Harry ducked his head as he entered Platform 9 3/4, hoping to get on the train without a fuss.  He had deliberately avoided responding to Ron’s letter about meeting up before the long ride to Hogwarts, and was less than keen on meeting him now.  He touched his face absently, feeling the poorly applied, powdery makeup that he had 'borrowed' from Aunt Petunia rub off a bit on his fingers, and dragged his bags onto the train.  He kept his head down as he looked for an empty compartment, glancing through his fringe into each one as he passed, until he finally reached the back of the train.  He did a bit of a double take; there was an adult there, sound asleep.  New teacher, perhaps?  Harry glanced around nervously before sliding the door open and entering.  While having a teacher around for this probably wasn’t the best idea, it was the closest he’d found to an empty compartment, and he really didn’t have the energy to go back through the train for a second look.

Hurriedly wiping the poorly-applied makeup away with a tissue stuffed in his pants pocket, Harry sat down and grabbed his wand.  To his horror, he could already hear Fred and George outside the train; the Weasleys had arrived, which meant he was running out of time.  He glanced out the window, turning away abruptly when he caught a glimpse of the dark bruises covering his face, and cast a quick Concealment Charm to hide it; now that he was technically on the train, he thought- hoped- that the magic would go unnoticed, at least by the Ministry.  Ron Weasley burst through the door just as he put his wand away, and Harry tensed, fully aware of how flimsy the glamour was.  

“Harry, you prat, why haven’t you been answering my letters?” Ron looked irritated, but not seriously angry.  His eyes flickered to the sleeping man leaning up against the windows, and he wisely lowered his voice as he continued berating his friend.  “Dad was going to pick you up from your aunt and uncle’s place and we could’ve gotten here together.”  

Harry laughed, scratching his head a bit sheepishly and struggling not to wince as his fingers brushed a bruise.  “Sorry, Ron.  I did write a letter, but couldn’t send it; you know how the Dursleys are about owl post.  Figured it was too late.”

“Blimey, Harry, don’t scare me like that.  Fred and George were thinking you’d been locked in again.”

Harry was saved from having to respond by Hermione’s arrival, and the three of them quickly moved on to other discussion topics, much to his relief; Quiddich, their new classes, Ron’s trip to Egypt, and the identity of the man in the compartment with them were much safer topics.  If only Ron knew how close Fred and George were to the truth.

Severus scowled and stalked down the corridor, giving off a distinctly unpleasant aura as he examined his notes for the upcoming year.  Book an appointment for Miss Boot with Madam Pomfrey this week.  Talk to Mr. Addams to see if--

His thoughts were cut off rather abruptly as he turned a corner, nearly smacking into Minerva McGonagall.  His scowl deepened.  “Good evening, Minerva.”  The words were civil, but his tone was as sarcastic as ever.  He only had one short hour before the students would arrive, and he had much to do before his Snakes repopulated the dungeons.  Don’t bother me, Minerva, he wanted to growl.  My students will need me.  He was extremely protective of his Slytherins, especially the large number who came back from the holidays battered and broken from the “care” they received at home.  McGonagall had no right to be giving him that stern glare!  She’d probably never had to deal with an abused child in her House.  

“Now, Severus--”

Snape shot her his patented “must-you-really-be-such-an-absolute-dunderhead” glare as he continued on, otherwise ignoring her.  Inform the new Prefects about which students will be spending time in the Hospital Wing... He returned to his notes, unable to even summon a smirk at McGonagall’s affronted expression.  His bruised, frightened Snakes were much more important than the Lioness.  By the time the Hogwarts Express arrived, everything needed to be ready.

Ron was ripping open Chocolate Frogs and exclaiming quietly at the new cards to add to his collection, Hermione had her nose stuck in her Divination book, Harry was staring out the window at the passing scenery, and all, with the possible exception of Ron when he got a particularly rare card, were trying not to make too much noise and wake up Professor Lupin, whose name they had found on the side of his trunk.  The ride had been going rather smoothly; even Malfoy hadn’t been willing to hex them with a teacher in the compartment.  Finally, Hermione looked up from the book.  

“We should get our robes on, it can’t be much longer.”

When they were properly attired, they all looked at each other in one of the most awkward silences they’d ever sat through.  Ron kept trying to start a whispered conversation, but Hermione kept looking at Harry oddly, sending the boy into a cold, nervous sweat.  Please don’t notice, Hermione, he found himself praying desperately.  Suddenly, the train shuddered to a stop, and the lights flickered out.  

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone tripped over Harry's legs.

"Sorry--d'you know what's going on?--Ouch--sorry.”

“Hullo, Neville." Harry grabbed him by his cloak and dragged him to his feet.

"Harry? Is that you? What's happening?"

"No idea, sit down."  He grabbed his friend once more, stopping him from sitting on a disgruntled Crookshanks.

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on, " Hermione said nervously, brushing past the others toward the door.  When she opened it and stepped out, there came a thud and two sharp cries.

"Who's that?"

"Who's that?"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron."

"Come in and sit down--"

"Not here!" Harry added, not wanting to share what was almost Crookshanks’s fate. "I'm here!"

"Ouch!" said Neville.  He hadn’t been as fast with his warning, and Ginny had sat on him.

“Quiet!”  Everyone fell silent at the new, slightly hoarse male voice; Professor Lupin had finally woken up.  He lit up the compartment with what appeared to be a handful of fire.  “Stay where you are,” he warned.  The man stood and headed for the door, but before he got there, the door opened again, and Harry caught a brief glimpse of a terrifying, seemingly hooded figure, before his heart turned to ice and his vision swam before him, transforming into something else.

“Step aside, you foolish girl.”

“Not Harry!  Please, not Harry!”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”  

There was a burst of green light, and the scene changed to one of darkness.   A faint sliver of light entered through a grate on the door, and Harry realized that he was back in his cupboard.  Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Harry flinched in time with each loud thump, dread flowing through his veins.  

“No,” he whimpered desperately, hugging his chest.

The door flew open.

“You’ll pay for that, boy,” a terrifyingly familiar voice snarled.  

“Harry?  Harry!”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered, but did not open.  A soft moan emitted from his throat, and he cowered away from the voice.

“Harry, are you alright?  Wake up!”

Someone slapped him, and finally, his eyes flew open, and he recognized the forms of his friends leaning over him.  He felt the floor shaking, and realized, a bit dazed, that the train was moving again.

“What...happened?”  Pain shot through his body again as he looked around weakly.  Ginny was shaking, looking almost as bad as he felt, and Neville’s face had turned a delicate shade of green, but Ron and Hermione looked merely worried.

“Dementors.”  The new Professor spoke, taking something out of an inner pocket of his robes.  Harry heard a soft crinkling sound and some rather loud snaps, and soon he was passing around broken pieces of the chocolate bar to the students.  “They suck all the happiness out of you, and normally, they guard the Wizarding prison, Azkaban.  If you’ll excuse me...” He edged past them and headed for the door.  “Don’t forget the chocolate, it’ll help.”  With that, he vanished through the door.  

“Dementors,” Neville breathed, in a mixture of awe and fear.

“What in blazes are they doing here, though?”  Harry stared at them.  “What happened?”

"Well... The dementor stood there and looked around-- I mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face--and you--you-- I thought you were having a fit or something," said Ron, watching his friend nervously out of the corner of his eye. "You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching...

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand," said Hermione, "and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go. ' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin said some kind of incantation, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and the dementor just turned around and sort of glided away..."

"It was horrible," Neville added with a shudder.  “So cold...”

“Wait,” Harry said, more confused than ever.  “Sirius Black?  He was on the Muggle news!”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione replied, looking a bit impatient.  “He’s a Dark wizard who escaped from Azkaban over the summer.  The Ministry’s putting out warnings to the Muggles, too, they’re desperate to find him and he’s a danger to anyone he comes across.”  She sounded like she thought Harry was a bit of an idiot for not knowing, but he ignored her tone and tried to wrap his head around the information.  

“But what does that have to do with--” His question was cut off by the opening of the compartment door as Professor Lupin returned.  He took one look at Harry, who was still seated on the floor, and let out a soft chuckle.  

“I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know...”

Harry blushed and took a bite.  He was surprised to feel a comforting warmth spread through his body; he hadn’t even realized he still felt cold, but now he wondered how he could have ignored it.  

“Good.  We’ll be at the castle in about fifteen minutes.  Are you alright there, Harry?”

As the returning students filed into the Great Hall, Severus noticed two things.  Firstly, Draco Malfoy was surrounded by a group of Slytherins who were laughing uproariously as he pretended to swoon.  The second thing, much more irritating than the first, was that one-third of the Golden Trio was missing.  A scowl knit his features as he glared down at the bushy- and red-haired Gryffindors.  He realized a moment later that McGonagall had disappeared as well, which could only mean one thing.  Only Potter could get into trouble this early in the term.  He smirked slightly at the idea; clearly, last year’s misadventures had not quelled the brat’s troublemaking tendencies.  For a moment, he toyed with the idea of going to see what had happened, but before he could decide, Minerva reappeared and headed outside to collect the first years.  Severus Snape was nothing if not patient; he’d interrogate the infernal women during the feast.

Harry let out a relieved breath when Madame Pomfrey stepped back, disapproval the dominant expression on her face.  If she had noticed anything, she’d be a whole lot more upset.  He had tried to talk his way out of getting a checkup at all, which hadn’t worked, but at least his reassurances that he’d already gotten chocolate from the new Defense professor had convinced her to do only a quick, cursory check, which hadn’t showed any of his more embarrassing injuries.  The last thing he needed was for someone to see what he was hiding.  

He walked down the hall, a bit quicker than normal, until he could turn a corner and be free of the mediwitch’s piercing gaze.  He ducked into a bathroom, took a quick look around, and let the glamours fall.  Even he couldn’t help but grimace at the sight:  both eyes blackened, a gash in his left cheek, bruises mottling every visible inch of skin, all on top of a skeletal, emaciated frame.  I really do look like a freak now.  He sighed, pointing his wand towards his face.  Harry tried not to think about what Hermione would say.  Okay, so hiding the signs wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was better than letting people know.  How would everyone feel if they knew that the Boy Who Lived, the boy who defeated the world’s most powerful Dark wizard as a baby, couldn’t even protect himself from an obese Muggle?  Harry nodded firmly to himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before casting the Concealment Charm, much more thoroughly than the one before.  He glanced over the new image of himself.  It still wasn’t perfect - the colors were a bit too bright, a common mistake in those types of spells - but at least the bruises didn’t show and his bones weren’t sticking out.  He was too tired to try again, so it would have to do.  With one final check his reflection, half expecting the glamour not to stay up for a moment, he hurried down the halls, determined not to miss the Welcoming Feast for the second year in a row.

If there was one thing Severus did well, it was notice the small details.  So when the Brat who Lived ducked into the Great Hall, his eyes narrowed at the sight of an admittedly somewhat competent Concealment Charm covering the boy, leaving him wondering at the cause.  Did Prince Potter have a bad hair day?  Oh wait, he sneered mentally, that's an everyday occurence.  Just like his father.  He put it out of his mind, instead turning to McGonagall.  

“So, care to explain why Mr. Potter was late for the feast?” he asked slyly, just as the boy slid in next to his redheaded friend.

Minerva gave him a look that was oddly reminiscent of the one he had sent her way earlier that day.  “The boy had a run-in with the Dementors when they searched the train, not that I can see how it matters to you,” she said coolly, turning back to her food.  

Severus hid his somewhat sarcastic astonishment - what, no broken rules yet this year? - with a sneer aimed directly at the boy in question.  Mr. Weasley glanced up at that moment and, noticing the unwelcome eyes on them, elbowed Potter in the side to get his attention.  Potter jumped and stared up at the Potions professor, but turned away after a few moments and returned to picking at his food.  Severus hid his smirk behind his goblet as he took a drink.  He was in a rather better mood already.

It took all of Harry’s self-control not to cry out when Ron’s elbow jarred his broken rib, and glanced up at his friend before dully staring at the sneering git who was watching them.  He didn’t have the strength to maintain the look for long, though, and continued pushing the food around his plate.  He had eaten nothing but a piece of bread and a few mouthfuls of various other dishes, and already he felt a bit ill; as usual, it would take a few weeks of eating properly before he could finish a full plate.  

“Look at the greasy git,” Ron was still complaining.  “We haven’t even done anything wrong and he’s watching us like a hawk.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong yet,” Hermione remarked, a bit teasingly.  Ron reddened and stuffed his mouth with food to avoid having to respond, and Harry chuckled, but stopped himself after a moment; laughing hurt his ribs.  

Hermione then turned to Harry, smiling.  “So, how was your summer?”  

“Um...”

“Yeah, how was it?  Were your relatives being gits like last year?”

Harry shook his head, a bit frantically.  “Nah, everything was cool this year.  Nothing really happened.  What about you, Hermione?  Did you travel or anything?”

Hermione gave him an odd look, but then her eyes lit up as she began telling the two boys about her summer.  Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief.  That was a bit too close for comfort.  Okay, way too close.  Please don't ask again, Hermione, please... 

Finally, the dishes cleared, and the students began to clear out of the hall.  Severus stood, mentally preparing himself to give his usual speech to the new first years, and swept out of the Great Hall, letting his robes billow a bit more than normal.  He could feel the eyes of the other teachers and the last few students on him, and he smirked; wouldn’t they like to know how he did it!  Not that he’d ever let anyone know that it was just the cut of his robes.  That would ruin all the fun.

“Harry, what’s the matter?”

“You alright, mate?”

“Ron, I think you should go get Madame Pomfrey--”

“No,” Harry gasped, gritting his teeth.  “It’s, uh, just a headache.  It’ll pass, don’t worry about it.”  He bit back a curse; there was no way anybody could be stupid enough to fall for that clumsy excuse after he collapsed against a wall, grabbing his side and hissing in pain.  

Ron hesitated, but then nodded and turned away, though he kept watching his friend.

Hermione looked irritated, and Harry, whose heart had risen a bit at the idea that at least Ron believed the lie, visibly deflated.  “Funny, I could’ve sworn you were clutching your side, Harry.”  

“Just forget it!”  Harry stormed ahead, leaving behind his friends, who stared after him, concern etched into both their faces.  When he had almost made it to Gryffindor Tower, he hesitated, then headed in another direction, unwilling to face his Housemates after what Ron and Hermione had just witnessed.  He eventually found his way to an unused classroom and sat down in a corner on the floor inside.  

It wasn't as if he had completely lied to his friends, he told himself; he did have a headache, even if most of his pain was in his ribs.  Harry stretched out a bit, wincing in pain, trying to ease the agony.  Funny, he hadn’t felt this tired after the Feast, though he’d been nearly ready to pass out while he was eating.  Adrenaline, maybe?  He didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the room seemed to spin around him and he instinctively closed his eyes to steady himself, which made it worse, so he opened them again.  He shook his head to clear it, but only succeeded in making himself dizzier.  His vision began to fade, and he swore silently.  No, no falling asleep, gotta stay awake, gotta get back to the Tower...

Severus stalked out of the Slytherin Common Room, rather pleased with how it had gone.  He had only seen two first-year students who looked like they might need to see Madame Pomfrey within the next day or so, and he had given the prefects specific instructions to help a few of the younger students catch up with the work they would miss in their extended stays in the Hospital Wing.  He felt a fierce surge of pride for his Snakes; they were the strongest house, they were united, they--

“Severus!”

They have to deal with idiots like you.  Sneering, he turned to face a flushed McGonagall.  “Yes, Minerva?” he drawled.  

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mr. Potter, have you?”  The look on her face told him that she’d rather be asking anyone but him, which amused Severus greatly.

“Potter causing trouble already, hm?”  He scowled, but more for show than anything; he’d love to catch the Gryffindor Golden Boy in the middle of some mischief and give him detention on his first day back.  

“I don’t know,” she replied, her lips thinning with displeasure at having to admit such a thing to him.  “Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger simply informed me that he had gone off on his own and that he wasn’t in the tower.  Filius and Pomona haven’t seen him.”  She glared at Severus, who let out a long-suffering sigh that was only partially due to having to look for the brat.  Note to self:  Don’t glare at her so often.  She’s getting too good at mimicking my looks.  Those are my trademark glares!  Even in his own mind, he sounded a bit like a petulant child.

“Very well,” he drawled, forcing more sarcasm than most people would think possible into those two words.  “I’ll look for the brat.”  While he did have important things to do for his Slytherins, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to catch Potter up to no good.  He turned and billowed away, smirking as he imagined her expression.  

As he headed up the stairs out of the dungeons, he pulled out his wand and laid it on his hand.  Really, Minerva, this would be so much simpler if you had an ounce of intelligence.  

“Point me Harry Potter,” he muttered to his wand, which immediately spun to point down the hall to the left.  He repeated the spell at every junction, until finally, the wand pointed him back the way he had come.  He walked slowly back the way he’d come, opening each door along the way.  He poked his head into one near the middle of the hallway and glanced around, almost missing the figure collapsed in the corner.  Severus started to leave, then what he had seen registered in his mind.  He set his face in his most threatening scowl and slammed the door open, storming inside.  

“Potter!”

But the boy didn’t react at all, not to the sound of his Professor’s voice or the door smacking against the wall.  He stalked furiously over to where Potter seemed to be asleep and shook him roughly.  “Wake up, boy,” he spat venomously, but there was still no apparent response.  Suddenly, he recalled his earlier observations, and a thought struck him like a lightning bolt-- but surely it couldn’t be...

He looked down at the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived for a few more seconds before holding out his wand.

“Finite Incantatem.”

Severus gaped down at the boy for a few moments, taking in the extent of his injuries. If anyone had walked in on that moment, it surely would have been quite a sight: the dour, snarky Potions Master frozen in place, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly like a fish with his wand held limply at his side.  He finally got enough control over himself to drop to one knee next to Potter, examining the injuries with both his wand and his eyes.  

This isn’t possible, he thought to himself, but it rung hollow even to him.  He closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath.  Seeing the boy like this was too strange.  He had never looked less like James, but at the same time, it was so easy to think of him as his father without her eyes pinning him to the ground.  Severus quickly conjured a stretcher for the boy, blinking repeatedly as if he expected him to disappear in front of his eyes.  It wasn’t as if he had never seen such injuries before...but Potter?  There had to be an explanation.  One that didn’t involve what was quickly becoming obvious to Severus as he gazed down at the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-an-Absolute-Enigma.  Please don’t tell me we’ve all missed something this important.

The darkness was more than welcoming.  The throbbing pain had subsided to a dull ache, which was certainly preferable to the agony he’d been feeling not long ago.  I could get used to this, he thought dreamily.

A sudden, gentle brush against his face broke through his subconscious musings, and he instinctively shied away.  A deep, rumbling voice reached his ears, as if coming from very far away, and he strained to identify it in his muddled state; it was familiar, but as he approached consciousness, the pain returned full force, and he retreated into himself again.  Unfortunately, this time, the comforting darkness had fled, to be replaced with a barred window, raised voices, and the never-ending flow of tears and blood...

Severus sat on a chair next to a cot in the hospital wing, watching the small, raven-haired boy’s chest rise and fall.  Pomfrey had been shocked and horrified at his condition, and kept mumbling about not detecting anything amiss before the Feast.  Clearly, the boy had masked his condition quite well, if he’d been able to slip past Poppy.  

He sighed, already rueing the destruction of his careful plans for the evening, but reached out almost subconsciously to brush the boy’s hair, matted with sweat, from his eyes.  Potter flinched violently away from the touch, and he felt a burning anger wash away his irritation - what had happened to the arrogant, entitled boy he’d taught for the past two years?  Or, more importantly, how had the boy fooled the entire school the way he had?

Severus was the first to admit that he had held a grudge against the boy.  And what of it?  He’s always acted exactly like his father.  All Gryffindor recklessness, vanity from his fame, and no thought whatsoever for others.  He could, hypothetically of course, imagine himself having missed any obvious signs of his abuse, particularly since the boy would probably rather scrub cauldrons for a lifetime than show weakness in front of the Potions Master.  But the rest of the staff doted on the boy.  If he was showing any signs whatsoever, why did no one else see?  

He tried his best to ignore the snide voice in his head whispering that of course no one else saw; no one else was as experienced with abused children as he was, no one else was as familiar with the signs.  But that’s exactly the point!  Where were the signs?  He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated.  Furthermore, how on earth did a child-- any child-- with that kind of a family life end up in Gryffindor, of all places?  As far as he knew, there had never been a single reported case of child abuse against a Gryffindor.  Which would explain why his Head of House never noticed, the voice whispered.  Shut up, he snarled at it.

“Maybe that’s it,” he murmured to himself.  The boy stirred slightly at the sound, but he ignored the movement, suddenly lost in his own thoughts.  Maybe that idiotic courage that their house promotes keeps them from saying anything, for fear of seeming weak.  Maybe they’re too damn honorable to believe that they don’t have to suffer in silence.   If that was true, then who knew how many students had fallen through the cracks?  The boy let out a soft, piteous moan, and he instinctively leaned forward to clasp his hand in his own.  He froze, realizing a moment too late what he’d done, then forced himself to relax.  You’d do this for any other child in his position, he reminded himself.  He hadn’t done it for a Gryffindor before, but that didn’t mean anything; he’d comforted students in the other three Houses without a problem, hadn’t he?  But deep down, he knew it wasn’t the red-and-gold crest on his uniform that made Severus so uncomfortable; it was the hair, the name, everything that reminded him of his old enemy.  He swore silently and pulled back, trying and failing to repress the twinge of guilt he felt when the boy’s hand clenched tighter around thin air.

The cramped space seemed to be getting tighter by the second as he slowly sat up, grimacing.  He hadn’t been locked in his cupboard since his first Hogwarts letter, but he really should have known this was coming after the less-than-ideal way he’d left the Dursley residence last summer.

Harry screwed up his face as he stretched as best he could in the small amount of space he could find, and resignedly flicked a spider off his nose.  He had almost forgotten how many there were in the cupboard, and after meeting the Acromantula colony last year, he was less than thrilled about coming face to face - literally - with their smaller cousins on such a regular basis.  It had been three days since he left Hogwarts, three nights back in the darkness of his childhood bedroom, and far too many missed meals for his liking after being used to the constant supply of food at school.  His trunk had been locked away somewhere, his owl was probably even hungrier than he was, and Uncle Vernon kept turning an ominous shade of purple whenever Harry came near.  It was only a matter of time before something gave way.

A sharp rapping on the door made him jump.

“Up!” snapped Aunt Petunia, and Harry groaned inwardly.  The latch on the door slid open from outside, and he dragged himself out, swaying a bit from hunger as he balanced on his stiff legs.  

Aunt Petunia, looking down her nose at her nephew, turned away.  “Make breakfast for Dudders and your uncle,” she ordered.  Harry felt a blaze of anger, but gritted his teeth and headed to the kitchen and obediently started frying eggs, noting with exhaustion the large list of chores for him posted on the fridge.  He looked longingly at the food on the stove as his stomach growled, but Dudley had already entered the kitchen, leering at his cousin, leaving Harry with no opportunity to steal some food for himself.  Later, he told himself.  Just wait until Uncle Vernon’s gone, and Aunt Petunia’s not looking, and Dudley’s ignoring me... His stomach growled once more, insistently, and Dudley smirked from his seat at the table.  He split the eggs between two plates, quickly added toast, and placed them on the table, one before Dudley and one in his Uncle’s usual spot.  After that, he fled the kitchen, trying to escape his cousin’s taunting look and the smell of the food.  

He immediately headed out into the garden, wanting to do the outdoor chores before the sun made the heat unbearable.  Pruning the roses, painting the shed, mowing the lawn, watering the flowers... It was nearly eleven by the time he finished, and he hurriedly washed the dirt off his hands with the garden hose, cupping some water in his newly clean hands to quench his thirst.  

“Hey, freak!”

Harry groaned quietly and turned off the hose.  He had been expecting this, to be honest.  He swiveled around, fixing Dudley with an exhausted glare as he surreptitiously checked his surroundings.  

“It’s been a while,” the larger boy said with a smirk, cracking his knuckles.  At the sound, several other boys emerged, spreading out in a wide semicircle in an attempt to surround Harry.  “I think we ought to play a little game to celebrate the start of summer, don’t you?” he asked his cronies, who all looked rather smug.  He started toward his cousin, picking up speed as he came closer.

Harry ran.

The boy was twitching and crying out softly in his sleep, tangling himself up in the sheets as he attempted to escape his invisible tormentors.  Severus leaned forward, fully intending to wake him before he managed to aggravate his injuries, and Potter’s body convulsed.  

“No,” he whimpered, twisting away.  “Please...” His chest heaved and his shoulders hunched, as if he sensed the hand reaching toward him.  The boy was silent for a few minutes, and seemed to relax, but then suddenly began shaking even more than before.  “No, Uncle,” he begged, his voice becoming slightly more high-pitched with the start of a new dream.  “Be good...promise...” Potter gripped the sheets desperately, curling up into a ball.

Severus had seen enough.  He shook the boy gently, and those brilliant green eyes flew open, filled to the brim with unshed tears and unmitigated terror, staring at him without comprehension for a few moments before shock registered in his expression.  

“Professor?” he squeaked, pulling away from him slightly.  “What...what are you...?”  He looked around wildly, then winced in pain.  Nervousness flooded the boy’s expression as he realized where he was, and he looked down at himself before groaning and pulling the sheets up to his neck, covering most of his body.  Severus felt a stab of pity; he certainly wouldn’t have felt very comfortable in Potter’s position.  

“Oh,” he said, sounding very young, and Severus glared at the boy, though not as intensely as he usually would.

“Eloquent as ever, I see,” he commented, and Potter flushed.  “Care to explain exactly how you came to be passed out in a classroom with several possibly fatal injuries?”  Why was he being so cold?  If it had been one of his Snakes, he’d be comforting the child, carding his fingers through their hair, or gently encouraging them to let out their tears.  Only you, Potter, could put me in danger of losing my status as the school’s unofficial abuse counsellor.  Potter cringed, flinching away and dropping his gaze.  “I-- it was nothing, sir.”  He bit his lip, and Severus sighed.  

Severus waited patiently for a response, but none seemed forthcoming; Potter wouldn’t meet his eyes, and didn’t exactly seem inclined to continue the conversation.  

“Potter,” he repeated, forcing his voice to become gentler.  “How were you injured?”  See?  I can be perfectly pleasant, even to you.

The boy glanced up at him, gripping the sheets tightly, then suddenly relaxed, the fear draining from his face.  Almost instantly, it was replaced with a much more familiar look.

Potter grinned, a bit impishly, and leaned back against the headboard.  “Picked a fight with some kids in the neighborhood.  Five of them.  Still beat the pants off ‘em, though.”  His voice was unconcerned and slightly arrogant, making him almost indistinguishable from his sire.  

Severus stared, completely thrown.  This...this was how he’d always seen the boy, wasn’t it?  This was the boy, the brat he’d always had to deal with in class.  So why did the cocky stance seem wrong, somehow?  More worryingly, why didn’t he seem like he was lying?  Potter can’t lie.  But I don’t believe him, not at all.  Either he was losing his touch or the boy was a much better liar than anyone had ever imagined.  

“Really, Potter?  Just what I’d expect,” he said snidely, his mind working as he watched a flicker of relief cross the boy’s face at his professor’s apparent acceptance of the story.  Severus fixed him with a serious gaze.  “Nothing to do with your Muggle relations, then?”  He knew he was taking a risk - if he was wrong, this would certainly be more than uncomfortable for both of them - but he couldn’t deny the looming suspicion he’d felt since finding Potter in that classroom.  

With difficulty, Harry held back a whimper of fear.  No.  No, no, no.  He can’t know.  He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he--

He carefully rearranged his expression into one of scorn, the effort effectively blocking his thoughts.  “Potion fumes getting to your head, Professor?”  He snorted in derision, breathing a bit more slowly in an attempt to soothe his nerves.  Can’t tell, whispered a small voice deep in his mind, and he shuddered as he continued.  “I just told you it was a fight.”  Rolling his eyes, Harry tried to ignore the suspicion in the Professor’s eyes.  Don’t show anything, he warned himself.  Let him see what he wants to see.  It was a defense he’d learned early on; no one suspected anything if they saw all they were expecting, so he’d quickly learned to read people and turned their expectations to his advantage.  For his teachers in primary school, he was the odd little boy who got in trouble for fighting with his cousin.  At Privet Drive, he was the freak.  For most of his Professors, he was the Boy Who Lived.  And for Snape, he was the arrogant braggart.  It worked well.  Not even Snape had ever been able to see past it.

To be honest, part of him wanted to tell, if only to see the shock on the Professor’s face.  But he couldn’t.  The remembered pain was too strong; most of him simply could not go against the training he’d received, the lessons that had been beaten into him with belts and fists.  Those memories bubbled up inside him, and he embraced them, taking the anger he had felt then and transforming it into the derision on his face.  But still, a tiny, beaten down part of him was tentatively reaching out, pushing gently at the walls Harry had put up around him.

It took all of Severus’s restraint to keep his mouth from hanging open and his eyes from bulging out.  What is that infernal boy up to?  He knew Potter was lying, but the child in front of him didn’t seem to show any sign of dishonesty.  Or did he?

He leaned forward, analyzing the boy.  Potter’s nose was turned up slightly, and he had a hint of a smirk on his face-- but was that anxiety in the depths of those green eyes? Was it weakness from the injuries that made the boy’s hands shake, or fear of being discovered?  A wave of doubt seemed to crash over Severus as he watched the Gryffindor, neither of them moving a muscle.  I’m certain that I’m right, but what if I’m not?  I haven’t exactly been a good judge of the boy, now have I?  

“Potter.”  The boy glanced at him for a moment, then deliberately averted his gaze, the perfect embodiment of nonchalance.  Severus closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself.  “Harry.”  

That worked a bit better; Potter jerked slightly, the arrogant smirk fading from his face.  Severus took this as an improvement and continued.

“Harry, please.”  The boy’s eyes stretched wide with shock; he had surely never expected to hear such a gentle tone from the Potions professor, never mind a ‘please’.  “Tell me the truth.” 

“Tell me the truth.”  

The request chilled Harry to the bone, and he automatically flinched away from the very idea.  He closed his eyes, shivering, and was instantly lost in a memory.

“Tell anyone, boy, and this won’t even compare to what I’ll do to you,” the voice snarled.  Harry whimpered from where he cowered on the floor, trying to drag himself away, but the belt whipped through the air again and he cried out as the buckle tore through his skin.

“Uncle, please, I won’t tell, I’ll be good, I won’t tell!”  His voice cracked, and tears leaked down his flushed cheeks.  “I’ll be good,” he whimpered again, and his arms gave out; he sagged against the floor, welcoming the coolness of the tile floor against his battered body.  Cruel laughter erupted from behind him, and he gasped for air as a booted foot slammed into his ribcage.  

“Damn right you will, freak.  I won’t have that...that abnormal behavior in my house.”  His uncle’s voice was serious and menacing now, and Harry could barely restrain a sob.  “You’ll behave yourself, or else.  And you will not tell.”  The last three words were each punctuated with a blow, and Harry screamed aloud, begging for the pain to end.

Damn.  The request clearly hadn’t gone as well as Severus had planned.  He reached out, shaking the boy gently; Harry was curled in on himself, his head buried in his knees, trembling.  The touch only made the boy tighten his grip around his legs, so Severus began gently rubbing his back, murmuring to him softly.  A high-pitched keening sound emitted from deep in Harry’s throat, and Severus realized that he wouldn’t be getting any information out of the boy, not tonight.  He sighed and gently pried the boy’s hands away from his legs, manoeuvring the boy gently so that he was seated normally, with his head tilted back.  Does he even notice what’s going on?  Or is he too far inside himself to care?  He quickly summoned a Dreamless Sleep potion and poured it into the boy’s mouth with practiced ease, stroking his throat gently so it would be easier to swallow.  After a few moments, the small body relaxed, no longer shaking and attempting to curl back into its defensive pose.  

He pulled the sheets carefully over the boy, part of him marvelling at the thought that he, of all people, would be putting Harry, of all people, to bed.  Even in sleep, the child shied away from physical contact, making Severus’s heart ache.  What had happened to the boy, to warrant such fear?  Severus had to actively force himself not to berate himself again about not noticing.  He glanced at the clock:  three in the morning.  He let out a sigh and grabbed a quill and some parchment; he had some arrangements to make for the following day.

Severus left the sleeping boy in the infirmary and hurried to his office.  He had arranged to have a substitute take his classes for the day, but he had a very important meeting to attend.  He sat down, and within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, and one of his third-year Snakes entered.

“Mr. Nott.  Sit down.”  While his words were short, his tone was somewhat less strict than he would normally use even with his Slytherins, and the young man sat obediently.  

“What did you need from me, Professor?”

Severus leaned forward.  “I take it that I do not need to remind you of the circumstances surrounding your first year?”

Nott flushed, averting his eyes.  “No, sir.”  

The professor nodded.  He had nursed the boy back to health himself after the Sorting, and in all his years, he had never seen a case of abuse as...unpleasant... as that one, a fact which he had not hesitated to inform the stricken boy of after he was healed, during one of their many therapeutic sessions where Severus attempted to heal the deep psychological scars that the boy had suffered.

That is, he had never seen a case that bad until the previous night.

“I’m sorry to say that I believe your record has been broken.”

Nott looked confused for a moment, but then, several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession; shock, horror, disgust, then finally settling on a mixture of concern and understanding.  

“I’m sorry to hear that too, Professor,” the Slytherin replied quietly.  “Is there anything I can do?”

Severus eyed the boy, seemingly still debating.  “Perhaps.  But not yet.”

When Harry awoke, he lay for a few moments in confusion, trying to remember where he was.  What had happened?  He remembered walking with Ron and Hermione, then getting into an argument and storming off...and then...

Harry sat straight up in the hospital bed, feeling wildly around for his glasses.  They suddenly appeared in front of his face, and he grabbed at them, hardly registering the long-fingered hand that held them.  With the round frames safely perched on his nose, he looked around, suddenly blanching when he saw Snape in the chair next to his bed, watching him with a hint of...bemusement?

“Um...good morning, sir.”  Harry’s memories were starting to rush back now, and he wanted nothing more than to sink through the floor and disappear.  Snape saw that?  All of it?  Wait, when did I even fall asleep?  Was he here?  His face burned at the idea, and he stared intently at a miniscule hole in the sheets.  

“Good morning, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out, adding yet another question to his mental list:  since when did Snape call him by his first name?  Since yesterday, when he saw you panicking like a baby and almost giving secrets away, snarled a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a certain, very large man with a moustache and a loud, menacing voice.  That thought brought on a wave of melancholy as he watched the professor warily.

Severus couldn’t deny that he had rather enjoyed the look of helpless bewilderment that had crossed the boy’s face upon hearing the civil, even pleasant greeting from the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons.  It’s nice to see that I’ve kept up appearances, he thought, barely restraining a smirk.   

“I trust you slept well?”  Better, at least, than you must have since you acquired those injuries.  

“Fine,” the boy replied quietly, his face flushing a bit.  Severus waited a moment, and when Harry didn’t seem inclined to go further, he continued.  

“Harry, I don’t know what you intend to gain by hiding what happened to you.”  The small face softened slightly, and the boy bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth.  Does that mean he’s opening up a bit?  Maybe?

He sighed quietly, weighing his options, and finally decided that the boy was almost there.  Steeling his nerves, and leaned forward to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  The effect was immediate; Harry flinched backwards, away from the touch, and squeezed his eyes shut.  Small hands clutched, ever more tightly, at the sheets, and he whimpered softly.  Severus froze, his hand stretched toward the child, and waited.  He hadn’t expected a reaction like that.  A reaction that violent...usually indicates a long history of abuse.  Merlin, child, what have they done to you?

After a few moments, one brilliant green eye slowly opened, the terror slowly fading from its depths.  Moving very slowly so as not to startle Harry again, Severus leaned back in the chair and deliberately placed his hands in his lap, where the boy could see them.  

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, though fury was welling up in him, not at the boy, but at his obvious mistreatment.  “I won’t hurt you.”

A strange mixture of horror, humiliation, and relief took him over as he watched the Professor.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  He knew it wasn’t Uncle Vernon, he knew he wasn’t back at Privet Drive, but he had still reacted, and that was just as bad as telling.  Harry’s face burned and he looked away at the Professor’s words, embarrassed that he needed to be comforted that way, but he felt a hard, emotional lump in his throat, and was grateful for whatever he could get to diminish it.  

“Please don’t tell,” he whispered feebly.  His eyes were prickling with tears.  “It’s not a big deal, really, I can handle it.”  To his horror, the tears overflowed then, and he swiped angrily at his eyes with one hand.

“Tell me what happened.”  Harry cringed.  He didn’t say...

“Only if you promise you won’t tell anyone.”  He was fully aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn’t find the strength to care.  He heard a sigh, but still didn’t look at Snape.  

“Pott-- Harry.  I promise to do nothing with the information that will not benefit you.”  There was a hint of exasperation in the man’s voice, and Harry glanced up at him doubtfully, understanding the meaning:  Snape would tell 'for his own good', so Harry could get help, not that it would work.  He watched the man warily; Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a headache, which usually meant he was nearing the end of his patience.  

“I guess it all started last summer.”

Harry turned his head away as he began, speaking to the wall rather than his Professor.  

“It was never as bad before then.  They locked me in Dudley’s second bedroom and put bars on the windows because they found out I couldn’t do magic over the summer.”  At this, he risked a glance at Snape, whose face was still impassive.  Harry shivered, looking away again.  “They...they fed me once a day, through a cat flap in the door.  Ron and the twins figured out something was wrong and they broke me out with their dad’s flying car.”

He hesitated, biting his lip.  This was much, much harder than he had thought it would be.  He couldn’t seem to prevent himself from trembling, and a large part of him was begging to stop, to ignore his Gryffindor courage and just obey the rules.  “I guess I kinda underestimated how mad they’d be about it.  I thought they’d cool off a bit while I was at school, and things might go back to normal.”  He saw a flicker of displeasure cross the Professor’s face, and he looked away.  “I mean, it was never really normal, I don’t think, but back to the way it used to be, I guess.”  There, that was probably more satisfactory.  His voice grew quieter as he continued.

“When I got off the train, they just kind of ignored me.  They insulted me a lot on the way, but, well, that’s normal for them.”  He felt his face growing red and looked away, embarrassed and shaking with nerves.  That’s the easy part.  How am I supposed to talk about the hard stuff?  Harry’s bravery seemed to be depleting with every word, leaving him shaking and unable to look away from his hands, or the bed, or really anywhere except Snape’s face. 

Severus was reeling, and he knew the worst was yet to come.  Locked in?  Bars on the windows?  Fed through a cat flap?   He almost would have preferred a clean-cut case of family violence; those injuries were far easier to heal than the mental and emotional pain that Potter (Harry!) was describing. 

Just then, he realized that Harry had stopped talking.  The boy was clearly struggling with the tale; his face was flushed, and he kept opening his mouth, as if to continue, and then closing it again without a word.  Severus felt a stab of pain in his chest as the small boy seemed to close in on himself, as if trying to hide.

"Go on," he urged quietly, making a valiant effort to keep his fury at the child's treatment from showing in his voice.

Harry sat upright with a bit of a jerk as he was dragged out of his nervous musings. Right.  Talking.  

"Um."  Why was this so hard?  Oh, right, because I’m NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THIS.  

"Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired, Potter."  The automatic, snarky response was actually a relief; at least there was something normal to make this feel real, instead of like a very uncomfortable dream.  Harry let this comfort him for a moment before abruptly realizing that if it was real, he was actually doing this.  Talking.  To Snape.  Which was terrifying on so many levels.  Well, I guess it can't get much worse at this point.  He already knows it's bad, since you were stupid enough to flinch earlier.  

"Well.  We...we got through the door, and my Uncle took my trunk again, but this year, he didn't lock it up under the stairs..."

The Professor’s hands clenched into fists, but he remained silent, so Harry continued.

“That’s what they did last year, so I couldn’t, um, ‘bother them with my freakishness’, I believe they said.”

This isn’t going to go over well.

“They were mad enough about last summer that they decided to...theydecidedtoputmebackinthecupboard.”  

“What?”  The voice, while surprisingly calm, was as menacing as Harry had ever heard it.

Harry winced.  “They...decided to put me back in the cupboard, sir...”  His voice trailed off, and he stared nervously up at the irate Potions Professor.  

A moment passed, then:  “Explain.”  

Harry gulped audibly.  “Well, you see, sir, I used to sleep there.  In the cupboard under the stairs.  Until I got my Hogwarts letter.”  There was no response, so he reluctantly continued.  “Then they put me in Dudley’s second bedroom because they thought someone was watching us, but since the Weasleys broke me out last year, I guess they decided it wasn’t secure enough.”  

Still no response.  The silence stretched for a few more moments, then Snape spoke.

“Are you telling me,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “that you slept in a cupboard all summer?”

“Um.”  Harry looked away, feeling his face go red again.  “Yes?”  And for about ten years before I knew I was a wizard.  Funny, that part didn't seem to have registered yet.

Snape stood.  Harry flinched.  Neither of them looked at the other.  After a moment, the Professor stormed away, throwing the door to Madame Pomfrey’s office open.  A startled shriek pierced the air as he stalked in, but it was abruptly cut off, likely by a Silencing spell.   Harry could almost feel the Hospital Wing shaking.  A few minutes later, a disgruntled, slightly red-faced Snape reappeared, and the medi-witch’s guilt and irritation were palpable as she slammed the door behind him.  Harry couldn’t help raising an eyebrow, and the Professor’s mouth thinned into a hard line.  He sat down on the chair next to Harry’s bed again, and Harry got the distinct impression that the man had been venting, raging in the next room.  On his behalf.  It was an odd feeling.

“Pott-”  Snape sighed.  “Harry.  Why have you never mentioned this to anyone?”

Harry shivered.  Talking is bad.  Telling is very, very bad.  He didn’t say that, though. No use inviting more questions, after all.  Questions are bad, too.  “It’s fine,” he said monotonously. “I’m not weak.”

Unfortunately, that probably went over worse than admitting the truth would have.

“This is not about real or perceived weakness, Potter-- Harry!  You foolish child, why would you insist on hiding something that could get you killed?”

Harry blanched.  “It...It wasn’t that--”

“Don’t you dare tell me it wasn’t that bad.”  Harry shut up, and Snape continued, fury flashing in his eyes.  “It clearly was that bad.  If you had gone another few hours without medical treatment, it may well have been too late.  You’re severely malnourished, you had several infected wounds that will take time to heal, and we can’t even give you any more potions-- even for pain-- for a while because you’ll essentially overdose because of how much magic we’ve had to use on you!  It is that bad, Pott--Harry, and I will not let this charade of yours go on!"  

Harry flinched away, closing his eyes and silently begging for him to stop, but the Professor was on the warpath.  

“I understand that your entire perception of normal family dynamics is likely warped beyond repair, but this cannot happen!  Surely even you can comprehend that.  Child abuse is a criminal offense, Potter!  Merlin only knows--”

“I’m not abused.”  It came out as a petulant whine, and Harry cringed even as he said it.  What’s with me and not saying things the way I want to today?  

Snape just glared at him, obviously not planning to dignify the statement with a response.  “Merlin only knows how you’ve gone this long without anyone realizing how bad it was.  You should have been out of that house long ago.”  

Harry felt a glimmer of hope at that.  Leave the Dursleys?  But then he remembered.  

“But Dumbledore said I had to go back.  I asked him last year if I could stay at Hogwarts for the summer.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Snape corrected automatically.  Then he looked confused.  “He said what?”

Harry just sighed.  This was going to be a long day.  And just think, he reflected bitterly, I haven’t even gotten past the cupboard yet.

“I asked him if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer.  He said no.”  It really wasn’t that big a deal, was it?  Clearly, the Professor thought it was, though.

“Potter,” he gritted out.  “Did you tell him what was going on in that house?”

Harry hesitated.  “I told him they hated me.”

Professor Snape just closed his eyes.

Severus desperately needed a headache draught.  While ranting and raving to Madam Pomfrey ("How did you not notice?  He practically lives in the Infirmary!") had done wonders for the tension he'd been feeling, it had only been a temporary fix at best.  He let out a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"Harry.  Surely you realize that the Headmaster thought that a bit of an exaggeration."

The boy just hunched his shoulders, looking away. Severus felt a pang of guilt, recognizing the gesture; not only had many of his battered Snakes done much the same when frightened, he had seen it in Potter himself, when he had loomed over the boy in Potions class or detention.  I should have recognized it.

"Most children tend to exaggerate perceived wrongs, child.  It is no wonder the Headmaster sent you back to them if that is all you said."  He kept his voice gentle and soothing as he reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from Harry's eyes.  The boy flinched away, but not as violently as the last time Severus had attempted to touch him; fearful green eyes met his, and he slowly moved his hand forward the last few centimeters to reach him.  Harry was tense, nervous, but only a tiny whimper revealed his fear.  Severus was about to admit defeat--for now--and retreat, when the boy slowly began to relax, trembling but unwilling to pull away.

"Good boy," he murmured softly and encouragingly, the corners of his mouth twitching up a bit in the closest thing to a smile that could get past his shields.  The fear and tentative hope and trust as the child leaned slowly into the touch was heartbreakingly pitiful.  "That's it, go on, it's okay," he continued, rubbing small circles with one finger against the boy's temple.  Merlin, he looked desperate; Severus wasn't sure he'd ever met a child who craved and feared human touch as much as Harry obviously did.  Has anyone ever held him?  Comforted him?  Lily, how much more has your child been deprived of?

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.  

Well. That was awkward. "Um, sorry," Harry mumbled, pulling away. Wow, I'm a mess. First Snape, now Nott? Am I the designated Slytherin charity case, or what? “I got your handkerchief wet, I think.”

“No kidding.” Fortunately, the other boy didn’t sound upset. When Harry looked up at him, there was a small, understanding smile on Nott’s face. “I mean, that is kind of the point. You’re supposed to get them wet. Besides, you needed it.”  That was even more embarrassing - random Slytherins weren't supposed to just know what he needed!  Even if I am more Slytherin than Gryffindor, he thought gloomily, surprising himself.  Was that why no one in his House had noticed?  Food for thought, at least.

"Er, right," he mumbled, flushing a bit.  Eloquent, his mind supplied sarcastically, sounding disturbingly like Snape.  They were silent for a few moments before Nott spoke again.

"I guess you probably have a lot of questions," he said, sitting up straighter.  "First of all, I've given my word to Professor Snape that I won't talk about all of this with anyone, upon threat of eternal detention."  His voice was light, and a bit of the tension in Harry's muscles melted away.  "Not that I would have said anything even without the threats, of course."  He sounded a bit less sure of himself now, and pulled away slightly.  "Slytherins take care of their own, including their privacy."

"But I'm not--"

"You became an honorary Slytherin the moment Professor Snape found out about this," Nott corrected gently.  "The rest of the House doesn't know it yet - and they won't find out unless you want them to - but you're one of us now."  He smirked good-naturedly, amusement sparkling in his eyes at Harry's shock.  "Close your mouth, Potter, unless you have something to say."

Harry's mouth snapped shut instantly - he hadn't noticed it was still open, and he didn't want to look like an imbecile - and he nodded slowly, unable to deny that the idea was at least more appealing than he would have thought before.  But he still had to ask -

"Why you?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably.  "Well, why would you want to help me?  Why would Snape ask you?  Why--"

Nott laughed, holding up his hands.  "Slow down, I can only answer one at a time."  He looks nicer when he smiles, Harry thought idly.  Their entire House always seems so closed off.  Who knew they could actually show emotion?

"Well, first off, get one thing straight:  I'm helping you because you deserve it and because you're one of us."  He fixed Harry with a piercing glance, obviously daring him to contradict.  Harry didn't bother.

"Second, normally I wouldn't have been chosen.  Professor Snape usually gets an older student to help out if he isn't likely to be able to do much, but..." Nott's voice trailed off, and he smiled sadly.  "You and I make up the two worst cases currently at Hogwarts, so he decided I was the best person to help you."

For a moment, Harry didn't understand.  Then:

"Wait.  You were..."

Nott nodded.  "Yes.  I was abused at home."  He sighed when Harry flinched.   "It's just a word, Pot-- Harry.  I hated it at first, too, but you're going to have to accept what they did to you at some point."

"I'm not-- I wasn't--"  He broke off, scowling.

"Sure you weren't."  Harry's scowl deepened, and Nott sighed.  "Listen, Harry, I'm sure that in your self-sacrificing Gryffindor mind, it wasn't that bad.  But you can't just ignore this.  You need to talk about it.  Come to terms with it."  He put a hand on Harry's shoulder as he continued.  "Besides, if you don't tell us what actually happened, it'll be a lot harder to get you somewhere else to stay."

Harry groaned.  "I already told Snape that I have to stay there, so--"

Nott just laughed.  "You don't know Professor Snape.  I guarantee that he's already making arrangements for you, Harry.  Just wait and see."

At that exact moment, Severus was doing exactly that.  Well, sort of.  Making arrangements for Harry was part of his motivation, but he couldn't deny that chewing out the Headmaster felt really, really good.

"...and thanks to you, Albus Dumbledore, he's convinced himself that he has to return there and suffer at their hands!  He sleeps in a cupboard, Albus, and that's just what he's been able to tell me without breaking down!  You assured me that he was happy, pampered even, with his grandparents!  I absolutely refuse to believe that they would hurt a child, so obviously--" here his magic began swirling dangerously around him -- "you've been lying to me all along!"

"Severus--"

"No, Albus!  I'm not going to listen to excuses.  What were you trying to do?  I can't even fathom what possessed you to keep him in a house like that.  You must have had some inkling of what was going on!"  His voice shook, and his anger started to drain away, to be replaced with weariness and pain.  "Why, Albus?  Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me the truth?"  He sat down heavily, his shoulders slumped.  "If I had known, I could have caught this earlier..."

Severus looked up, meeting eyes that seemed as dark as his own.  It felt wrong seeing Albus's eyes look like that.  They were always twinkling with delight, or flashing with anger, or glinting in determination; Severus had never seen those blue eyes look dull, or empty, but that was the only way to describe them now.

"Severus, I fear that I have made a grave error in judgement."

Part of Severus wanted to snark back at him, but he held his tongue, waiting for an explanation from his longtime mentor and friend.  

"I believed that Petunia could grow to love her sister's child."  Dumbledore sighed softly.  "I knew that she had been jealous of Lily once, but I truly thought that she would take Harry in and love him as family."

"You-- wait-- Petunia?  You sent him to that horse-faced harpy?  Albus, I could have told you that she would never accept a wizard in her home!  Anyone who knew Lily well knew how much her sister hated magic!  Lily used to come to me, crying, because of the letters she sent that never got a reply, or the names her sister had called her before term started!  She-- why didn't you put him with his grandparents?  They would have raised him properly!  Anyone would have done a better job than Petunia!"

"They died, Severus."

"I can't believe you--" Suddenly he stopped, the Headmaster's words catching up to him.  "They...they what?"

"They died."  His voice was firm, though sympathetic.  "Just before Christmas in your seventh year."

After Lily and I stopped talking.  An immense wave of guilt washed over him.  "That long?"  A hint of betrayal seeped into his tone.  "Albus, how could you not tell me?  They were practically family!" He stood up again, clutching the desk desperately.  "They were my parents in everything but blood!  I-- I thought Lily had told them that I joined the Dark Lord, and they didn't want to see me again! They've been dead, all this time?  I-- I've never even visited their graves!  I--" He cut himself off, trying to rein in his rising hysteria.  When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, but still strained.  “Albus, you will tell me where they are buried, but we’ve strayed from the subject.  Harry will not be returning there next summer.  He will not be returning there as long as he lives if I can help it.”  Severus turned around and headed for the door, only just restraining his anger.

If he had stopped to think about it, he would have realized that Dumbledore had never truly answered any of his questions.

And if he had looked back as he left, he would have seen a scowl to rival his best on the genial old Headmaster’s face.

“So, it’s like a Pensieve, but on a flat surface?”

Harry stared blankly.  “A what?”

Nott (“Call me Theo!”) just groaned.  “How do you not know about-- well-- anything?”

“I just don’t!  How do you not know what a television is?”  He rolled his eyes.  “If it’s weird for me not to know wizard culture, it’s just as weird for you not to know anything about muggles.”

“But you’re a wizard!  I’m not a muggle!”

“That’s not the point!”

They sat in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other, before Nott started snickering.  

“How did we even get on this subject?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again.  “You know, I actually have no idea.”  They both laughed, but Harry winced, pressing one hand against his side, which effectively raised the tensions in the room again.  Theo turned to look worriedly at the smaller boy, not noticing the Infirmary door quietly open and then close again.

"Are you okay?  Should I ask Madame Pomfrey for a pain potion?"

"No, I'll be fine.  It's not bad, just twinges a bit when I laugh."  

"Normally," a new voice said, sounding faintly amused, "I would recommend avoiding things that cause pain, but you do seem in better spirits."  

Both boys jumped.  "Professor Snape!"

He smirked slightly at them, and Theo mirrored it.  Harry looked back and forth between them for a moment, trying to decipher the silent conversation they seemed to be having, then gave up.  Slytherins.  

Suddenly, Theo and Snape turned to face him as one, and any amusement on their faces disappeared.  Uh-oh. What did I do..?

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?  Oh, no.  No, we are not doing this right now.  No way.  Nope.  Not bloody happe--

"I believe," Snape said slowly, "we have a discussion to finish, now that you no longer appear to be on the verge of a panic attack."

Bollocks.

"Um.  Do we have to?"

Snape just quirked an eyebrow, but Theo looked sympathetic.  "You'll have to do it eventually," he pointed out with a bit of a grimace.  "Best to just get it over with.  Besides, you'll feel better once it's all off your chest."

Unfortunately, that was a logical response, one that Harry couldn't honestly refute.  

"Alright," he said reluctantly, glancing between them warily.  "How are we going to do this?"

"For now, we just need you to answer our questions."  Okay.  I can do that.  I think.  Relax, relax...I don't think this is working...

"Okay," he said, his voice a bit more high-pitched than normal.

Theo cast him a pitying glance as the torture - er, therapy? - began.