Severus Snape is not at all happy to be interrupted in the middle of his morning by a wide-eyed, insistent firstie who will not be ignored, regardless of the fact that he looks more like a ghost than most of the actual resident ghosts do, squeaking insistently, “Madame Hooch wants you right away, sir!"

Severus sighs and rises, imposing, from the article he was in the middle of writing. Madam Hooch…ah, yes. The flying firsties. His Slytherins have their first lessons with her today. There's already heat in him building at the thought that they've caused some kind of scuffle that he's getting dragged out of his office in the middle of class preparations for, and his mind is simmering darkly with ways to make the parties responsible regret it.

He pauses though, mind struggling with the fact that it is apparently something serious enough to make Hooch summon him for. His Slytherins aren't generally troublemakers that way.

Although, Severus narrows his eyes, a certain recent member of his house is a prime suspect for such troublemaking. Unwilling to be ignorant any longer, he dismisses the tiny student, and then follows him out, jaw twitching. It's time to get to the bottom of this, and then find a way to…. ensure it doesn't happen again.




"I've summoned your Head of House, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. I will apprise him of the situation."

Harry's head is still sick and spinning, and he's barely on his feet, now that the adrenaline's wearing off. Oh, no. No. Snape is coming here, now. Oh, he's going to be furious. He hasn't had any reason so far to really punish Harry, and Harry just had to plop the opportunity right in his lap.

The possibilities are choking Harry, and he sinks against the wall of the castle while he waits. Draco is to his side, arms crossed sullenly, but he's the last thing on Harry's mind.


When the black figure swirls into view, steps behind one of the other Slytherin boys, Harry swallows and clenched his fists around the school bag he's clutching, trying to stop his trembling. He draws himself up and controls his breathing. He can handle it. He can handle anything except…

He gasps a little when Snape yanks his one of his arms, gripping a tender spot right above his elbow, but the man's eyes are glittering and dark and unfocused, seething and spinning anger. Without loosening his grasp at all, Snape whips his head around to Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you in any way physically compromised?" He bites out.

"No, sir." Malfoy says sourly. "It was really Potter's fault–“

"I will hear explanations - and you had better have a good one! - in my office, when I am finished, Mr. Malfoy. You may await me there!"

Malfoy turns tail and huffs away with a sulky toss of his head.

Snape drags him into the corridor, through hallways, and Harry is screaming inside, everything blurring, and he struggles only a little before going limp and just riding out the new waves of pain and panic.

Snape is hissing at him, heavy underneath his breath.

"You could be expelled for this, boy!"

No, not that. Anything but that.

"Sir-"

His lips feel strange and numb against each other. Harry knows he's probably overreacting just as much as his irrational Head of House, but the thought of being sent back to the Dursleys in shame, losing the only good thing in his life, never seeing his friends again…

"Sir please-"

He locks his jaw to keep back the wetness behind his eyes. Even the Dursleys haven't moved him to tears in years, and here he is fighting them for the second time today.




"You could be expelled for this, boy!"

He's lying, of course. One minor disobedience in class, however dangerous, will rarely get you expelled. Furthermore, Snape admits grudgingly, Potter didn't directly endanger other student's lives, and, more to the crux of the matter, Dumbledore simply wouldn't do it. He hadn't expelled anyone since Hagrid (even that had been forced upon him), much less someone with the renown of Harry Potter.

Every movement the Headmaster makes regarding him is going to be carefully followed, chewed and publicly analyzed, then analyzed again in the extreme. It's politics; Severus can understand that. And politics make it impossible for Potter to get more than a slap on the wrist.

Severus grinds his teeth at the thought of what the elder Potter managed to get away with, and is certain that this is only be exaggerated with his son. He can feel the pulse beneath the boy's wrists, fast and fragile as a bird's, but is more convinced than ever that if it takes scaring the boy at first to cut his rule-breaking off at the quick, to impress him of consequences… he can be excused for exaggerating a little, himself.

"Sir-"

Snape pays him no heed; they're almost to the Hospital Wing. He can hand the boy over to Pomfrey, and then…then Harry Potter is going with him back to his office, and he and Draco are getting a lecture with teeth like they're never imagined. First week! The first week of classes, and already they've forced his hand, publicly.

"Sir please-"

The boy almost sounds like he's about to break into a sob, and Severus glances at him sideways. The little rat is almost in tears, isn't he? Severus sneers, but loosens his clench on the boy's arm. He hadn't realized he was holding on so tight.



Severus marches into the Hospital Wing and right up to Poppy, flinging Potter at her.

"The boy needs checked,” he snarls.

"What happened, Severus?" Poppy narrows her eyes, glancing from him, to Potter.

"Woman, just do the examination!"

"Don't you snap at me, Severus Snape!"

As Poppy directs Potter to a bed, drawing her wand while still glaring back at him, Severus pinches his nose.

"I apologize, Poppy. My patience has been sorely tried today."

Poppy relents, giving him a warning glance, and then turning to Potter, her tone mild.

"Not by Harry, surely? What has he done?"

"I didn't mean to!" Potter bursts in furiously. "He hasn't even heard my side, not that he would actually listen if I gave it-"

"That's enough, Potter!" Severus roars, and Potter hunches on the bed, suddenly white.

"This disgraceful example of human idiocy took off on a broom he didn't know how to handle in a stand-off with another student and barely landed with his head intact, over one of his measly textbooks!"

Potter's said head shoots up again.

"That's not true!" he protests, though his tone, still heated and resentful, is much subdued.

"Really, Potter, because an entire class of Slytherin and Gryffindor first years seemed to actually agree on that event when questioned by Madame Hooch! I have no idea how you reckless big-headed sorry excuse for a Slytherin landed in my house, but since you did you would do well to be aware of the fact that I do not hold with such hideous, appalling, and shameful behavior! Expulsion would be the least of what do you deserve, because if I had my way-"

"Severus!"

Poppy's voice jerks him from his verbal dressing down, and he stops, nearly panting with the exertion he's put into his words.

"May I speak with you here, Professor?"

She motions him over to her behind the curtain. He snaps his jaw shut and gives a curt nod. "Potter, let me assure you that if your sorry behind leaves that bed, the consequences, which are already heavy on your head, will be dire."

Satisfied the boy won't cause trouble, Severus ducks into the next room to face Poppy.

"Well?"

"Severus, there are some troubling things…"



"Are you trying to tell me that Harry Potter is..what, abused?" His tone drips with scorn and all the disbelief he is feeling, but Poppy's eyes turn to iron, and she steps forward, lips pressed tight in what he recognizes as her own fury, and shoves a piece of parchment into his hand.

"What else do you make of this, Severus Snape?"

Her tone is harsh, and jerks him out of his red haze, even as his eyes scan the parchment with a tapered gaze. His jaw is working, even as the words comes out, dazed.

"No. Potter…"

"Is one of your students! Your students, Professor, and in case you haven't noticed, he is terrified!"

"That's ridiculous." Severus says woodenly, feeling a bit like his brain decided to take a vacation from his body in order to try to process the words in front of him. Terrified? Potters didn't get terrified.

Poppy flares, whispers a furious disillusioning spell over them with her wand, and pulls back the curtain. "Is it, Severus?"

Snape shakes his head and looks, really looks, at the boy.

He's smaller than Severus thought he was before, dwarfed by the bed and the room. His shoulders are slumped, curled in on himself, and his arms are wrapped around his middle in a startling expression of vulnerability. His breaths are quick, his eyes are closed, and his face has such a look of hopeless resignation on it that Severus actually steps closer before he stops himself. And that's when he notices two fast, clear tears dripping down the boy's face and realized the boy is crying without making a single sound, the water smearing the tracks of dirt down his face.

Stepping back, he looks at Poppy, his rage from earlier diminishing so rapidly he can almost feel it hiss out of him like air from a balloon. He is not the kind to fill empty silences with words just for the sake of them, so he says nothing, but his head dips in acknowledgement. She sighs.

"I'd like to confirm my suspicions before we go any further, possibly get some information from him."

Snape nods sharply this time, settling his mask on again. "Right-"

"Severus," Poppy pins him with her steady eyes and he pauses. "You catch more bees with honey, you know."

"I am not a bee catcher, madame." Snape says. "And he is not a bee."

He steps back into the room, and with the soft sound of his shoes on the floors, Potter whips his head up, eyes clear and glassy. He dashes away the trace remains of his tears and glares at Severus, bright and green and daring him to say a word about them.

Severus crosses his arms over his chest.

"Take off your robes and shirt, Mr. Potter."

He can see the boy swallow, glance at Pomfrey as if to verify before dropping his head and slowly, slowly shrugging his school robe off, its silver Snake insignia flashing mockingly at Severus. He folds it and lays it carefully on the bed, then reaches up to loosen his tie, but his trembling fingers catch. Flushing, Potter brings both hands up and yanks at it, and Severus is barely able to keep his own itching fingers from pushing the boy's aside and sliding the tie off, but Potter finally gets it, and he lays it on his robes. Then the buttons on his shirt, the boy's breath hitching, but he presses his lips together and Severus can see him determine to hold it all in, to not show fear.

Severus is honestly shocked that the boy is cooperating - perhaps he did go a little overboard earlier… he shoves the irritating prod from his mind as the white school top is peeled off. Silently, the boy stands and faces him, looking suddenly even younger than before. His chest and arms are unbelievably scrawny in a way the baggy robes had covered, skin stretched thin across ribs, and Severus blinks to adjust to the sight.

Severely malnourished, the words off the diagnostic parchment startle through in his mind. There's an oozing, reddened scrape on the front of one of his ribs, presumably from when Potter skidded on his broom, and he's wincing as he moves his shoulder, though not seriously enough for it to be anything dire. More concerning are the bruises. Most are shrunk and faded, but there's enough of them for alarm, and Severus barely catches a grimace when he notices a deep one, still vivid, where he gripped Potter's upper arm.

"I'm ready, sir," the boy says, breathless, braced, shivering lightly.

"Ready for what, Mr. Potter?" His voice is soft when it comes out, not betraying a thing.

Potter swallows, his fingers curl inward before he shifts his arms and they fall open, deliberate and stiff by his side.

"For anything, sir. Anything - just don't expel me." Potter's voice goes impossibly faint. "I'll let you…just…the Headmaster doesn't need to know about this."

Severus can feel his features frozen, and they stay that way while his mind groans and grinds, trying to make sense of the boy's words. Oh this…this is far worse than Severus had imagined this situation could go.

"Mr. Potter-" he says tightly, and that's all it takes for the eleven year old to crumble, and let out one quick, hoarse sob before he sucks it in again.

"Please," Potter steps forward, shoulders pulled back, chest bared, and it's a plea, it's some desperate kind of prayer, it's hard and it's anguished, like the boy has only ever asked for one thing in his life and this is it. Severus is taken back by the intensity of that one word, sinking further into his stony composure.

"Potter…this is not a punishment." Severus says slowly. He pauses while the boy's eyes narrow with confusion. "This is a health check. This is the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey-" he motions to her, "is here to heal your…lingering scrapes."

Disconcertion is mounting in the boy's green fever-bright eyes, and he looks so unsure and lost for a moment - and then he says, "Oh."

Almost instinctively, it seems, his arms wrap around his waist again, and he turns shyly to Poppy.

"I'm all right, ma'am,"

But Severus can't breathe, because as the boy turned to face the mediwitch, he's exposed his back to Severus, and there are dull, barely raised, faint red welts in in short, narrow cuts on Potter's back, some curling around his sides. Like the skin got caught, and Severus knows instantly what implement was used to create those.

His throat is tight and burning but without moving his eyes from those ugly red licks, he manages to grate out, "Are all your injuries from today's activities, Mr. Potter?"

Potter jerks back toward him, barely managing to cover his startled expression with a more wary one.

"Sir?" He says, guarded.

"How hard is the question, Potter, are all your injuries from this broom incident?" Severus snaps, low and hard, before he can help himself.

Potter holds himself tight like a bow, and his eyes dart from his Head of House to Pomfrey and back.

"Injuries? I…I don’t…”

"Your back, Potter!" Severus hisses. Potter straightens, green eyes blazing into Severus' with a look that's almost a glare.

"Those aren't injuries,” he says abruptly. He hesitates, then scoffs a little. "They're almost gone, anyway."

"And where did they come from, Potter?" He presses unyielding, knowing, but wanting to hear those words out loud from Potter's lips and he's not even sure why. So it's more real to him? Just to hear the boy admit it? So he knows the boy can?

"From a belt, sir,” Potter bites out flatly.

Severus leans back in a moment that feels a bit like a triumph, and a bit like he's going to be sick.

"Are you often punished this way, Potter?"

"I hardly think you are the kind of person who would disapprove, Professor."

The words come out rudely, but the boy looks genuinely taken back, and he gives Severus a searching glance before looking away.

Severus doesn't overlook that the boy completely maneuvered out of his question, but he moves on.

“Your–" Severus searches his memory, and it only takes a moment. "Your aunt and uncle use such punishments?"

The boy's lips curl wryly. "Among other ones," he says, still watching Severus' face. "Surely you're not unfamiliar with corporal punishment, sir."

Oh, no. Severus knows corporal punishment quite intimately. And he knows what people do under the guise of it when there is too much enthusiasm involved. Severus narrows his eyes.

"And have they also inflicted your various bruises?"

"What? - No!" Potter protests. "Mostly - thos're just…from some rough housing. Play. Neighborhood boys."

Severus leaves that one alone for now.

"Do you feel your various punishments are sufficient to your misdeeds, Mr. Potter?"

Severus can see the boy grit his teeth.

"Silence is not a sufficient answer, Mr. Potter!"

He scrutinizes Potter, and for a moment, the boy stares at him defiantly, but then he looks away, and the shoulders fall.

"Look, if you're just…I'm sure you have more creative ways to punish me than my relatives do, so you can come up with something on your own, and I-" he purses his lips. "I do promise I'll try to stay out of trouble, sir."

As much as that will help, says the dry, fatalistic shimmer in his raised eyes, and Severus wonders if it's because the boy expects he'll get in trouble again whether he tries to or not, or because he figures that Severus will punish him regardless if he gets in trouble.

"I'm sure you'll do your best, Potter." Severus must have sounded wry, because the boy tenses, but he continues.

"What other punishments do your deplorable relatives see fit to degrade you with?"

Potter looks up at him with puzzled eyes. "Oh, you know, sir..."

Severus barely restrains himself.

"Confinement to my - room. Missing meals, cuffs about the head, extra chores. That sort of thing."

The boy's eyes glimmer with something Severus can't quite put a finger on before Potter looks away.

"And the belt?" Severus prompts.

Potter flushes, still not meeting his eyes. "Only when I-when I'm really bad, sir. It's only once in a while."

His hand twists hard in the fabric of his pants.

"So my relatives don't like me. That's not a crime." Potter scowls pointedly at him. "They're a bit of bullies, is all. They're mostly talk."

"Mostly talk," Severus advances toward the boy, "does not leave you underweight from lack of food, Potter!"

"I'm not-"

"Mostly talk," Severus feels the bony shoulders tense under his fingers as he turns the boy and traces the welts, ”does not leave marks like that."

"That one was a long time in coming, sir."

Potter wrenches away, and steps back, eyes brittle, and then he sneers, actually sneers!

"I'm sure if you've got any other questions it, my relatives would be happy to enlighten you on effective punishments."

Severus finds himself studying the boy - again, for Merlin's sake! He acts like his punishments are no big deal, but gets cagey when questioned, and if he thinks Severus doesn't see straight through his ridiculous, arrogant little charade…his desperate, defensive front…

Severus wonders how far the boy would go with it. He wonders what it would take to break him right out of it.

"Perhaps I shall. Perhaps I shall call your dear uncle, Potter. We do, sometimes, leave the families to dish out appropriately to their wayward wards…" Severus pauses as the blood seems to drain from Potter's face.

"On the other hand," Severus continues, watching casually. "Since he is 'all talk', apparently, it might be better that I deal with you."

The boy, still pale, goes rigid, and his voice is strained and barely loud enough to hear when he answers, "Yes, sir." Severus has the feeling that Potter's been waiting for this since his Head of House swept onto the practice field.

"And do you have anything to suggest, Potter?" Severus says.

Potter snorts, quiet and incredulous, but it doesn't escape his notice that the boy's breathing has sped.

"Well?" Severus' voice is silky.

Potter just glares at him with a mutinous look, silent and stiff.

And then he shifts, as if he's made some sort of decision, and his eleven-year-old face is stoic but viciously resolute.

"I said I'd take it, sir." Potter mutters finally. "As long as…as long as I get to stay."

He swallows and then, without another word, he moves with jerky steps to the wall, puts his arms up, palms pushed flat and his head bowed and braces against it, and Severus can see the skinny body trembling and Potter's eyes rested closed, and he inhales a sharp breath as Potter positions, with those welts and cuts and bruises still so fresh, marred on his pale back.

Severus feels his own face go pale.

"Potter, get back here!" he orders hoarsely, and the boy slowly lets his hands drop, but he doesn't turn around to face Severus.

Severus strides over to him, stops when he realizes the boy's still got his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"I'm sorry," the boy utters, and without thinking, Severus lays a firm, gentle hand on his shoulder. The boy does swivel, then, and he’s shivering a little, the whites of his eyes showing.

"What do you want from me? I don't…I don't understand!"

Severus straightens severely, grabbing his hand back. "You certainly don't, Mr. Potter, if you imagine that I am able, much less willing, to use such despicable methods of chastisement."

"What else are you doing to do? You can't lock me in my dorm. I'm not really sure you're allowed to just stop feeding me, even if it was only for a few days. What are you going to do?" he repeats. "Have me clean, you, be satisfied with that? Take points?"

The boy chokes out a laugh.

Severus looks at him, coldly, his jaw setting just slightly. "Twenty points from–“ he forces the word out, "Slytherin, Potter."

The boy looks at him, eyes wide and startled, and Severus is done. He's done with this Hospital Wing, done with this conversation, done with the realizations and the numb shock and his world hitching and dropping, done with this strange, defiantly submissive Potter, and done with the image of that shivering, scarred torso stretched yielding against the wide, white wall.

"Poppy will tend to you. Come to my office when you are finished."

Then he turns and lets hasty steps carry him to his office, where he can safely try to process everything that's just happened. Of course nothing could be simple with Potter. A simple check-up for a few bruises at the Hospital Wing, that's all this was supposed to be, and now Severus is reeling, because Harry Potter…Harry Potter is abused. The boy doesn't even seem to realize it.

"I'm not really sure you're allowed to stop feeding me, even if it was only for a few days." "Severely malnourished." "From a belt, sir.” "Ready for what?" "For anything, sir.” ""I said I'd take it." "What else are you going to do?"

It’s all echoing in his head and Severus sighs. He's made it to his quarters without even realizing it, and he walks inside, resting his head against the wall. Potter's going to be in his office in minutes. Draco Malfoy is there now, waiting.

What are you going to do, Severus Snape?