The click of the infirmary door stirs Snape from his thoughts.

“Severus, my boy, what has happened? Minerva can barely speak,” Dumbledore says, striding forwards and kicking out his robes.  

“It appears that,” he takes a breath and falls uneasily back into indifference, “Wonder boy here has run into trouble, as usual.”

Dumbledore halts at Harry’s bed. His hand moves of its own accord to cover his mouth and conceal a gasp.

“We have got the hypothermia under control, for now, but it will take...everything else...far longer to heal, Headmaster.”

“But why has this happened in the first place, Severus?”

“Spent too much time out in the rain,” Snape says casually, but Dumbledore’s scrutinising eye makes him crumble. “There was an altercation with another student and Potter was hit by a Confundus charm. We’re unsure as to how long he was outside before we found him.”

Dumbledore peers down at Harry and slowly moves a hand through the boy’s hair.

“Which student?” he asks, though he’s already worked it out.

Snape sighs and simply says, “Mr Malfoy,” before slumping down heavily into a chair next to Harry’s bed. 

“And the bruising?”

“I have my suspicions,” Snape says edgily, “but we cannot be sure until he wakes up.”

With that, Dumbledore rests his hand on Harry’s head for a moment, before turning and heading for the infirmary door. He comes to a halt with his hand on the door knob.

“You will inform me when he wakes?”

“Of course, Headmaster.”

For a moment, Dumbledore looks hesitant like he’s not sure whether or not he should leave. Shaking his head, he opens the door and steps into the corridor, but just as the door is about to close behind him, he pops his head back into the room and looks Snape in the eyes.

“You know, my boy, perhaps there mightn’t be so much hostility between Harry and Draco if your contempt for Harry wasn’t so obvious. You know Draco looks up to you...it’s only natural he’d want to follow in your footsteps. Think about it, Severus.”

And with that, he shuts the door behind him and Severus is left in his chair feeling conflicted. 

A short time later, Snape is still sitting in his chair, drumming his long fingers on his knee. A look of tired contemplation sits uncomfortably on his face, etched on his brow like wood grain.    

Is he trying to tell me this is my fault? Outrageous. Completely out of the question. The man’s going senile in his old age.

Snape’s eyes wander warily to the face of the child lying still in the bed.  After Poppy was called away by Dumbledore, she gave care of Harry – after a stern warning – over to him. In his hand he holds a small jar of bruise salve and finds himself wondering whether it will be enough. Loath to admit it, he’s genuinely frightened to even open the jar, worried that the pop of the lid will wake the boy and he’ll have to deal with the situation himself.

You are Severus Snape for goodness sake...the children are supposed to be frightened of you, not the other way round.

Without another moment’s thought, he scrapes his chair back louder than necessary and twists the lid off the jar allowing the satisfying pop to sound through the room.

If he wakes up, you call Poppy. I’m sure she will understand.

Taking a step closer, he peels back Harry’s sheets with one hand and looks at the boy’s naked chest, patched in colour. Taking a breath, he scoops a handful of salve into his hand and smoothes it onto Harry’s skin in one swift motion. His stomach drops as Harry’s body jolts at the cold hitting his body.

Just call Poppy. Just do this and call Poppy. Do this, call Poppy and then she can do the rest. Bloody Potter. When did you become so nervous, Severus?

Moving his hand back to the boy’s skin, he begins gently rubbing the cream in and then waits for the rest to absorb before pulling the covers back up. Harry’s back would be too dangerous to touch at the moment what with the state it’s in. The only other reachable part is his face.

The quicker his face is treated, the more likely it is to repair fully.

“Facial damage,” he muses quietly to himself, “The little Potter fan club will be devastated. Can’t be having that,” he sneers, dipping his hands back into the jar of salve.

With a face full of indifference, he smears it on Harry’s chin, thinking to himself, this, I am sure, was not in my list of teaching duties. But before his mind can think of more scathing remarks, he freezes, noticing the boy’s eyes flinch as he touches a particularly heavy area of bruising. Sighing to himself, Snape continues with the salve, but jumps again as another flinch hits Harry’s face.

...that’s enough for today, Snape thinks, putting the lid back on the jar, but just as he is about to fire call Poppy, a small voice permeates the stillness in the room.

“P-p...prof’ser?”

Snape watches from the doorway as Dumbledore – whom he’d quickly fire-called at the sound of Harry’s voice – speaks quietly to the boy. Poppy is hovering, unasked questions dripping from her tongue. 

He’s not going to talk, Headmaster. He didn’t speak for the entire ten minutes it took you to get here, so he sure as hell isn’t going to speak now.

Minutes later, as expected, Dumbledore shakes his head sorrowfully and leaves Harry’s bedside.

“He will not speak to me, Severus. For once, I am lost.” Dumbledore’s eyes look back at Harry, who is sitting up in his bed, staring at nothing in particular.

“Stubborn brat, just like his f –”

“Severus, I urge you not to finish that sentence.”

Snape sighs, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “What exactly do you expect me to say, Headmaster? Potter and I have never seen eye to eye –”

“Exactly, my boy. If there is one thing you can do, Severus, it is provoke a response from this child.”

Immediately Snape’s hands fly up. “No. Absolutely not.” Without a thought for the boy sitting in the bed only metres from him, Snape loudly exclaims, “He is not my problem and this is not my burden.”

Dumbledore turns and sees nothing but a small flinch flicker past Harry’s face. For a moment, Dumbledore looks to the ground, exhaling loudly through his nose. When he looks up, his eyes are clouded with disappointment.

“Harry is not a burden, Severus.” Sighing, Dumbledore motions to the infirmary door and both men leave the room to carry on their discussion. “Do you remember when you were brought to me, Severus?”

Snape begins to pace back and forth in the corridor, but says nothing.

“I will never forget that day. I don’t know what Harry has been through to have put him in the state he’s in now, but you cannot disagree that this situation bears a striking resemblance to your situation all those years ago.”

“Potter’s life and my own could not be any different,” Snape spits.

“That is not what I’m saying, my boy. I just mean that when you were brought to me, you needed somebody to talk to...to confide in. The only person you would talk to was me. Perhaps that is what Harry is going through now. Perhaps you can help. I am not certain, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Snape stops pacing and shifts uncomfortably. 

“For Lily?”

That was it...Dumbledore’s magic card. Just one mention of her name and Snape would do just about anything.

Straightening up, Snape’s only reply is, “I’ll think about it,” before he sweeps down the corridor, back to the dungeons for a long, hard think.