When Snape awoke the next morning, it was with an odd feeling in his gut. He realized that the evening before had been… not entirely unpleasant. Potter did not seem quite as much like the spoiled brat he was in class. Perhaps he was simply more bearable without his friends around to show-off for, he thought, but the question remained of what Potter was truly like. However, he pushed his wonderings to the back of his mind as he went to meet the boy in question.

Harry, on the other hand, shuffled out of his room Monday morning feeling rather bleary-eyed. He had not slept well the night before. After tossing for a while, trying to get comfortable, he finally fell asleep only to be woken by a nightmare, once again. Fortunately, he was able to stuff his knuckles into his mouth to quiet his screams, his usual method of silencing himself when he was at the Dursleys and unable to set up a silencing spell, so he had not woken Snape. Additionally, his arms and shoulders were now continually aching from the strain. He decided he would venture out of the dungeons that day in an effort to keep his mind off the pain; there were only a couple of Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws around for the holidays, so walking the halls would not be too mortifying.

In between bites of food during breakfast, he addressed Snape to let him know of his plans.

“Professor? I was thinking I’d go to the quidditch pitch this morning. I’ll be back for lunch of course,” he stated tentatively, unsure whether he was supposed to ask permission or just inform Snape of his plans.

Snape paused with his spoon halfway to his own mouth. “Were you planning on flying?” He looked incredulous.

Harry shifted in his seat. “Well, yeah.”

Snape looked exasperated. “Potter, you cannot even turn a doorknob right now. How do you expect to grip a broom?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I can use my legs sir. I do it sometimes when I’m catching the snitch anyway.”

Now Snape looked angry, and Harry shrank back a bit. “Absolutely not, Potter. It is not safe. I will not have you breaking your foolish neck on my watch. No. No flying.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest further, but Snape swooped a large spoonful of oatmeal into the opening before he could.

“No arguments,” Snape stated firmly. Harry glared defiantly, his mouth brimming with the sticky oats.

When Harry had finally swallowed, he said, “Fine. I’ll go to the Owlery then.”

Snape nodded. “I will see you at lunch. And I will know if you defy me.”

xxXxx

Harry trooped back to the dungeons after visiting Hedwig, feeling considerably more cheerful than he had that morning. He stopped by the painting of the funny little man, facing the entrance to Snape’s quarters, then paused. He hissed in frustration, realizing how stupid he had been. It had not even occurred to him that he could not unlock Snape’s door now! He cursed, kicking at the stones in frustration. This, naturally, sent a shooting pain up his foot, and he wished he could rub the throbbing appendage. He sat down by one of the suits of armor, thinking that it was still a bit before lunch and Snape would likely be walking back from his potions lab soon. He would just wait for him to open the door.

Snape, however, had returned to his quarters a bit early, having decided to make lunch himself that day rather than sending down to the elves. He did enjoy cooking when he had time, and it was something he generally looked forward to during the holidays. He set the steaming plates out on the table right at 1:00, wondering where Harry was.

“Can’t trust the brat to keep to a schedule,” he muttered, and sat down to wait.

As the time ticked later, he grew angrier, eventually casting warming charms at the food. Finally, he began to worry. Had something happened to the boy? Had he decided to go flying after all and fallen? He quickly grabbed his cloak and hurried to the entrance to his chambers, intent on finding Potter.

Meanwhile, Harry was beginning to wonder whether Professor Snape was ever coming, figuring it must be past 1:00 by this point, when the entrance to his left suddenly opened and a slightly wild-looking Snape stormed out. The professor began striding down the hallway without seeing Harry, heading the opposite direction of where he was now scrambling to his feet.

“Professor!” Harry called out. Snape spun around and Harry stepped back when his expression darkened at the sight of his charge.

Snape stalked back to the entrance, opened it, and commanded, “In!” in a cold voice. Harry obeyed silently.

Once inside, Snape began to rant about idiotic Gryffindors, no respect for rules, could have been anywhere, no concern for his own neck… Harry shrank further and further back in his chair as the tirade continued, images of potential punishments flickering through his mind.

Snape finally paused and asked, with a cold glitter in his eyes, “Care to explain why you were late returning for lunch?”

Harry gulped. “Well, sir, I got back on time, sir, but I realized I couldn’t open the entrance anymore,” he raised his arms slightly to indicate the problem, “so I just thought I’d wait for you to get back from your lab for lunch. I didn’t know you were already inside.”

Snape’s anger faded from his face, leaving an expression rather like annoyance and something else Harry could not put his finger on.

Snape drew a breath and stated, “I…” he seemed to struggle for a moment, his expression strained, “apologize, Potter. Another oversight on my part.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded, unsure what to say. “So… I won’t be punished then, sir?” he eventually asked.

“Of course not, Potter, it was hardly your fault. I cannot punish you for something beyond your control.”

Wisely, Harry said nothing to this rather unexpected declaration.

Lunch was a silent, tense affair. Snape was distinctly annoyed at himself, and rather embarrassed at his lack of forethought. He had been so focused on his embarrassment at being forced to attend to Potter’s every need that he had not paid attention to what those needs were. He had sworn to protect the boy, for Lily’s sake, and although caring for him was not necessary, the boy was admittedly rather helpless at the moment. It would be cruel to leave him trapped or stranded, even if he was a brat like his father.

xxXxx

By the next day, Harry was quite fatigued and distinctly uncomfortable. He had hardly slept the night before, plagued by the pain in his shoulders and arms and the nightmares that began whenever he dropped off. Caught between trying to stay awake to avoid the nightmares and desiring to sleep to avoid the pain, he had spent the night cycling between drifting off in his tiredness and then jolting awake several minutes later to a nightmare. Throughout the day, he had additionally noticed a stinging pain that had developed on the skin of his forearms, he presumed from them rubbing together for so long.

By dinnertime, he was in a rather foul mood and could only think longingly of the next morning when Snape would reduce his bindings once more. He chewed sluggishly at the food Snape fed him; he hardly had an appetite but knew that he had to eat at least half of his plate lest he raise Snape’s ire.

Snape, meanwhile, was watching Harry with some amount of concern. It was Christmas Eve, yet he seemed completely downtrodden. There were shadows under his eyes, and he clearly had very little appetite, though he had not refused the food that Snape was still feeding him. Finally, he decided that he had better ask what was wrong, lest the child be ill (though why he would be suffering in silence he had no idea, ought he not be insisting that Snape wait on him hand and foot in his convalescence?).

“Potter, are you well?” he asked, attempting to keep the usual sting from his voice.

Harry looked up, faintly surprised, and shook his head.

Snape frowned. “Is the food not to your liking?”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled.

Snape considered him. “Are you sleeping well, then?” he finally asked.

Harry hesitated, then realized that Snape seemed unlikely to drop the subject completely, and so decided to give him a partial truth. He shook his head, adding, “My shoulders are hurting.”

Once again, Snape felt a bubbling of annoyance at himself. Of course they were hurting! He cursed himself silently for not thinking of it earlier. After all, Potter’s arms had been kept in what looked to be, on further inspection, a rather uncomfortable position for nearly three days now. He imagined the strain had caused quite a lot of tension in his shoulder and back muscles. A light bulb flickered on in his mind, and he wondered whether this was the reason he had seen Potter with his hands tucked under his chin or resting on his head so often in the last couple of days. He had believed it to be some odd, teenaged whim of his, but now it seemed a reasonable way of finding a more comfortable position. He wondered if he was truly that frightening and cruel that pampered Potter would not even complain of his discomfort. And Snape, a man who prided himself on his observational skills, had been too blinded by his assumptions about the boy -- assumptions which were beginning to crumble the more time he was forced to spend with him -- to notice when he was in pain.

Rising, Snape swept to his room, returning with a small jar a moment later.

“Stand up,” he ordered Harry, his tone surprisingly soft, if not exactly gentle. Looking confused, Harry obeyed.

“This cream will ease some of the tension and help with the ache,” Snape explained to Harry, hefting the jar. “I will just remove your shirt and rub it into your shoulders and arms for you.” He began to raise his wand but was halted by Harry’s protest.

“No! No sir,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. (Was that fear? Snape wondered.) “Don’t take my shirt off. Can’t you just… rub it in under my collar?”

Snape considered his request. It was rather strange that he would have such a reaction to such a small thing, but Snape supposed the teenager had had enough of his dignity stripped away over the last week, and decided not to question him on it.

“Very well. Turn around please.” Harry complied and he began massaging the cream into his shoulders and upper back, working through the loose collar of Harry’s baggy pullover. Snape could feel Harry relaxing as he moved around to his arms, his tired eyes beginning to droop.

When Snape finished, he steered the tired child towards the hallway, helping him get ready for bed and leaving the guest room door cracked behind him once the child was in bed. Lying in his own bed later that night, Snape’s thoughts drifted to all that he had learned about Harry Potter over the last few days. Contrary to his expectations, Potter was rather quiet and unobtrusive for the most part. He alternated moments of stubborn defiance and frightened timidity, and was clearly reluctant to inform Snape of any issues he was having. Whether this stemmed from an independent streak or a fear of his bristly Potions Master, Snape was not sure, but his mind churned through the possibilities as he drifted to sleep.