When the Potion Master had entered the staff room right after an irritably cheerful Flitwick, the last thing he had expected was to find half of the third-years assembled around an open cupboard, a pile of slime even more disgusting than the average potion-ingredient dumbed in front of it.

The only thing that was even more startling then the fact that Lupin hadn't bothered to levitate the cupboard out of what should be a place where the teachers were safe from the annoying little blighters was Potter. Or, more precisely, the terrified expression on the face of the normally arrogant clone of his father.

Yes, he remembered the headmaster saying something about giving the werewolf permission to let his students practice the Boggart-banishing spell on the being that had made itself at home between spare robes and other, long forgotten items, but that didn't mean that he had been prepared for... this.

The clothes of the large group of students on the right side of the room where in various stages of disarray. For Lupin's sake, Snape really hoped that this were the ones that had already fought the Boggart - there was no way he would wait what likely would be an hour in order to retire to a staff room that wasn't contaminated with pupils!

"Oh my-" the diminutive charm's professor let out a squeak, which drew Snape's attention away from the delightful images about the entirety of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third-years scrubbing cauldrons in order to make up for ruining the potion master's break.

Well, that was unexpected. Of course, he had known about Potter's vulnerability to the Dementors, but he hadn't expected that the arrogant brat would be more afraid of the guards of Azkaban than of the man who had killed his mother and nearly him, too. How typically of a Gryffindor, being foolishly brave when it came to life-and-death situations but cowardly when being confronted with the less pleasant aspects of life.

His internal rant was cut short when an all too familiar voice started to scream.

"Not Harry, please, take me instead, not my son!"

Snape froze when he heard Lily's please for mercy, the desperate attempts of the witch to protect her son from the vilest wizard that had ever existed. He had cradled Lily's body only minutes after her death, but he hadn't been there during the last moments of the only human being he had ever loved with all his heart.

The pain the memories caused was so intense that for a few moments, he could only stand there and watch in silent horror how the Boggart changed into Voldemort.

When the green light of the killing curse flashed through the room, several students screamed. No one of them had ever seen Voldemort, but they knew enough to recognize the ashen face as that of the man they were too afraid to even name.

When Harry Potter fell to the ground, almost as if he had indeed been hit by the killing curse, Snape could hear the sound of vomiting from the other side of the room. For a heart-stopping moment, the Potion Master himself thought that the boy he had sworn to protect was dead.

He was almost glad when an incredibly obese man appeared where moments ago, Voldemort had been standing. And even when the man started to kick the half-conscious Gryffindor on the floor, yelling insults, Snape only felt relieved. The Boggart wouldn't focus on a lifeless person. The dead didn't feel fear any more.

Finally, just when the Boggart had transformed into Bellatrix Lestrange and was about to cast the cruciatus curse at the boy, Snape came out of his daze. Even Lupin seemed to be too stunned to prevent a student from being tortured right in front of him so-

"RIDDIKULUS!" Snape shouted, pointing his wand at the twisted face of the Dark Lord's most loyal (and insane) follower. For the briefest moment, a red-haired figure appeared where Bellatrix had been standing. Then, with a final wave of his wand, the figure exploded and dissolved into thin air.

The silence that now filled the room was eerie.

"Lupin," Snape snarled, when his former classmate just continued to stare at the son of one of his best friend's, "you'd better get Madame Pomfrey to take care of Potter and the rest of your students."

That rose the DADA-Professor from his paralysis. To his credit, he sent off a silvery figure with instructions for the medi-witch to come to the teacher's room as quickly as possible before starting to apologize to his colleague.

"Severus, I'm so sorry - that shouldn't have happened! Who knows what else the Boggart would have done to Harry if you hadn't arrived in time. I really-"

"Stop the rambling," Snape bit back through gritted teeth, "that wouldn't have happened if you had used the brain you are rumoured to possess before allowing Harry Potter of all people to fight a Boggart. I cannot imagine you have forgotten what became of your friends!"

"Now now, Severus, I'm sure that Remus here only had Harry's best interest at heart. It is really not that common that the beings a Boggart mimics can actually do physical harm to their victims," Professor Flitwick tried to sooth the agitated potion professor down.

Before Lupin or Snape could continue with their self-incrimination respectively verbal abuse, the tiny professor stepped towards the students that were huddled in the far corner of the teacher's room, as far away from the scene of the horrific battle as possible.

"Everything is fine now, children," the charms professor assured the frightened third-years, "Madame Pomfrey will take care of Mr Potter and your friend will be up and about in no time. No need to be embarrassed, Mr Longbottom, this can happen to the best of us if we are confronted with a sight like this," without further ado, he vanished the puddle of sick in front of the shy boy.

While Flitwick took care of the oh-so-traumatized students, Snape turned his attention to the black-haired boy still lying on the ground. While this normally would be Lupin's job - being both the teacher responsible for the mess and friend of the boy's parents - the now-shaking werewolf was in no condition to deal with the boy - brat.

"Potter? Potter!" Snape, crouching down next to Harry, spit.

The boy gave no indication whatsoever that he was aware of his most-hated teacher kneeling next to him.

Snape huffed. Of course the boy had passed out again. With more care than he would ever admit of having used, the teacher turned the pale third-year on his back. A thin layer of sweat was covering Potter's face.

Feeling his pulse, the potion professor was relieved to find that it was steady and strong, if a bit fast. His breathing, too, didn't seem to be laboured, but nevertheless Snape decided not to move the boy unnecessarily before Pomfrey arrived.

He had seen the kicks the Boggart had given him while imposing whoever the fat man had been. It was unlikely that the Boggart had managed to cause any real damage, but then, it was equally unlikely that a Boggart turned into several different forms in such a quick succession and that what had to be memories of That Night were played out loud without the Boggart taking on the form of the person that had originally spoken those words.

And clearly, Potter's Boggart hadn't turned into Lily when her screams had echoed through the teacher's room.

Leave it to Potter to run into trouble when dealing with a creature most second-years wouldn't have difficulty dealing with. But then, he really couldn't blame the boy for this stunt, the potion master silently admitted, not with Snape himself - an adult - still having trouble dealing with Boggarts.

But why, why couldn't the boy not be like his classmates for once and turning the Boggart into one nice and simple form that acted like a Boggart was supposed to act - doing no physically damage, being mostly silent and certainly not repeating the last words of long-dead people?

#####

The sound of a door being banged open interrupted Snape's train of thoughts.

"Professor Lupin, what happened?" the medi-witch demanded, "your note was a bit vague."

"Harry- I mean Mr Potter. We are currently covering Boggarts and were practising the Riddikulus-spell... I didn't realize this would be more than the poor boy could handle. And then, when Lily's voice started to scream- I was too shocked to do anything... Thankfully, Professor Snape arrived just in time to prevent the child from being tortured-"

If Snape hadn't interrupted the werewolf, Lupin would probably have continued his ramble. "Potter failed to cast the correct spell and fell unconscious. His Boggart turned into several different forms and even attacked him physical. I have not yet determined the damage the creature has caused, so you'd better get to work quickly. You Lupin," the potion master reached into one of the many pockets of his cloak and produced a small, crystal flask, "you will take this one and get the damned students out of here!"

When his colleague eyed him uncertainly, Snape rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to poison you I would wait until next week."

After he had drowned the calming draught, Lupin managed to pull himself together enough to make the students, who had by now started to gape shamelessly at the still unconscious boy, follow him out of the teacher's room. All except for two, that was.

"You will leave, too, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley," Snape barked at the two Gryffindors.

Ron paled even further when he received a glare normally reserved for Harry. He shrugged apologetically at Hermione before turning around, all but running from the room.

Hermione looked after Ron darkly before she bravely declared, "I won't leave Harry. I'm his friend and I want to know what happened to him and whether he'll be all right!"

"Miss Granger, I promise that you can visit Mr Potter once he has woken up, but for now, I need to ask you to leave. I need to examine my patient and I'm sure that even though he is your friend, Mr Potter wouldn't be comfortable with you witnessing his exam."

Hermione hesitated, but finally, she gave in. "Right. I will come to visit him after our next class. You'll take care of him, will you?"

When the witch had left, Madame Pomfrey turned towards the potion professor. "As far as I can tell, the boy is in no immediate danger. I will take him to the infirmary to do further tests, though. Could you please accompany me and give me a more detailed version of what happened here? Knowing what to look for would make it easier to determined whether Mr Potter has suffered any damage or not."

Snape gruffly muttered his agreement and followed the medi-witch, who was levitating a stretcher with the unconscious Potter-boy, through the floors to the hospital wing.

"... and since Lupin was incapable of doing anything except stare at what was happening, I cast the appropriate spell just in time to prevent the Boggart from uttering the second Unforgivable in barely a minute." Snape finished from where he was standing on the other side of the curtains that shielded the bed Harry Potter was lying on from the rest of the infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey mumbled something unintelligibly before casting a final spell and reappearing from behind the curtains.

"Magically, there is nothing wrong with the boy," she frowned, "well, apart from the slight fuzziness in the spells that has been there ever since the first time he came into my care."

Snape looked up interestedly, but the medi-witch shook her head. "You are neither his guardian nor his head of house, I cannot tell you anything. But as Mr Potter never complained about any unusual symptoms, I don't think it's anything we need to worry about - or at least not now. I still need to do a more thorough physical exam, though. Of course, the scanning spells didn't show anything, but you know how it is, they'd only show the most sever types of injuries that actually pose a strain to the wizard's magic.

Just then, a groan came out from behind the curtains.

Harry felt like shit. His whole body ached and he wondered what he had done this time to enrage Uncle Vernon enough to warrant a beating of this magnitude.

"Ah, Mr Potter, you are awake, very good," a cheerful, decidedly female voice suddenly spoke from somewhere above him.

Harry's eyes snapped open. What the- oh. The distinct face of the resident medi-witch of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry slowly came into focus. He had really hoped that he would at least be able to avoid Madame Pomfrey until after the first Quidditch-match of the season. Not such luck, apparently.

But what could have happened that had resulted in his current condition? Had he fallen down the stairs like Neville had last year? Had he stumbled into a fight with Slytherins?

The image of a enormous black creature hovering directly in front of him swam into the forefront of his mind. A second or so later, the screams of his mother echoed through his head. A Dementor, then.

"Mr Potter, do you know why you're here?" the voice of the normally strict medi-witch was surprisingly soft.

"Ehm, a Dementor?" Harry offered.

"Close, but not quite. You passed out during Defence against the Dark Arts when the Boggart-" here, Harry briefly closed his eyes. Of course, the Boggart. He quickly focused back on the medi-witch's word, though, "yes, the Boggart Professor Lupin taught you about turned into a Dementor - and several other beings, if I have understood Professor Snape correctly."

Harry's head jerked around when Madame Pomfrey mentioned his most-hated professor. Sure enough, there he was, hovering at the edge of the curtains that blocked his bed from the main part of the hospital wing.

"Trust me, Potter, I'm about to be as thrilled at being here as you are," Snape growled, correctly interpreting Harry's look of horror.

Perfect, just perfect! Now the greasy git would make fun of his weakness probably until he left school, Harry thought bitterly. Why had Snape even been present when he had tried, and failed, to fight the Boggart? DADA was taught by Lupin, not Snape!

Then, however, Harry remembered that they had been in the staff room, and that the bell had already announced the end of the lesson. Great. Then how many other teachers had witnessed how Harry Potter had passed out because of a simple Boggart?

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat. "I have already checked on you while you were unconscious. As far as I can tell, the Boggart and the creatures it turned into haven't done you any real harm, at least not magic-wise. I still need to examine you for any injuries that my spells might have been unable to detect."

"What things did it turn into, I mean apart from the Dementor?" Harry blurted out. He couldn't remember anything after coming face-to-face with one of these awful creatures, feeling the freezing cold, hearing the screams of his mother and Voldemort.

Madame Pomfrey looked at the potion master, and after a few moments of silent communication, it was Snape that spoke, looking at Harry intently. He hated to admit it, but he was rather intrigued by what he had witnessed.

"The Dark Lord's head appeared instead of the hood of the Dementor. Then, the Boggart turned into an severely obese man I was unable to identify. And finally, it shifted into the form of Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry forced himself to remain calm. Throwing a fit or starting to scream in frustration wouldn't make his situation any better. The very thing he had hoped to avoid had happened: All of his classmates - not to mention Snape, of all people - now knew about what he was experiencing when facing Dementors. They all knew about things Harry had hoped to keep secret for the rest of his life. They knew and had probably already started to gossip about what they had seen, to spread rumours about what these things meant.

The next few days would be a nightmare.

"Mr Potter, are you ready for me to start the examination?"

'NO,' Harry inwardly screamed. He wasn't ready, and wouldn't be ready for quite some time. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, all of his most-guarded secrets being discovered in one single day!

"I will take my leave, then," Snape said, nodding curtly towards the medi-witch.

"Of course, Severus," Madame Pomfrey sighed, "thank you for your assistance."

With one last indecipherable look at Harry, the potion master turned around and strode towards the doors that led out of the infirmary, his cloak billowing in its usual manner.

#####

"I need you to remove your clothes, Mr Potter. Please dress in the gown lying on your bedside table. I will be back momentarily."

Maybe she wouldn't notice. Maybe the injuries inflicted by his Uncle had healed enough for them to go undetected. Most of the bruises were already yellowing, after all, and the fierce ache in his left arm had reduced to a dull throbbing. He could even breathe normally again, his ribs having obviously healed.

So maybe...?

Once he was dressed in a gown that was open in the back, Harry sat awkwardly on the bed, waiting for the medi-witch to return.

"You are far too skinny, Mr Potter," Madame Pomfrey noted absent-mindedly when she re-entered the cubicle.

Harry scowled at his lap. As if it was his fault that Dudley ate so much that there were hardly any leftovers left once he was finished. Fortunately, the nurse didn't seem to intend to dwell on this subject.

"Well then, please lie down for me. I will first cast a few additional spells, you won't feel more than a slight tingling."

The last two year had taught Harry enough about the medi-witch to realize that any protest would be in vain. So he simply let the woman do her spells, his eyes resolutely focused on the ceiling, praying to whatever deity there was that she wouldn't discover his secret.

Because it wasn't as if she could help him anyway, was it?

His wounds had healed and no matter whether someone learned about what had happened at Privet Drive, he would have to return there nevertheless. Dumbledore had been quite adamant about Harry having to stay with his relatives every summer in order to be safe. And it wasn't really that bad. By next summer, his Uncle surely had calmed down again and Harry wouldn't need to worry about being seriously injured. And bruises could hardly be called serious injuries. He had had them practically constantly for as long as he could remember, and it wasn't as if this had done him any real harm.

"Mr Potter, why haven't you told me that you broke your left arm during the holidays?" Madame Pomfrey frowned at her patient.

"I- uhm, well, I though..." frantically, Harry tried to come up with a credible excuse, "it happened right at the beginning of the summer and my relatives took me to a muggle doctor. It was completely healed several weeks before school started, so I didn't think that there was any need to bother you."

The medi-witch's scowl became more prominent. "I don't appreciate it being being lied to, Mr Potter. From what my scans are showing me, the break only occurred four to six weeks ago. And while it indeed has healed rather well by muggle-standarts, magic can do a much better job. When we are finished here, I will provide you with a salve that contains small amounts of Skele-Grow. Don't worry," she reassured him when Harry paled, apparently remembering the last time he had to take this particular potion, "it won't be nearly as bad as taking the potion orally. If you apply the cream regularly for the next two weeks, the break should heal completely."

Harry mutely nodded. If making him using a cream on his arm for one or two weeks was all the medi-witch would do, all of his worries would have been unnecessary.

"Now, if you would please remove the grown, I need to see whether your run-in with the Boggart has caused any damage spells are unable to detect."

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was bid.

"Didn't I tell you to remove your clothes before dressing the gown?" Madame Pomfrey asked, hiding her amusement. This was hardly the first time a student hadn't considered their underwear to be clothes as well. She was nurse in a school full of teens. Hardly anyone of the students stripped stark naked voluntarily.

Harry blushed fiercely. "But the Boggart hardly did anything, and it wasn't the first time I fainted because of those Dementors!" he tried to argue.

"I wouldn't call casting dark curses and kicking you into the side nothing, Mr Potter."

"But it was only a Boggart! Professor Lupin told us that they cannot really harm us!"

"And still the Boggart affected you enough to stay unconscious for about fifteen minutes. What you experienced was hardly a normal occurrence, Mr Potter, and therefore, I will make sure that you haven't sustained any injuries. Now, please take off your underwear. The sooner you comply, the sooner you'll be able to leave my care."

Harry cast a dark look at the medi-witch. This was so embarrassing! And worse, it was completely unnecessary. He was fine! He didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Yeah, he had fallen unconscious, big deal... his head was feeling perfectly normal now, so obviously, it had only been the stress! And who cared if the kicks Uncle Vernon - or rather the Boggart - had given him had left a bruise or two? They would heal on their own, just like they always did!

Rather than putting the grown on the bedside table, Harry used the crumpled up piece of cloth to cover at least the most important parts from the unrelenting gaze of the medi-witch. Even though, he was bright red when the woman turned around again.

"Just as I thought," Madame Pomfrey huffed after taking in the state of the boy's upper body. Several dark red marks littered his right side.

"If we don't take care of them, these will become rather nasty bruises, Mr Potter. Now, let me see whether your ribs have sustained any damage." With that, she bend down to Harry and began to gently prod his torso.

Harry hissed in pain when the medi-witch pressed her fingers on a particularly tender spot.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but I need to make sure that your ribs aren't contused. From the way these bruises look you are quiet lucky that non of them is broken, young man."

"It's fine, really," Harry hissed and tried to lean away from the medi-witch. His ribs had been perfectly fine until she had started to poke and squeeze them!

"You will apply the salve I'll give you for your arm on your ribs as well, Mr Potter, just to be sure. Additionally, I will give you a numbing salve to reduce your pain. Now let me finish my examination, then I will apply the first dose of salve and then you're free to go. I just need to..." she trailed off.

Startled by the sudden silence, Harry looked up from where he had played with a loose thread of the gown in his lap. Madame Pomfrey was eyeing his back, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Can you explain all those thin, faint lines on your back, Mr Potter?"

Harry frowned. What lines?

A second later it hit him.

But surely this couldn't be. Surely you couldn't still see those marks, not after all of these years. And anyway, it had only happened four or five times! Well, yes, he had to admit, perhaps it had been ten times, but still, this was years and years ago!

"Uhm, I don't know?" Harry squeaked, desperately wishing for his voice to sound more... natural. He really hated the fact that he couldn't lie. "Perhaps it's some kind of weird sunburn? My cousin and I, we spent most of our time out in the sun during the holidays. He goes to a boarding-school, too - one for muggles, obviously - and from what I have heard, his teachers are pretty strict and the boys don't have much free time during term. And with autumn coming, he won't have a lot of opportunities to get fresh air until next spring, so I kept him company..."

Harry was well aware that he was rambling, but maybe, just maybe, it would draw Madame Pomfrey's attention away from the marks on his backs.

It seemed to work, because the next thing he knew was the medi-witch mumbling something he couldn't understand, moving towards the foot-board of his bed.

Harry missed the thoughtful glance of the nurse.

#####

"All right, your legs seem to be fine," Madame Pomfrey muttered a few moments later, having lifted each of them to have a better look and obviously having found nothing wrong with them. "Now, please remove that grown from your lap, then you're finished."

"What?!" Harry asked flabbergasted, sure that he had misunderstood the witch.

"The Boggart gave you a rather nasty kick into your genitals, Mr Potter. Surely you don't want to risk losing the ability to father children some time in the future?" Madame Pomfrey asked him with raised eyebrows.

This wasn't happening. Surely this was only a nightmare and he would wake up any second now. Surely the medi-witch couldn't possible want to see his prick.

The impatient huff somewhere from his right suggested that this wasn't, in fact, a dream, though.

"Mr Potter, let me assure you that you don't have anything I haven't seen countless times before. I know this is uncomfortable, but the sooner we get this over with the sooner you can escape these rooms."

Harry closed his eyes. Then, he slowly removed the gown from his lap.

He flinched violently when a few moments later, a gloved hand touched him there.

"All right, everything looks fine," Madame Pomfrey announced briskly, knowing that it was best to ignore the student's discomfort so not to embarrass them further. "You can dress again, but please leave your upper body bare for now, I still need to apply the salve."

With that she left, both in order to fetch the necessary supplies and to allow her patient some privacy.

Ten minutes later, Harry all but ran out of the infirmary, a pot filled with slave for his arm and ribs clutched in his hands, hoping that he would never, ever having to return there.

Even the time he had to take Skele-grow in order to re-grow the bones in his arm Lockhard had vanished had been a more pleasant experience than this one. Imagine, stripping down in front of the nurse and then having the woman actually touching him there. Of course, Harry knew that he should probably be grateful for the witch to make sure that the nasty Boggart hadn't done any damage to this particular part of his anatomy, but still... his face burnt at the mere thought of what just had happened!

"Hello, Harry Potter."

The dreamy voice that suddenly addressed him made Harry almost jump with fright.

"Oh, eh, hello," he greeted back, having discovered the blond girl that had somehow driven the Dementors out of their compartment that day on the train. "Ehm, Luna was it, right?"

"Hm? Oh yes, Luna Lovegood. Everyone keeps calling me Loony though, I don't know why. Aren't nicknames supposed to be shorter than your actual name? It would make more sense for them to call me Loo, I believe..." she trailed off, staring into space.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. The girl was really, really strange, and he didn't know how to behave around her. "Ehm, thanks again for your help with the Dementor, you know, on our ride to school."

"Yes, I tried to tell the Eudaimonies that they shouldn't bother you that much, but then Professor Snape saw me bringing them potatoes from the kitchens. He was really upset and forbid me to speak to them every again. They really like you, though..."

All right, this girl clearly was mad. Had she really voluntarily approached the Dementors? To bring them potatoes?

Harry, not wanting to be rude, decided to simply ignore the matter. Luna was so much smaller than he, if she attacked him (you could never know with insane people), he was confident that he could beat her.

"Well, then, thanks for trying to convince the Dementors to leave me in peace," Harry said awkwardly, "I'll just go to dinner then. See you around, I suppose."

"Yes, since we attend the same school, I suppose we will see each other again," Luna nodded thoughtfully, "if I were you I would avoid the Great Hall for now, though. I think someone did something with the food at lunch, people can't seem to stop telling each other about how an Eudaimony, Voldemort and several other people attacked you. Don't they know that's rude to talk about people who aren't present?"

Harry's heart sank. Somehow, he had hoped that miraculously, the incident during DADA-class wouldn't be fed into the Hogwart's rumour mill. In his horror, he hardly registered that apart from Dumbledore, Luna was the first magical person he had ever heard using Voldemort's name.

"How bad is it?" he finally managed to get out.

"Pretty bad," Luna smiled at him, "but don't worry, Eudaimonies like getting attention."