“He spoke to you.”

It wasn’t a question. Dumbledore leaned in the chair behind his desk, eyeing Snape through his half-moon glasses. The old wizard seemed quite calm, but Snape knew Albus Dumbledore well enough to realize that his news had unsettled the Headmaster.

“He spoke, yes,” he said. “I cannot be sure, however.”

“He called you by your first name.”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. “This is… disturbing news, Severus.”

The old man had always had a gift for understatement. “There’s more, Headmaster,” Snape said stiffly. This would not be easy.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers on the desk, his eyes never leaving Snape. “Continue.”

“Madame Pomfrey examined the boy,” Snape said. “He’s been abused. And there are… injuries.”

He described the scars on Potter’s back, carefully watching Dumbledore’s face as he did so. He would never be able to probe the old man’s thoughts, as Dumbledore was far too accomplished an Occlumens to let his shields down. Experience had taught him, however, to read the expressions on the ancient face. And there it was; genuine surprise, genuine disgust… and sadness.

Even to himself, Snape would not admit that he was relieved.

When he had finished, Dumbledore closed his eyes and said nothing for a long time. Fawkes the phoenix cawed on his perch, spread his wings and soared over to land on his master’s shoulder. He nipped Dumbledore’s ear, and the old man opened his eyes again.

“Thank you,” he said quietly to the bird, who clucked and shook his feathers.

Dumbledore’s eyes came to rest on Snape again, and not for the first time the Potions Master felt as if they could see to the very darkest layers of his soul.

“I did not know about this, Severus.”

Snape forced himself not to look away. “I know.”

“Which is no excuse,” the Headmaster added in a softer voice. “I promised Lily to protect her family.”

“As did I,” Snape said.

“Then naturally we both blame ourselves, which will do Harry no good whatsoever.” Dumbledore sighed. “You said he understood what happened?”

“He referred to the presence as “him”, and said he could not stop it. It seems that he was aware of the possession to some degree… and that it happened before.”

“Most likely,” Dumbledore said. “You will need to speak to him about it, Severus… about everything.”

Snape nodded curtly. “If it is Him…”

“Do not attempt Legilimency on the boy,” Dumbledore said, his voice becoming sharp. “It is too dangerous, Severus. At the moment, the entity has access to a very young wizard’s powers; imagine what it could do with a fully grown one’s.”

He stared at Snape until the Potions Master nodded reluctantly.

“I’m glad we understand each other, Severus,” Dumbledore continued more calmly. “For now, Harry is to remain in the infirmary. His friends may visit him if they wish… young Draco Malfoy, I believe, and Hermione Granger?” he asked, proving once again that very little went past Albus Dumbledore. “I would appreciate it if you accompanied them; they should not be left alone.”

Alone with Potter, Snape completed the sentence in his mind. He agreed whole-heartedly with Dumbledore on this; back in the Potions classroom, it had been very obvious that the presence in Potter had no qualms about hurting or killing.

“The infirmary needs to be warded, and there should be an adult with Harry at all times,” Dumbledore said. “As for the case that the entity returns, precautions need to be taken. And I’ll need to be informed immediately.”

Severus didn’t ask Dumbledore to clarify what he meant by “precautions”. Possessed or demented wizards were ticking time bombs, capable of murder and destruction far beyond anything an insane Muggle could do. There were spells and potions, none of which should be used on a child, all of which they would use to prevent a killing spree in a castle full of students.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore sighed. “When I saw him at the Sorting, I knew Harry was not happy, but I never assumed…”

“Not every child Sorted into Slytherin is unhappy.” It was Snape’s turn to sound sharp.

“I know, my boy,” Dumbledore replied mildly. “I never meant to imply as much. I could see that Harry was not well even before he put on the Sorting Hat. I’m glad, in fact, that he enjoys the protection of your House.”

“He does,” Snape said, mollified and slightly embarrassed at having snapped at the Headmaster.

“Which is a great relief,” Dumbledore said. “He will need your support now more than ever.”

“He has it,” Snape said stiffly. “If that will be all?”

Dumbledore nodded. “And Severus?”

“Yes?”

“Let me know what Harry tells you,” the old wizard said softly.

Snape nodded. “I will.”

###

When Snape returned to the infirmary in the evening, he was accompanied by Draco and a rather nervous Hermione Granger. His godson had cornered him during study hours in the Great Hall, wanting to know where Potter had disappeared to after Potions. Granger overheard their conversation and came bounding over as soon as Snape had sent Draco back to his homework.

“Professor, I’m finished with the essay on the properties of wolfsbane, and I added an extra paragraph on why it has to be harvested during full moon, I hope that’s not too much! Can I come along when Draco visits Harry?”

Since Dumbledore had given his explicit permission, Snape reluctantly allowed both children to come with him. He’d have preferred to talk to Potter without an audience; he could hardly ask the boy any questions with his friends gathered around the bed.

“I’m going to give him these,” Draco announced, holding up a large silver box engraved with an elegant foreign crest. “Dragons au chocolate. Mother orders them from Belgium; they’re much better than the rubbish from Honeydukes, she says. I ate the ones with nougat filling, do you think Potter will mind?”

Snape was about to reply when Granger spoke up.

“You shouldn’t have opened the box if you were going to give it to someone as a present,” she said in a schoolmasterly tone. “That’s not very polite.”

“I didn’t know I was going to give it to Potter, did I? Anyway, what do you-”

“And you shouldn’t give him chocolate if he’s sick,” Granger continued. “It’s bad for you, and it gives you caries.”

Draco looked outraged, and at the same time lost for words – a rare occurrence in Snape’s godson. “What – how would you know?”

“My mum says so,” Granger replied. “She and Dad are dentists, they know all about teeth.”

Draco stared at her. “Dentists? So you’re a Mud-”

“Draco,” Snape interrupted sharply, and the boy quickly closed his mouth. “Miss Granger, I’m sure Mr. Potter will survive the consumption of a few chocolate dragons if he remembers to brush his teeth afterwards.”

The girl nodded conciliatorily, not noticing the side glance she was getting from Draco. Snape sighed inwardly, hoping his godson would watch his language. He had no desire to lecture the boy on the subject yet again.

Potter was awake when Snape entered the infirmary with the two children in tow. The boy looked slightly less pale than before, sitting cross-legged in bed and feeding treats to a snowy owl. Snape was not surprised to see the bird perched on the headboard; Pomfrey often allowed her young patients to bring their familiars for company. According to the medi-witch, their presence enhanced the healing process.

Potter did not smile – he hardly ever did – but his expression brightened considerably when he saw Draco and Granger following Snape. As they approached the bed, the Potions Master felt a slight tingling on his skin as he passed through an invisible energy barrier. It seemed that the “precautions” Dumbledore had mentioned were already in place.

At the back of the infirmary, Pomfrey glanced up from the vials she was labelling and nodded at Snape. So far so good.

“Hi, Potter,” Draco said, dumping the chocolate box on the bed. “Here. Chocolate dragons from Belgium,“ he added. “Mother sent me another box, so you can have these.”

“Cool.” Potter opened it and selected a caramel Norwegian Ridgeback, then offered the box to Snape and Granger. “Want one?”

Snape declined, but Granger seemed to have forgotten her mother’s admonitions and picked a Chinese Fireball.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said happily, taking a bite. “Oh, these are really good!”

“I thought chocolate was bad for you,” Draco snarked.

The girl ignored him with an air of dignity. “How are you feeling, Harry? Were you really worried about missing Transfiguration and Charms? I brought you my notes so you can copy them, and Professor McGonagall said you should read chapter 3 and do the exercises 5 and 6 on page 67 for next lesson.”

“Like he’s going to do homework,” Draco rolled his eyes, earning himself stern looks from his godfather and Granger.

Potter didn’t comment on the homework question, intent on picking out all the caramel dragons before he offered the box to Draco and Granger again.

Draco shook his head. “You have these, I’ve got loads more back in the dorm.”

Granger picked a Swedish Shortsnout this time. “It’s really nice of your mum to send you these, Draco,” she said. “They’re so good!”

Draco looked smug. “Better than anything you get from your dentist parents, I bet.”

Granger didn’t seem offended. “Yes,” she admitted. “They mostly send me sugar-free sweets.”

“Your birthday cake was good.” Potter spoke up for the first time.

“Oh yes,” Granger smiled. “Aunt Miranda made it. She’s a witch like me. Mum always says that magical people have appallingly bad dental care, but they really know how to cook.”

Draco looked between Potter and Granger. “How come you had some of her birthday cake?” he demanded.

“I had some left over and Harry came back to Ravenclaw Tower with me and we shared it,” Granger said in a rush before Potter had even opened his mouth.

“Oh,” Draco paused. “My birthday’s two days after Christmas. I’m going to have a party at the manor. Father says we can get a band and everything. You’re invited, Potter. You too, if you want,” he added to Granger as an after-thought, not looking at the girl.

Granger blushed. “Sure.”

Snape glanced at the ceiling, imagining Lucius’ face as his son announced that he was inviting Muggleborns and the Boy-Who-Lived to his birthday function. It was not a pretty sight even in his mind’s eye.

After that, the mood between Draco and the Ravenclaw girl changed slightly. Draco made no more remarks about her parents, and Granger offered to “help” him with Transfiguration; their wary side-glances told Snape that this was student code for giving him her homework to copy. He decided not to interfere. Granger was probably a good influence on his godson, and it was obvious even to him how desperately the girl wanted friends.

He sat down on a chair next to Potter’s bed, listening to Draco talking Quidditch and Granger adding random bits of information she had found in some book or other. Potter seemed to enjoy their company, even though he didn’t contribute much to the conversation. When Draco brought up his favorite subject, his Nimbus Streak of Glory, the boy’s green eyes lit with excitement and he asked one of his rare questions.

“Could I give it a try when I’m at your house?”

Draco nodded. “Don’t tell Vince and Greg, though. They’ll want to have a go, too, and I don’t want them crashing it into a tree.”

“I won’t,” Potter promised.

“I wonder if airplanes would fly by magic if you put a really strong Anti-Grav Charm on them,” Granger mused, oblivious to the askance look she was getting from Draco. “I mean, if it works with broomsticks… would they, Professor Snape?”

“I don’t believe so, Miss Granger,” Snape said. “Muggle airplanes rely largely on computer technology these days, and magic interferes with electronic devices. And as most wizards can Apparate or travel by portkey, there is hardly any need for alternative means of transportation.”

“Yeah, but you could sell the spell to the Muggles,” Draco said. “They’d pay anything to have those flying machines of theirs stay up just like that.”

“And you could change the spell so that it only works for one airplane at a time,” Potter added. “That way they’d have to pay again every time they get a new plane.”

Granger looked scandalized at this rather Slytherin view of things, and began to lecture the boys on the International Statute of Secrecy and its ban on selling magic to the non-wizarding population.

Quite some time later, Snape glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised when he saw how much time had passed. He’d originally planned on a fifteen-minute visit for the two children, just to get his tenacious godson off his back.

“Well,” he said, getting up from his chair, “I believe that dinner is about to served in the Great Hall. Time to go, Draco, Miss Granger.”

Granger looked crestfallen, while Draco immediately began to negotiate. “Only ten more minutes, Uncle Sev. Potter still needs my Potions notes, right, Potter?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at his godson, who seemed to think he was being very sneaky. “I’m sure Mr. Potter will find Miss Granger’s notes to be sufficiently comprehensive,” he said with a glance at the pile of parchment on Potter’s bedside table. “Come on, Draco. You may return tomorrow.”

Draco sighed. “Okay. I’ll bring you some Quidditch mags,” he said to the other boy. Potter looked pleased.

“When is Harry coming back to classes, Professor?” Granger asked. “Professor Flitwick said we’ll be starting Hovering Charms next lesson, and that they’re really important for the exams…”

Snape noticed Potter watching him intently. “I can’t say for sure,” he replied. “It might be a while. Mr. Potter would certainly benefit from your notes so he doesn’t fall behind.”

Granger beamed. “I’ll bring them by every day,” she promised. “And I’ll show you how to do the wand movements and everything.”

At long last, Snape managed to usher his godson and Granger to the door, assuring them that yes, they could come back the next day after classes, and no, they could not have their meals brought to the infirmary.

“But Uncle Sev, don’t you want Potter to have company while he eats?”

“I’ll keep Mr. Potter company as he has dinner, Draco. Now off to the Great Hall with you.”

He watched the two as they left. Draco had obviously decided that Harry Potter was going to be his best friend, and the Malfoy scion was used to getting what he wanted. What surprised Snape was that Draco would accept a Muggleborn witch, or more to the point, the presence of another “best friend”. His godson was not usually one for sharing.

After the door had closed behind the two children, Snape went back to Potter’s bed. The boy was looking slightly sulky; no doubt he would have preferred dinner with his friends than with his stern Head of House.

Pomfrey brought over dinner trays for them; spaghetti and meatballs for the boy, and shepherd’s pie for Snape.

“What’s this?” Potter wanted to know, pointing at a glass filled with thick, purple liquid.

“A nutrient potion,” Pomfrey said.

“A what?”

“A potion to make you healthy.”

“I’m not sick.”

The medi-witch smiled. “No, but you need to put some meat on your bones. And there’s a rule in this infirmary that patients who drink their potions without complaining get to choose their own pudding.”

“Treacle tart?” Potter asked.

“Potion first,” Pomfrey replied. The witch certainly knew how to deal with her Slytherin patients.

Potter drank his potion with only a small grimace, watching like a hawk as Pomfrey put a plate of treacle tart on his tray. When he was satisfied that he would not be cheated out of his reward, he turned to his dinner.

Watching the boy eat, Snape thought that spaghetti might not have been the best choice of food. Potter picked out the meatballs first and crammed them into his mouth two or three at a time, chewing noisily. Only when the last of the meatballs were gone did he pick up his fork, although he seemed to be unsure what to do with it. Eventually, he leaned down over his tray, his nose almost touching the food as he shoveled forkfuls of pasta into his mouth. Tomato sauce dribbled down his chin and onto the sheets. Pomfrey exchanged a glance with Snape, who sighed and set his own tray aside.

“Mr. Potter.”

Potter glanced up, his mouth full of spaghetti.

“Hand me your plate,” Snape said.

The boy gave him a suspicious look, guarding his food with one hand.

“I promise I will give it back to you in a moment,” Snape added. When he was handed the plate by a reluctant Potter, he proceeded to cut the pasta into small pieces. “Here,” he said, setting the plate back down in front of the boy. “You may use your spoon to finish your meal.”

“Thanks,” Potter mumbled, looking embarrassed. He tried to eat more slowly after that, but was obviously unused to meals that were not consumed in nervous haste.

Snape remembered his godson’s off-handed remark that Potter was ‘weird’ about food. At the Welcoming Feast, he had ascribed the boy’s lack of table manners to over-indulgence; surely his doting Muggle relatives tolerated any sort of misbehavior from their little prince. Little princes, however, were not given to hoarding stale bread crusts under their beds, nor did they make themselves sick in their haste to finish their food. Nor, Snape thought with a glance at the boy’s bony wrists, did they show signs of starvation and abuse. He was not looking forward to the impending conversation.

Potter ate his treacle tart and hid the crust in his napkin; Snape pretended not to notice as the boy slipped it under his pillow. The food hoarding would have to be addressed, but not now. He had more pressing matters to discuss with the boy.

Soon after, Pomfrey came back to take their trays away and then disappeared into her office, presumably to give them privacy for their talk. Potter followed her with his eyes. He seemed to sense that the adults were Up To Something.

Snape decided to begin without preamble; if children were already on their guard, a direct approach usually worked best.

“We need to discuss the results of your examination, Potter.” He did not miss the boy’s fearful look, or his quick glance at the infirmary door. “Madam Pomfrey found some deep scarring on your back, as well as traces of other injuries. Can you tell me how you came to sustain these wounds?”

For a moment, Snape thought the boy would jump out of bed and run. But Potter did not. The boy’s face became completely blank, and he looked away, staring at the empty space over Snape’s left shoulder.

“You need to tell me, Potter. Who is responsible for your injuries?”

Silence.

“There is no danger in disclosing what you know,” Snape said. “The only people who will be informed are Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster. No one else.”

No response.

Snape sighed. “Potter. We need to know about your injuries so we can help you.”

Finally, the boy turned to look at him. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “I don’t have injuries.”