Eventually, Harry pulled away from the comforting touch, his cheeks burning with shame.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, forcing himself back and curling up in the farthest corner of the bed again.  

“It’s alright, child.”  Harry reluctantly allowed the words to soothe him, and he looked up, meeting deep black eyes that - for once - were filled with warmth.  He wanted to hide, and cry, and forget all about the summer, but those eyes pinned him where he was, dragging the truth out of him - and making him want to give it.  Is that a bad thing?  Harry didn’t know.  

The voice continued, gently.  “Tell me, Harry.  How were you injured?”  How could something so terrifying be said in such a kind way?  Harry shivered.  

“I...” He stared up at the Professor, pleading with his eyes.  I can’t say it, I can’t... “They...” He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.  “Please, sir...I...”

“Hush.”  The understanding in that one word almost made Harry weep with gratitude.  “It’s alright, child.  You don’t have to tell me yet.”  A hand reached out, and Harry took it, trembling.  Thank you...

Severus sighed.  Too much, too soon.  That’s fine.  He squeezed the boy’s hand gently, coaxing him out of the corner little by little.  When he finally managed to get Harry lying down on the bed, he let go, pulling the thin blanket gently over him.  “Rest, little one,” he murmured, carefully removing the too-small wire glasses - when was the last time he'd had them replaced? - and carding his fingers gently through the nest of black hair.  I can wait.  To be honest, he wasn’t sure his stomach could handle the rest of the child’s tale; he never could stay stoic through abuse cases.  

He stayed for only a few more minutes after Harry's breathing deepened and evened out.  Moving slowly and silently, he left the Hospital Wing, his mind working furiously.  He doesn't particularly trust me, which is a bit of a disadvantage.  Most of the time, I have at least civil relations with them.  The all-too-familiar guilt crept up on him again, and he slowed, allowing himself a few moments to mentally berate his lack of observation.  But he couldn't indulge in that for long; he needed to decide on the next step to take.  

Suddenly he stopped short.  Would he be more willing to talk to someone else?  Normally Severus didn't go that particular route, but the idea had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while.  Harry wasn't likely to talk to him; they'd spent the past two years at odds, and one day of kindness couldn't fix that.  Besides that, it had always been clear that the boy despised authority figures in general, though the reasons had only just come to light.  

Yes, to be honest, he'd known from the start that Harry Potter's case was not one that he could handle alone.  He, Severus Snape, was calling for backup.

It was a well-known fact among the Slytherins that Draco Malfoy was a child at heart.  He had the most extensive collection of Quidditch figurines in the school.  He had a rather dangerous obsession with sweets of any kind - not to mention a low sugar tolerance, leading to many afternoons where the blonde could be seen zooming around the common room, as hyper as could be.  He could never sit still.  And, most of all, he was clingy when it came to those he had 'claimed', which included half their year.

Theodore Nott was being exposed to that last fact, and today, it was driving him completely bonkers.

"Theo, guess what?  Marcus has already scheduled Quidditch tryouts for the year.  Miles said he might not play this year, you should try out!  You'd be a great Keeper, Theo, and being on the team is great!"

The other students who could hear reacted in three general ways.  Some smiled indulgently, knowing he couldn't express himself this way anywhere else; some tried (and failed) to muffle their snickers; and some just shot Theo pitying glances and thanked Merlin it wasn't them in his shoes.  No one ever dared hurt the Slytherin Prince's feelings, but this hyped-up Draco was the worst nightmare of many in their House.  

Theo was trying really hard to proofread his Potions essay.  But with Draco chattering a million miles a minute, his nerves about his assignments, and the cryptic, worrying conversation he'd had before with Professor Snape, he couldn't focus at all.

"...eo?  Earth to Theo, hello?"  A hand waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his worried musings.  "Are you alright, Theo?  You've seemed kinda out of it since you went to talk to Professor Snape."  Suddenly his eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut.  "Were you talking to him about you-know-what?"  

"Draco."  Theo turned to look at his friend, both amused and exasperated.  "Could you be a bit louder?  I think there's someone up in Gryffindor Tower who might not have heard you."  Draco looked appropriately chagrined, so Theo relented.  "Yes, it was about that.  New case."  He spoke quietly, but it was rather pointless; Slytherin's population of abused students was one of the worst-kept secrets in the House, though somehow one that had escaped the notice of the rest of the school.  Slytherin was a haven for them; even the occasional Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were welcomed into the fold, and not a soul in the House would dare risk Professor Snape's - or Draco Malfoy's - wrath by rejecting them.

Draco glanced around, obviously looking for a missing Snake, but Theo shook his head.  

"I don't think they're from our House.  I've checked, nobody's missing, and from what the Professor said, there's no way they'd be out of the Infirmary yet.  Really bad," he added unnecessarily, pretending not to notice his Housemates eavesdropping.  

Draco contemplated that for a moment.  "So, is this, Adrian Pucey bad or you bad?"  He yelped quietly when Pucey passed by and rapped him on the head with a textbook, and Theo snickered before suddenly sobering.

"Apparently, worse than me."  By this point, half the Common Room was openly watching and listening, and most of the others were obviously trying not to be caught eavesdropping.  At that declaration, all noise and movement stopped; Theo's condition at the start of his first year was practically a gruesome House legend. It was him that had transformed Draco Malfoy into the unofficial champion of abused children at Hogwarts, after all; he had been by Theo's side throughout his recovery, and Draco had come away changed.  Several of the older students seemed like they had forgotten how to breathe at the idea of someone being hurt even more than Theo had been, and the first- and second-years were gathered, wide-eyed, around Blaise Zabini and Terrence Higgs, who were explaining the seriousness of the statement.

"Wonder who it is," Draco murmured, squeezing his friend's shoulder comfortingly.  

"I would assume one of the new firsties if it's as bad as the Professor said, as it probably would have been caught right away.  Since it's obviously not a Slytherin, since we're all accounted for, it'd have to be a 'Puff or a Raven."  Theo sighed.  “I just hope there’s something I can do to help.  Professor Snape must have told me for a reason.”  That was bothering him a bit.  Normally, they didn't talk about the abuse cases, except to welcome them into their House as official or honorary members.  As far as he knew, the only time another student had been told in advance was when the victim was a sweet second-year Hufflepuff, who was terrified out of her wits of Professor Snape; they'd convinced one of the seventh-year Prefects to take care of her and help her open up, since she was too afraid to talk to an adult.  Maybe this was a similar situation?  But then, why him?  Why not an older, more responsible student?  Trying to figure it out was maddening.

Fortunately, his thoughts were interrupted from their tedious circling, as Professor Snape himself entered.  Half the House jumped guiltily and returned to what they were doing before, making Theo's lips quirk up in an amused smirk.

"Theodore.  Come with me."

Draco shot him a not-very-subtle glance as he stood to follow the Professor, and he rolled his eyes back at the blonde.  Once they were outside the Common Room, Theo had to jog a bit to keep up with his Head of House, who looked rather strained.  Finally, they slowed, and entered an empty classroom not far from the Infirmary.

"Theo.  You remember our conversation from before, I presume."  It wasn't a question.

Theo chose to answer it as if it were, anyway.  "Yes, sir.  I remember."  

Professor Snape nodded, a bit distantly.  "I have come to the conclusion that there is certainly a way you can help."   Theo listened intently, starting to grow nervous.  

"It has become obvious that due to my...previous relations with the student in question, it will be very difficult for me to get much information, which will, of course, be necessary if we are to remove him from his abusers' care."  He broke off, shaking his head slightly, before focusing his intense gaze on Theo.  "Theodore.  Are you willing to help, regardless of any prior opinions you may or may not have had of the student?"

Somehow, Theo sensed that this was incredibly important.  He ran through the facts in his mind; a male student, obviously not a first-year as he'd expected if Professor Snape already had history with him.  And now this about prior opinions.  He had a strange suspicion niggling in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite figure out what he was suspecting.  So therein lay the question: was he willing to help, no matter who it was?  

He thought for a moment more, then slowly nodded.  "Yes, sir.  I'll do whatever I can."  Why can't I figure this out?  It was there, just out of reach, a series of impressions that had never fully registered...

The Professor looked pleased and a bit relieved.  "Good."  He led Theo down the hall toward the Hospital Wing, and stopped once more, just outside the door.

"Just a warning that revealing this student's identity will make detention until your seventh year the least of your worries."

Theo gulped quietly, nodded, and headed through the door.

Harry woke from his nightmares with a jerk and a soft moan, but he didn't open his eyes.  He could smell the clean, sterilized air of the Infirmary, dashing his rather feeble hopes that it had all been a dream, so he had little desire to face reality.  

Until, that is, he heard a soft and only vaguely familiar voice coming from next to his bed, asking him if he was awake.  That got his attention quite rapidly.  His eyes flew open and he sat up straight, staring around a bit wildly.  Everything was blurry, and he hesitantly felt around for his glasses.

"Oh, right.  Here," the voice added, and Harry reached out in that direction, flinching when their fingers brushed.  He put the glasses on, squinting a bit, and froze.

"What, does all of Slytherin know?" he muttered, turning away  a bit.  Malfoy'll have a field day with this.  

"Just me and Professor Snape."  Harry looked up at him, disbelieving, but Nott seemed sincere, oddly enough. Then again, he might just be a particularly good liar.  

"Why are you here?"  His voice was flat, but somehow fragile, and Harry gritted his teeth slightly at the pity in the taller boy's eyes.  

"To help you.  I thought that a bit obvious."  

"I don't need help!"  

Nott looked almost sympathetic at that.  "I know.  You're hurt, but you don't want to say it, because you don't think you can handle admitting that you're broken."  He kept his eyes on Harry, who looked away, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.  

"You're wrong.  You don't know me," he whispered hoarsely, making it completely obvious that he did feel exactly that.  "I...I'm not broken."  He spat out the last word as if it were a curse, and to his horror, he felt the first of the tears in his eyes fall.

He jumped a bit when something brushed his arm; Nott was holding out a handkerchief for him.  With a glare, he took it, turning away to face the opposite wall as he tried to stem the flow of tears, but they kept pouring, and soon he was shaking in silent sobs, head tucked tightly to his chest, in front of Theodore Nott.  Okay, slightly better than Snape, but not much.   

“It’s okay, you know.  To be broken.”  Now Nott was sitting on the hospital bed next to him.  “I was, before someone helped me.  I know you don’t want to face it, because it hurts, but if you don’t, you’ll never be able to move forward.”  Harry felt an arm drape gently around his shoulders, and he flinched, pulling away slightly.  

“I’m going to be here for you, Harry.”  Nott sounded slightly uncomfortable using his first name, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to contradict him.  “Even if I have to be the bad guy and make you talk about things you don’t want to, or force you to admit that what happened to you was wrong.  Even if you hate me for it, because I know you’re not going to get better on your own.”  Then, more quietly:  “I know I couldn’t have.”  

Harry felt a faint stirring of curiosity at that, but ignored it.  “I don’t need help.  I’m fine!  Why can’t you just leave me alone?”  His voice broke, and the other boy’s hand squeezed his shoulder.