It was September 1st. The Welcoming Feast had ended and Severus Snape had just concluded his first House meeting for the year. As the rest of their housemates made their way to their respective dorms, two of his kids made their way to him. Loathe though he was to admit as much aloud, these students were his in a way most others simply weren't. They were all students, children, but there was a difference in his mind – even if he did insist otherwise.

“Someone has come to your attention?” Severus inquired, already knowing what these two would be approaching him about on this night.

“Yes, sir,” said the girl as the two seventh-years shared a look. Technically, the boy was an eighth-year.

“And?” the man prompted when they didn't immediately continue, their reluctance a bit unusual to him.

“Potter, sir.” It was the boy who replied and their Head of House was a bit surprised by the amount of concern he noted on his face.

“Penny agrees,” his prefect rushed to add.

The Potions Master arched a brow. “Indeed?” He would have to mull that one over. To himself, he could admit he didn't often spare much thought for the brat. Giving a nod to acknowledge their concern, he then asked, “What did you make of Longbottom, this year?”

“Well,” hedged the girl, “he seems better than he did at the start of last year.”

Her housemate scoffed. “Could just mean he's hiding it better,” he pointed out.

“Agreed,” said their teacher. The previous year had turned up nothing in regards to the boy in question, although Severus suspected the child had been so fearful that he'd performed a bout of accidental magic. “Professor Sprout teaches the boy's favorite class. I shall see if she would be amenable to having him examined by Madam Pomfrey this year. Anyone else, this year? The first-years?”

The two students shook their heads. “No, sir,” they murmured together.

Severus concurred. He always kept a particular eye out for the first-years as they tended to be the best at hiding such things. It wasn't a wonder, really. A new place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. Most wouldn't be comfortable enough to let their guards down upon their arrival.

“Very well,” the man told them. “You had best get settled in and call it an early night.”

“What about Potter, sir?” his prefect asked, a stubborn glint in her gaze. She'd come a long way from being the timid child she'd once been.

He quirked a brow at her and she had the grace to look abashed – though, only mildly so. “I shall, of course, follow up with him personally, Miss Farley,” he informed her dryly. “Or do you suspect I intend to begin making a habit of dismissing your concerns?” The Potions Master looked between the two seventh-years, who both shook their heads.

“Good night, Professor,” said the girl, departing immediately.

“Night, sir,” echoed the boy, slouching off more slowly.

Severus shook his head at their antics. “Good night.”

0o0o0

Snape kept looking at him. It was unnerving. Harry thought he may have been imagining it at breakfast and lunch, but now he was in class and the professor was definitely giving him more attention than he usually did when he wasn't docking House points or ridiculing his intelligence. The man no doubt heard what had happened with Aunt Marge and disapproved, never mind that Harry hadn't done it on purpose. Not that the Dursleys hadn't already made his life hell for it after the Minister sent him back.

Harry tried to keep his attention focused on writing somewhat legible notes but it was somewhat hard to do. Maybe if Snape wasn't stalking around the room as he lectured, like some great evil bat about to swoop down and attack. Or perhaps his main trouble was the constant irritation of his robes rubbing against a particularly sort spot on his back.

He was sure it must be infected, but its location made it all but impossible for him to take care of by himself. As it was, every movement hurt, anyway. Harry knew the next few days would continue to be difficult, especially with the concerned frowns Hermione kept sending his way when she thought he wouldn't notice, but he would pull through. He had to. No one could know.

The sound of stools scraping against stone and people putting their things away caused Harry to start. He grimaced before he could stop himself, looking around in surprise. Had he really missed half of Snape's lecture? This was not a good way to start the year.

True to his word, Severus had kept the concerns of his students in mind, intent to follow through on the matter. His observations so far that day had left him convinced that they were right. How had he missed it? Potter was obviously holding himself too stiffly, although he was also taking great care in trying to appear that he wasn't. And had the boy always been so wary of his surroundings, or was that new? It was most unsettling to the man. The grimace that stole across the boy's face when he was startled out of whatever reverie had taken him halfway through the class cemented his decision to act immediately rather than wait for the end of the day.

“Potter, you will remain,” the professor instructed before the teen could depart.

Harry exchanged an indignant look with Ron while Hermione looked between their teacher and her friend, trying to figure out why the latter was in trouble. The black-haired boy murmured some form of encouragement to them, obviously telling them to go on without him. Reluctantly the other two left with the rest of their classmates.

“Um, sir?” the boy spoke up when the professor made no move to address him. It seemed that the man was taking his time in sending their summer homework to his office and setting a few things out for his next class.

Looking up, Snape arched a brow at his impatience. He gave the departing students another moment to be farther away from his classroom before moving around his desk and striding towards the door. There he paused, turning back to the boy who had yet to start following him. He repressed a sigh.

“Come along, Potter,” the Potions Master told him. With only a slight hesitation, the Gryffindor obeyed.

Reciting a litany of uncomplimentary terms one could apply to unfair dungeon bats who had it out for him, Harry kept his head down and gaze fixed on the tail of Snape's robes. Between looking down and trying to keep his book bag at his side rather than over his back, he failed to notice just where it was that they were going until it was too late.

Harry immediately came to an abrupt stop, green eyes widening as he stared at the doors in front of them. Why had the professor brought him to the Hospital Wing? His heart picked up pace. This was bad. He couldn't be here – it was bad!

“Mr. Potter, I assure you I do not have all day to stand out here in the corridor with you,” Snape said, tone lacking its usual heat. Not that the boy seemed to notice.

“Sir?” Potter asked, a note of panic audible in his voice as his grip on the strap of his bag tightened. “Why are we here? I don't understand.”

The boy's tone betrayed him, however, as the Potions Master could easily tell that the boy understood their current location all too well. “You are to be seen by Madam Pomfrey, Potter,” he informed the child, gentler than he had ever spoken to the boy before. “Now, come along.”

The Gryffindor simply stared at him for a long moment, clearly alarmed. He started to shake his head. Struggling to remain patient, Severus reached out to take the boy by the arm. The flinch this action elicited caused his stomach to churn and his mind to fill with self-recrimination over his own obvious negligence.

“Professor, please!” Harry exclaimed as he was steered towards the doors. “I don't need to be here – I'm fine. Sir, I'm going to be late for my next class. Please...” But for all his protests – his begging, really – the teen made no real attempt to break free.

Severus had the uncomfortable suspicion that the child was too afraid to actually struggle. “You will be excused for any tardiness or absence, Mr. Potter,” he told the boy, guiding him through the doors and straight to the bed situated closest to the mediwitch's office.

“Severus?” Pomfrey's voice soon reached them as the woman herself made an appearance. Her expression remained questioning for but a moment before understanding and sadness crossed her features. “The usual, I presume?”

“If you would, please,” the Potions Master confirmed. He wasn't surprised she had reached the correct conclusion. After all, this was the bed he first brought all of “his kids” to.

Drawing her wand, the mediwitch waved it over the boy before anything else. A length of parchment and a quill rose from a side table to immediately jot down the results. “Have a seat, Mr. Potter,” she directed the still standing boy, summoning some privacy curtains to put around the bed.

“This really isn't necessary,” Harry protested weakly. “I-I'm fine. I don't need to be here.” Nonetheless, he sat, watching anxiously as the woman read over the parchment.

“I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey kindly contradicted. “Can you tell me how you received the bruising and lacerations on your back?”

Harry's mind whirled in panic. This wasn't good. This was bad. No one was supposed to know. No one could know! “I fell down the stairs,” the boy lied, but clearly even he knew that his words were unconvincing.

The mediwitch gave a quiet sigh. “Very well, Mr. Potter, let's see these injuries from falling down the stairs so I can heal them. Take off your robes and shirt for me.”

“What about him?” Harry asked, nodding to Snape. It was a bit rude, but the words were out before he could stop them and he refused to take them back.

“Professor Snape will remain for the duration of the exam,” she told him firmly. The Potions Master made a point of deliberately turning his gaze from the boy, giving him some semblance of privacy despite his continued presence.

“Oh,” the teenager murmured, heart sinking. He knew it probably didn't matter at this point. They both already knew. Why else would he be in this position? Still, a part of him was very uneasy about giving the spiteful professor any more ammunition to use against him.

Slowly, not only out of reluctance, but discomfort, Harry shrugged off his school robe before painstakingly unbuttoning his shirt and removing it as well. He felt horribly exposed and ashamed. And light-headed. He was feeling light-headed, too. He tried to focus on his breathing.

For her part, Poppy had to swallow back a gasp at the sight which greeted her. Various scars and bruises littered the boy's torso, especially his back, which currently sported several partially healed and infected lacerations and welts. From the looks of them, they'd been created with the buckle-end of a belt. Frantically, she tried to figure how she had missed them when treating the boy in the past, as some of the scars were obviously quite old. That was when she realized she'd never had to have the boy remove his shirt before.

The scars and bruising mottling his skin were not the only thing to bring the woman dismay. Harry was also far too thin. So much so that she could count his ribs and was able to ascertain that some of them were not as straight as they ought to have been. A tear escaped her eye, which she was grateful the boy couldn't see as she was standing behind him.

“I'm going to put some salve on these cuts to heal while I finish your exam,” Pomfrey told him, summoning the potion in question. Harry nodded in answer, flinching only slightly when she treated an especially sore spot.

That done, the matron proceeded to run her wand over the boy, murmuring various diagnostic spells as she went. She performed spells to ascertain not only current injuries or ailments that may need her attention, but a history of what Harry had endured in the past, also. As she worked, the quill started scribbling upon the parchment again.

Harry looked up while the mediwitch performed his exam. While part of him was relieved that Snape still wasn't looking directly at him, he was disheartened to see the man was reading over the parchment as it recorded his medical history. Of all his professors, why did it have to be Snape to figure it out? What had tipped the man off? He'd worked so hard to act like he was fine. What would the man gain out of all this? Why couldn't he have just left him alone?

Madam Pomfrey finished after several minutes, but the quill kept writing. She and the professor shared a grim glance, but neither said anything. Leaning close to the parchment, the woman frowned at something she read before turning back to Harry.

“Harry,” her use of his first name surprised him a bit, “may I see your glasses?”

“Uh, okay,” Harry agreed, taking them off and handing them over.

The mediwitch accepted the glasses, pausing to wave her wand in front of each of his eyes before tapping each lens. Muttering a couple other spells over the frames, she handed them back to him.

Putting his glasses on again, Harry couldn't help but utter a quiet “whoa” as everything came into the clearest focus he had ever seen. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who smiled back a bit sadly.

“Better?” she asked knowingly.

Harry nodded. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied.

The mediwitch turned back to the parchment as the quill finally stopped. Carefully, she read it over, expression seeming to harden as she went. She abruptly turned away, a hand raising briefly to her face before she turned back again.

“That salve should be finished, now,” Poppy stated briskly, summoning a jar of bruise balm as she moved back around the bed. “I will take care of the bruising, now.”

“Thank you,” the boy practically whispered. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was coming, he was certain. Snape had been studying the parchment since the quill started recording – surely the man would have something to say if the mediwitch didn't.

Finally, that obsidian gaze met his. Harry clenched at the bed sheet.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus began, almost carefully, “according to this parchment, which now holds a comprehensive record of your medical history, you have suffered everything from cuts and bruises to broken bones and even an untreated case of pneumonia when you were-” he paused to locate the entry “-seven. Assuming that we were to accept your story concerning the injuries Madam Pomfrey just healed, do you honestly believe it is plausible that falling down the stairs or running into a door could explain all your other injuries? Bear in mind, we have both seen you on a broom and know you are not a clumsy child.”

Harry opened his mouth, but no words were forthcoming. What could he possibly say? He couldn't tell the truth. No one ever believed the truth and any time he had tried to tell anyone, it had only gotten worse. It would only ever get worse! If he told, they would contact his relatives and Uncle Vernon would... he would...

His vision had gone dark and his hearing was all muzzy. For a moment, he was at a loss for what was happening. Then, he slowly became aware of a hand exerting a reassuring pressure against the back of his neck and someone murmuring into his ear.

“That's it. Just breathe. Slowly. In, then out. Very good, Potter.”

Harry turned his head to stare at the Potions Master. Snape was seated on the edge of the bed beside him. He was the one that was grounding him and speaking reassurances to him. Who was this man and what had he done with the dungeon bat?

“Drink this, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey told him, handing him a potion Harry was certain must be a calming draught. He chugged it back without much thought, grateful that Snape had withdrawn his hand. She told him he could put his shirt back on and he promptly did so.

The potions professor waited until he had finished doing up his buttons before speaking up again. “Mr. Potter, I am going to ask you a single question and I want you to answer honestly. Before I ask, I want you to understand that you will not suffer any harm or backlash for your response, not here and certainly not from your relatives. Do you understand?”

Harry gazed warily at the man, studying his face to gauge his sincerity. The man's expression was as inscrutable as ever, but there was something in those dark eyes, which were for the first time benign as they rested upon him, that made him believe he was telling the truth. He gave a shaky nod. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

“Good. Now, Harry,” Severus watched the boy's eyes widen as he used his given name, “please answer me this: Do your relatives hurt you?”

And there it was. His horrible, shameful secret so baldly stated by the man who hated him most. He had only to confirm or deny it. Experience had told him that denial was safer. Denying it happened meant that no one could confront the Dursleys only to be convinced that he was a liar. Yet, he so desperately wanted to believe that this time was different, that this time, not only would he believed, but that someone would actually help him.

So Harry did the scariest thing he had ever done.

He told the truth.

“Yes,” Harry answered hoarsely, voice thick with emotion he couldn't swallow back. He was mortified to find that tears had started to spill down his face. “Yes, sir. They hurt me.”

Severus felt a foreign ache in his heart for this boy he had so despised (unfairly, it would seem). Again, he wondered how he could have been so blind when it seemed so obvious looking at the boy, now. He knew he would never again be able to see Harry Potter as the arrogant mini-James he had always imagined him to be. No, this moment, hurt tears streaming from Lily's green eyes, had changed his perception forever.

“Well done, Harry,” he told the boy, only just keeping his own emotions in check. “Thank you for being honest. You will never go back to them.”

“Really?” Harry asked, his voice so young and plaintive that it made the Potions Master's heart twinge yet again.

“Really,” the man vowed, rising to his feet. He summoned the diagnostic parchment and made a copy, rolling it up and tucking it into his robes to take with him. “In fact, I will see to that, right now. Remain here until Madam Pomfrey releases you.”

With that, he swept towards the door. It was true he had a class to teach, but it would have to wait just that once. First, he needed to inform the Headmaster about what had been happening to his Golden Boy.

So intent was he upon his new mission that he almost missed Harry's softly spoken, “Thank you,” as he reached the end of the ward.

Severus paused in the doorway, peering back at the privacy curtain. “You're welcome,” he replied.