Severus was, in contrast to his regularly snarky self; baffled. He was, all in all, ambivalent in his contradicting feelings; his beliefs about Potter were wavering like they always were and always have been since the beginning of the brat's first year. Potter had the visage of his father, not to mention that the round-rimmed glasses he always wore only intensified the resemblance adamantly. But then there was Lily, who was always ever-so present in those brilliant emerald eyes of his.

Severus knew fully well of the most pronounced resemblances to Lily that were present in the boy; most noticeably was her brazen temper that seemed to have passed down to her child. He didn't know whether to be grateful or chafed at that. Of course, in the first few months of the school term, he blamed it on the genetics of Potter's blasted father, a trait of some sort that was often associated with spoilt children. And that was what he thought of Potter. Spoilt rotten to the core, given anything he wanted — whatever he wanted.

And yet, he knew he was wrong.

The boy was everything but his father; he didn't go purposely tormenting other students, he didn't sneer or even insult his Slytherins — apart from Malfoy, but even then it was when he was provoked. Potter didn't have an opinion on Slytherin, or, at least, he never verbally announced it like many of his Gryffindor peers chose to. Nor his use of body language, he kept himself neutral, and level-headed. Meanwhile, the second youngest of the Weasley clan — heavens forbid they have anymore — mouthed off at them every chance he could get, even going as far as to keep himself at a distance from them like he didn't want to get infected. By what was beyond Severus.

Well, truth be told, that was all during their first year.

Weasley had apparently 'cooled down' from his incessant, petty prejudices. He didn't give any of the Slytherin students funny looks anymore, and he was beginning to keep his possibly offending opinions about the snake house to himself. Especially when Potter was around.

Severus paused in his long strides across the dungeon cobblestone corridor, a moment of silence saturating the air like poison. With fingers stained with the residues of potion ingredients, he ran his hand down his face, stopping to rub his eyes in roughly before stretching it down.

That was Potter's doing, he realised.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth unpleasantly, scowling not only at the epiphany but at himself. In the back of his head, he could hear himself, words once spoken in a barking tone.

"Just like your father!"

"Why you insolent little…"

"Think you can get out of this one, hm? Think again, Potter."

"Bullying, Mr Potter?"

He was wrong. He was always wrong. And he knew it, but he didn't care. Dear Merlin, how petty could he get?

Severus stopped again, pausing just outside the portrait hole to his private quarters. He swallowed harshly, just barely quelling the abrupt urge to slam his clenched fist straight through the portrait and instead deciding to settle for pinching the bridge of his nose. The mere thought of having to concede to his mistakes were daunting enough, but the added guilt that weighed over his shoulders didn't help aid him in this task.

—

Harry felt… for a lack of a better word, shaky.

And that wasn't only figuratively speaking; every one of his limbs was trembling, whether from the repetitive stinging sensation that wracked his body all the time or from the freezing air assaulting his skin, he didn't know.

It had been a full week since he had gained consciousness, and Harry quite frankly enjoyed the independence he was given for the last few days. He spent the majority of his time sleeping in the hospital bed (that had been given daily doses of warming charms) though, so there was really nothing to it. Madam Pomfrey gave him his potions — that surprisingly tasted fine — every day he was there as well, advising him to send his thanks to the dour Potions Master. She was quite adamant about that.

Not that she had to remind him though, Harry was planning on it the next time he saw him. Maybe he was going mad. A few weeks ago he probably would have grimaced at the idea of having to thank the 'greasy git'. However, his thoughts began moulding into different opinions. He had heard Snape coming in numerous times in the night, the clicking of his boots becoming something he was getting familiar with more and more. And for once, he didn't feel that incoming dread that would usually come with it.

It was… awkward. Harry didn't know how to react, what he could even say to the man. So, for the sake of avoiding any graceless interactions with the man, he pretended to be asleep every time he saw the Potions Master creeping into the Hospital Wing. Initially, he was there to deliver batches of potions to Madam Pomfrey, but even Harry knew that Snape was giving too much of them for the first week into the summer holidays.

Madam Pomfrey herself had reprimanded him for it.

---

"Severus," the witch groaned wearily, running a hand down the front of her face. She gestured towards the small wooden box of potion vials, shaking her hand as if to emphasize it. "What are you doing? You never do this much activity during the first week into the holidays!"

Severus didn't even try to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. "Believe it or not, Poppy, but even I would like to enjoy my time in the solace of my holidays," he said silkily, a sneer marring his lips. "I would certainly find it… beneficial to conclude my rounds of resupplying your stores as soon as possible. Note that I will be returning again over the days whether you like it or not."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Poppy threw her hands in the air exasperatedly, taking the crate from his arms and storming off into the back of the Hospital Wing, all the while muttering inaudible curses that Severus was glad he couldn't hear coming from her mouth.

A muffled groan emerged from one of the hospital beds, most notably, the one that had its curtains drawn around it. Although no one had ever claimed it, Severus wasn't dense; he knew exactly who was behind those curtains, who was laying in a vulnerable state in that bed. Attentively, Severus stalked towards the area and pulled back the curtains briefly, careful in the amount of noise he made.

Potter.

As anticipated, the boy was laying there on his back, his uninjured arm hoisted over his eyes with his jaw clenched tightly. He was crunching his teeth together in a sporadic pattern, his breaths coming in shallow and out wheezing. Severus stretched the curtains a little further, his obsidian eyes taking in the full form of the twelve-year-old child.

Looking closely, Severus realised just how small Potter was. Not to mention how emaciated he appeared. He was wearing one of the hospital gowns, so all of the excessive cloth that usually came with the student's uniform robes was ripped from the boy's image, evidently leaving him gaunt and exposed. Initially, he thought that the child was just skinny because of his regular Quidditch practices, but the closer he leaned forward, the outlines of the boy's ribs became more pronounced and visible.

"That's another matter," Severus whipped around instantaneously, alarm in his eyes. It was only Poppy. "That I've been wanting to discuss with you, Severus," she continued flatly, though her voice contained a little more of an undertone of despondency than what was normal. At the Potions Masters raised eyebrow, she nodded her head towards the bed that Potter was resting in. "Let me just say that you're… more experienced in this area."

Severus frowned at her vague elaboration, looking back at the boy and then to the nurse again, the gears of his mind working itself into a swirling vortex of entropy. More experienced? What exactly was she insinuating here? His gaze found the pale body of the boy once more, obsidian eyes squinting questioningly. He stepped back once he realised the boy was stirring awake, his groans developing more into meek sobs that made nearly made Severus dart to his bedside.

Poppy swooped in, nurse-mode activated.

"It's alright, Harry," she cooed gently, brushing her fingers against the surface of his forehead while stroking any loose strands of hair away. For a moment, Severus felt envious of her position — an emotion which he immediately squashed down and turned away to leave in a billow of robes. Poppy's voice followed him down to the exit of the Hospital Wing. "Professor Snape brought you your potions," Severus paused on the spot, the clicking of his boots halting abruptly and skidding across the stone floor.

"That's nice," the boy's voice was weaker, exhausted.

"Mhm, indeed," Poppy hummed her agreement, a smile evident in her tone. "You should thank him when you see him, I'm sure that he'll appreciate it, however snarky and distant he may be."

"I will."

Severus strenuously snubbed the foreign warmth pricking at his stone heart, stalking out the doors with a disgruntled noise that came from the back of his throat.

---

"Harry," Poppy called out as she was emerging from her office, squinting slightly under the exposure of the light pouring in through the tall windows lined up against the infirmary walls. Her eyes landed on the diminutive figure of the child, a tentative smile stretching across her lips when she realised that he was sitting up. Such a straining task had proven difficult not even a few days ago. Of course, telling by the small wince that hid behind the boy's features, it wasn't exactly easy to even do so.

Not yet, she reminded herself. He'll heal.

Harry looked up at the nurse and shot her a grin, blinking rapidly before using the back of his hand to rub out the lingering particles of sleepiness from his eyes. "Morning, miss," he said politely, yawning behind his hand. Poppy noted that he was still relying heavily on his left arm rather than his right one. That one was shaking.

Brandishing her wand with a small flick, she gave a swift wave in the air and settled down onto the cushioned chair next to Harry's bed. The cabinet specialised and personally organised for Harry slapped open with a short bang, a trio of potion vials zooming out from the cluttered space and landing gently on the bedside table.

Harry glared at them balefully with disgust.

"You know that you won't be able to get through the day without them, Mr Potter," Poppy reprimanded softly, though her tone spoke no-nonsense. "Come along now, best not let Severus' work go in vain. Heaven knows what he'll do if-" she shook her head when she caught herself rambling redundantly. "Nevermind that."

It was with a resigned sigh that Harry got to downing each of the three down, already knowing them from the top of his head.

Pain-nulling Potion, was the first one, a royal blue colour.

Muscle Restoration Potion was a new one he had learnt.

And finally, a Calming Draught, one of the most regularly taken ones for him.

When he finished drinking the third one, he felt his head give a piercing throb before numbing down into a meagre nag at the back of his head. He nearly collapsed back into the pillows underneath him before Poppy managed to catch him by the back of his shoulders, pulling him up slowly as to not aggravate any of his still present injuries; particularly his arm. Looking down at the gaping wound, Harry scowled darkly.

It's still there.

"All right, we better get you up and going before the potions wear off," Poppy declared, rather reluctant in the idea of moving him around, let alone walking. "Albus will be waiting for us in his office, said that someone will be picking you up and taking you with them to the camp. As an… escort of sorts." Her hand came under his right armpit as she tried to boost him up from the bed, helping him in swinging his legs over the edge.

Harry inhaled sharply when her hand jostled his arm too excessively, his face twisting into a grimace. He didn't voice his troubles, but there was a strangled sort of sound that slipped through the gaps of his mouth. Poppy's movements shifted into a steadier pace, a gesture that Harry appreciated greatly as just about everything in his body was protesting against the effort needed to move.

"We'll take it slow, Harry," she reassured him, chuckling quietly when she felt him deflate and slump a little. "However, that does not mean that I am entirely willing to carry you all the way up there young man!" He straightened up almost immediately.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Just call me Poppy, child."