry.

‘We will keep you safe, but I need you to promise me something. Promise me you’ll stay strong, Harry.’ The Headmaster’s voice laced his thoughts. The Headmaster had seemed so worried, and he seemed like he really cared. Harry really wanted to make him happy. To be honest, Harry wanted to make anyone happy.

000

Vacant, was the only word Severus could use to describe the look in Potter's eyes. Poppy may have been right. The boy looked like he didn't know what emotions were. If he was to inform Dumbledore of the boy’s real progresses he needed to get a rise out of the boy. Dumbledore had visited Potter the first day

"I'm glad you're not incompetent, Mr. Potter." He hissed, placing his best sneer on his face.

Nothing.

There was nothing, not even a flicker of emotion. Where was the spunk? Where was the utter defiance? Where was the 'I can conquer anything' look? Where was the lopsided grin? Where was the James Potter twin? Damn women and their unnatural ability to be right. Damn Harry Potter for not being James Potter. Damn those empty eyes that ensnared him relentlessly. Damn everything! Damn himself for feeling a tiny bit of pity for the boy. And Damn Dumbledore for putting him in this position!

"Yes, sir." There was nothing behind that voice. What made Dumbledore put Potter in the hands of muggles? Blood wards were what he often said was why, but Severus wasn't sure that was the whole truth.

The boy was broken, and soulless. Then it suddenly dawned on Severus. The boy was easily manipulatable in this position. He tasted something sour in his mouth at that thought. Dumbledore would never... He sighed deeply.

"Mr. Potter, you may leave the hospital wing tomorrow." Severus sensed an unknown edge to his voice. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. Potter could be the perfect soldier without emotions.

"Yes, sir."

No one would have to worry about his mental health, or if he was lonely, or if he wanted to die. No one would have to do anything. Who was he kidding? Harry Potter was eleven. He was a child, a small, and abused child. Savior or not, the boy needed guidance, and protection. He wasn't saying he cared for Potter’s wellbeing, oh no that would never happen. He was just doing his duty as an adult.

Even in Severus's worst moments as a child he was never this calm. There was something ultimately wrong with this. The child seemed unruffled, and tranquil. The boy wasn’t cowering, or whimpering. Something inside of Severus twitched. He felt himself wanting this child to be James Potter. He wanted the child to be anyone but the emotionless creature sitting before him.

Potter was breathing slowly. By the way his shoulders were tensed it showed that the perfect tranquility he was exhibiting was a facade. The boy was so young and already able to fake it with such experience. Severus smirked. Ah, so the boy did have slytherin qualities. Harry Potter was still a mystery.

"Very well then." He turned on his heels and left, deciding to investigate The-Boy-Who-Lived further. 

000

Harry stared at Professor Snape's back as he exited the room. He sighed deeply when he lost sight of him. Harry hated being a specimen, and so far everyone had been analyzing him with a microscope. They searched for his flaws relentlessly. At the moment, all Harry wanted to do was curl up under the bed and disappear into the floor.

September 6th

To say that Harry was used to Hogwarts would be a bold faced lie. He wasn't used to gossip mouthed children, the pesky teachers with their all-knowing looks, the girls that glanced at him open-mouthed, the confusing classes, the too rich food that mad him sick, the candy-coated Headmaster, and the bat-like Professor Snape.

He hadn't spoken much to Ron. The other boy seemed to avoid him like he had the plague. Harry thought that Ron figured him to be evil. Not everyone in Slytherin was evil, right? He didn't know. He was starting to believe it to be true. All the other students in his House were sly, and calculating. They gave him devious smirks, and whispered hate-laced words that made him want to run for cover.

He figured at least this much. Everyone in Slytherin either hated him, didn't care, or they were watching and waiting to see if he was all everyone said he was.

Harry avoided everyone at all costs. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't want anyone to look at him. He attempted to do well in his classes. Professor Quirrell made his scar hurt. Professor McGonagall surveyed him so closely it felt like every move he made she watched. Professor Snape ignored him. Professor Snape's ignorance made him unhappy. He wanted his approval, or his hate. He wanted anything. Not those cool and uncaring looks that screamed worthless to him at every turn.

He had to admit it. Hogwarts was no longer wonderful. In such a short time the magical place turned into a horror house of creatures and murders.

Harry was avoiding sleeping at all costs. He had been barely sleeping. It seemed that every-time he closed his eyes he saw horrific flashes of something he couldn't explain. All he knew was that he ran a lot in these nightmares. From some kind of monster he couldn't identify. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing away bad dreams.

Like always, he couldn’t sleep. Something was keeping awake. Something was torturing him. He was so restless, so upset, so tired, and so confused. He was tired but his body wouldn’t sleep. He felt like he had suddenly become full of sugar.

What he was doing now was stupid. He was walking err running down corridors. He had to get outside! He felt this intense burning to be outside in the open air. He was so hot. He knew how cool night air was. He needed to be outside, in the air. He needed, and wanted to be immersed in it.

He was going mad with heat.

When he finally made his way outside he collapsed onto the ground, breathing in the cool air. Then, as if something had broken inside of him, he sobbed. He cried brokenly, selfishly, eagerly, and desperately. He let every emotion in him out into the lonely night air.

He heard the footsteps first.

“Mr. Potter.”

God. Great. Professor Snape, Harry thought angrily, go away. He wasn’t going to answer. No. No.

“Sir?” He replied weakly. He responded because he had to. Or that’s what he told himself.

000