The door to Harry’s cupboard was forcefully swung open, the form of his overweight uncle appearing menacingly in the doorway. He pulled his aching body to a sitting position, at least to make it look like he was paying attention. The last time he’d not bothered to sit up and instead stayed laying down he’d paid the consequences. He never wanted that to happen again.

“Get up boy, we’re hungry.” He didn’t bother to stay, just slammed the door shut. Harry didn’t have to change out of his pyjamas, seeing as they were the only clothes he owned. Just a pair of holey black joggers, and a ratty grey t-shirt. It certainly made things quicker, and he wouldn’t be risking further abuse at the hands of his uncle for taking too long. He tried to move as quickly as he could, pushing open the door and hobbling out. His body protested every movement, all the bruises, and broken bones making it rather difficult to move.

He sluggishly made his way into the kitchen, his foot ached with every step he took. He remembered when Vernon had broken it. Harry hadn’t been quick enough getting back into his cupboard and his foot had been sticking slightly out of the doorway, Vernon hadn’t been too bothered by that fact and slammed the door shut. His ankle had shattered instantly, his scream echoing loudly through the small house. Vernon had slammed it on his ankle a second time for that. That time he hadn’t managed a scream, all he managed was pain filled sobs. He’d instantly pulled his leg in immediately after that, cradling it all night long.

That had been a week ago, it still hurts now. He knew that at this rate, leaving it unhealed would only make it worse. But he had no experience in healing his own bones, and he wasn’t even allowed to practice magic outside of hogwarts. So he left it, along with his crooked nose, broken ribs, his multiple broken fingers and shattered wrist. He still had marks from the belt on his back, and the burns on his chest from where Aunt Petunia had scalded him with the pan. He even had the fingerprint marks on his neck from where Uncle Vernon had strangled him until his face had turned red, and black spots had appeared in the edges of his vision.

Vernon and Petunia were both sitting at the table when he passed it, Dudley was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Dudley didn’t pay him any mind, but Vernon glared disapprovingly at him. “Hurry the bloody hell up boy, I won’t be made to wait for your lazy freak arse.” he hurried at that. Wincing internally at every rushed step.

He pulled the relevant pots and pans out with numb fingers, he’d since become rather skilled at doing things without being able to feel his limbs. He tried to fry the bacon, whilst simultaneously trying to fry eggs. It was a difficult task but he’d had eight years to perfect it. He’d been doing it since he could walk, and understand any of the words his relatives were shouting at him.

It’d taken him a long time to understand what his name was, not his actual name, but the derogatory names he was given. He’d learnt that his name was Freak, or Boy. He hadn't discovered that his name was not Freak, until he finally went to primary school. They’d wasted no time trying to educate him that his name was not Freak, but Harry Potter. It wasn’t long after that, that the Dursleys had shoved him into a school for incurably criminal boys. He had only spent a month there, before he was pulled out of school completely. Harry supposed it was because they missed their slave.

Once he’d finished cooking their breakfast, he served it to them at the table. He stood at the sink cleaning all of the dishes while they ate. His stomach rumbled from the smell of the food, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to eat anything. He’d gotten to the point that his stomach rebelled anytime he tried to eat anything. The only thing his stomach could handle was the measly cans of cheap soup he was sometimes allowed. Once he’d finished washing the dishes, he made his way back to his cupboard and laid down. It was nice to rest once in a while.

He heard the noises of Dudley pounding up the stairs with large fat feet, he listened to him getting changed and stomping back down the stairs once more. Vernon was shuffling about in the kitchen, Harry could hear when he started talking to Petunia. “We’re gonna make sure that little Freak doesn’t make it back to that school in time, the term’s already started, it said so on one of those wretched bits of wizard paper they sent. I burnt it the minute it arrived.”

Dread sat cold in his stomach, he hadn’t realised what the day was. There wasn’t a way to find out, stuck in his cupboard all the time. But he knew he couldn’t miss school, he couldn’t bear the thought of them expelling him for not showing up. He made sure to listen intently to what Petunia said in reply. “You're right Vernon, maybe you should take him down to the basement, I’m sure those ruddy owls won’t find him there. Then we can take Dudders to the zoo.”

He knew there was no point in fighting, he was going down to the basement whether he liked it or not. Even if he hated it down there, there was no way to stop it, and fighting just made things worse for him. That was why he was prepared when his cupboard door was swung open, Vernon shoving his fat arm through to grip the hairs on the top of his head. He pulled him out by his hair, not giving him a chance to try to find his footing and take off some of the weight on his hair. He was forcefully dragged through the hallway and up to the door that led to the basement, he was then dragged down the stairs, each step dragging against his broken ankle.

When they were finally at the bottom, his eyes were instantly drawn to the long chains that hung from the ceiling with the metal shackles attached to the bottom. He hadn’t seen these before. He supposed Uncle Vernon was deciding to get creative with his torture methods.

“You’re lucky I know how to navigate the dark web boy, cause they say these are made specifically for your freakish kind.” Harry was quickly disturbed by the utter look of sadistic joy on his uncle’s face. Also for the fact that he was probably about to be chained up, with something even his magic couldn’t help him escape from. He also feared that he was probably being introduced to his new bedroom.

He tried to fight his body’s instinct to fight his Uncle, allowing him to drag him by his hair over to the chains. His Uncle wasn’t gentle, just dragged him over and clasped the cold metal around his wrists. They were unusually tight, and the minute they closed around his wrists, a cold wave ran down his body. He guessed that was them restricting his magic. When his hands were restrained, he realised that they were too high for him to lean forward but low enough his feet touched the floor. They pulled his body tight, and made his shoulders ache. He had to push himself onto his tiptoes in order to ease the ache, but he could only do that for so long before his body shook with exertion and his feet fell flat once more. When he’d stopped struggling and looked up tiredly towards his Uncle, he realised the man was looking at him sadistically with a dark smile on his face. “I guess the fight’s still not outta you boy. I better put a stop to that.”

Harry didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not this. He didn’t get to expect anything, not when his Uncle punched him in the stomach and knocked the air out of his lungs. It knocked the thoughts right out of his head, and left him gasping desperately for air. He didn’t get any, because his Uncle was wrenching his head back using his hair. The next thing he saw was his Uncle’s meaty fist flying towards his face. He learned to expect it then, the punches after punches thrown at him. They fell everywhere, on his face, on his chest, right where his broken rib was. It made his Vision white out, and time was lost to him.

When his vision cleared, he could make out the now blurry figure of his uncle, he realised that his glasses must have fallen off at some point. But he could still make out the blurry outline of a hammer held in his uncle’s chubby hands. He didn’t really know what his Uncle was planning to do with it, but he guessed that didn’t matter, not when he swung it directly at his left kneecap. The pain was excruciating, and it made his leg buckle and wrench on his shoulder. He waited for blissful unconsciousness, but it didn’t come. He was left painfully aware as his Uncle aimed the hammer at his right kneecap. This time unconsciousness came instantly.

Time wasn’t a concept when he fell into the black void, he didn’t dream, he didn’t do anything. He just sat there, suspended in pain free nothingness. To his unconscious body, it didn’t last long. Because his Uncle was throwing a pre-prepared bucket filled with icy cold water, straight at his face. It woke him up instantly, spluttering and coughing as the cold shocked his system.

He felt the wet warmth dripping down his legs, and he couldn't fight his own curiosity to find out what it was. When he dared to look down, he noticed that it was blood, dripping from the crushed mass of skin and bone that was his kneecaps. It made him feel sick, and he couldn’t stop himself from puking harshly onto the floor. His Uncle took a step back at that, looking disgustingly at him, and the vomit on the floor. Harry couldn’t care less about what his Uncle thought about it. He'd long since passed the stage where he felt guilty or abnormal at the way his Uncle looked at him. He’d given up on hoping one day that his relatives might love him, might become the parents he so desperately needed.

Everything after that became a blur, the punches being thrown at his face, the way his body was left to sway brokenly from his wrists. His blood slowly dripped down his legs from his shattered kneecaps. He distantly felt his Uncle punch him several times in the ribs, he felt them give way, and felt the way they suppressed his breathing and made every breath hurt. He lost all thought and consciousness when his Uncle sent his fist flying for his face once more. Before he fell back into the black abyss, he could feel the bone in his nose break, the scream that fell from his lips sounded distant and quiet.

He wasn’t aware when his Uncle sent him a disgusted look, and made his way back out of the basement. Hooking his arm in Petunia’s and walking out to the car.

O-O

Ron had tried everything he could to persuade Fred and George to come with him to get Harry, he knew that Mum would certainly not let him go. Fred and George were always breaking the rules, it just seemed like the logical option. Plus, he didn’t know how to drive his Dad’s car, they probably would. That’s how he found himself sat in Dad’s flying car with Fred and George. They were almost there, but Ron couldn’t stop himself from worrying.

It was already the first day of term, everyone was probably already sitting on the Hogwarts Express, waiting excitedly to finally go back to school. But Harry hadn’t arrived at the burrow like he’d said he would, and Ron had started to get anxious when he realised Harry wasn’t even sending him letters. The lack of correspondence had urges him to take action, even if there might not be anything wrong. He didn’t want to take any chances with the Dursleys, especially after what Harry had told him about them.

He was jerked out of his worried thoughts by the car coming to a jarring holt. He realised, looking out of the window, that they had come to a stop in an empty field. He could hear the distant rush of cars coming from behind them, but other than that he had no idea where they were. “Where are we?”

“Just a little way out of Surrey.” It was George who replied, or at least, Ron guessed it was. He still had trouble differentiating them, they were identical twins after all.

He watched as the car ploughed through the empty field, trampling rampant spots of long grass. They drove out of the field and onto an empty country road, they passed only a few cars. The road was mostly empty, he guessed that was why they had stopped here. To limit any eyewitnesses. He continued to watch nervously as they drove down multiple country roads, passing progressively more people as they went. He didn’t really notice when the car stopped, right outside of a small beige townhouse. He’d never seen the house before, and it shocked him at how normal and homely it seemed. Especially for people as harsh as the Dursleys.

He hopped out of the car on shaky legs, George and Fred doing the same behind him. Although their legs seemed a lot less shaky. Approaching the small home, he noticed that there wasn’t a car in the drive. He knew that they never took Harry with them anywhere, so he knew that the car being gone meant that they could rescue Harry without interference. Ron turned to his brothers “How are we gonna unlock the door, we can’t use magic.”

“You underestimate our skills icklewickle Ronniekins.” Fred slipped a small black case out of his pocket, at the same time George replied. Ron watched in fascination as Fred pulled out long silver rods from the black case, and proceeded to slide them into the lock. He heard the scraping of the metal tools, before a loud click sounded and Fred pushed the handle down. The door swung open, the sight of beige normality suddenly the only thing he could see. Ron pushed past the twins, striding purposefully into the small home. He decided to start his search downstairs, checking first the cupboard. He’d listened patiently when Harry told him about the first eleven years of his life, and how most of it was spent locked in a cupboard under the stairs. A small grate in the door, the only view into the outside world. Ron had held Harry when he sobbed, letting out the pain of all the neglect and abuse he’d suffered at the hands of the dursleys. So he knew it was the first place to look.

When he opened the door, the stench was horrible. The coppery smell of dried blood, and who knows what else. Tears sprung unbidden to his eyes, as he stared at the blood stained cot. His heart almost broke at the childish drawings that filled almost every inch of the cupboards walls. Most of them included a woman with ginger hair, and a man with short brown hair and wire glasses just like Harry’s. Some included green light and a mean looking man all dressed in black pointing a wand at someone. The last one was the worst, it was of a man dressed in black, with long black hair, holding the woman with ginger hair in his arms and crying. They weren’t necessarily good drawings, but it was easy to figure out what they were. How Harry came up with any of these, Ron didn’t know. The only thing Ron knew was that Harry never deserved this.

Ron was still trying to wipe the tears from his eyes, when he felt Fred and George appear behind him. He turned back to them, simply letting the tears roll down his cheeks before he stepped back, allowing them to look inside. He didn’t want to stay to see their reaction, so he left. Deciding to search upstairs instead, he shuffled up the stairs. Using the sleeve of his shirt to dry the tears as he pushed open each door. It made him angry, when he saw that one of the door’s said Dudley’s room, and the other said Dudley’s second room. When he pushed open the second room, the only thing he could see were broken toys. Most of them had been carelessly chucked, others looked to just be unused. It made Ron’s skin crawl to think that one overweight spoilt kid could get everything he wanted and take it for granted, while his best friend got nothing.

Once he’d checked every room upstairs, even the bathroom, he shuffled back downstairs. He saw Fred and George still kneeling by the open cupboard door, both of them had unshed tears brimming in their eyes and a heartbroken look on their faces. Ron pushed past them, trying not to let the overwhelming urge to sob his heart out win. He almost gave up hope when he realised the only rooms downstairs were the kitchen and the living room. Until he spotted the door right at the edge of the kitchen, in between the table and the edge of the counter.
He rushed towards it, pulling the door open forcefully. It was dark, and he fumbled around on the dark wall for the light switch. He flicked it on, and the dark stone walls came into view. Hesitantly he stepped down, following the stairs until he got to the bottom.

He didn’t faint, but it was a close thing. He couldn’t help the shout that ripped from his throat.
“Harry!” he rushed towards the other boy. Stomach wrenching painfully at how much of him looked bruised and injured, and the shocking amount of blood that poured down from his knees. Ron’s stomach almost rebelled when he saw the mess of bone and broken skin and blood. Ron could see the fingerprint marks on his neck, and the way his t-shirt hung off him in a way that shouldn’t be natural. Not when Ron had seen Harry wearing that shirt just last year, and it had fit him perfectly. Ron wanted to cry when he saw the state of his hands, and the purple colour that they seemed to be turning. Ron didn’t really notice when his brothers came running down the stairs at his shout. Not even when they rushed past him and Fred tried to hold Harry up as George tried to break the chains holding Harry to the ceiling. He only broke out of his stupor when he heard them shouting his name.

“Ron! Ron! C’mon, you gotta find something to break the chains with.” Ron shook himself out of it, adrenaline rushing through his body once more as he searched frantically around the room for something. The only thing he found was a hammer. It seemed like it would work, so he went to pick it up. This time, he couldn’t stop his stomach from rebelling. He lost his lunch across the basement floor, trying to erase the image of his best friend’s blood soaked on the end of the hammer. He wiped his mouth when he was done, picking up the hammer with shaky hands. He held it as far away from himself as he could, trying his hardest not to look at it.

When he turned around, he could see the concern on George and Fred’s faces. “I think I've found something to break the chains with, but- but it’s got H-Harry’s blood on-on it. I think his Uncle musta used it to ya know, h-hurt him.” Ron couldn’t help it as he stuttered. Holding the hammer with shaky hands, he shivered as his eyes caught sight of the glistening blood dripping off the end. He tried to forget about the glinting piece of white he thought he saw stuck to the end. He edged closer to his injured and abused friend, George and Fred staring crestfallen at the blood splattered tool in his hands.

They nodded at him in grim determination, “Just do it Ron, it’s the only thing we got.” Ron couldn’t tell who said it, his vision had turned white around the edges, the only thing he could see, the hammer in his trembling hands. He ignored his brothers, instead fixing his eyes on the long piece of chain hanging from a rusty hook on the ceiling. It was too high for any of them to reach, so dropping the hammer and pulling the chain off the hook was out of the question. He’d realised that the instant he’d seen his friend. Wrapping his hands more firmly around the wooden base of the hammer, he swung backwards, before swinging forward and upwards harshly. He watched as the heavy metal end of the hammer collided with the metal hook. It wrenched the rusty metal out of its hold in the ceiling. Despite the fact that both George and Fred were holding Harry up, he still sagged, his arms no longer held up towards the ceiling. He almost gagged when he caught sight of Harry's shoulders, his arms now finally down in front of him, Ron could see the way his shoulder bones weren’t in the right place. Ron could tell that the both of them were dislocated. He felt guilty, that as much as he loved his friend, he found it hard to look at him. His injuries were gruesome, and they made his stomach turn.

Once the deed was done, he flung the hammer as far as he could, staring down at his hands as if they were covered in Harry’s blood. He shivered, before wiping his palms hastily on the thighs of his jeans. As much as Ron found it hard to show, he could be brave. He could push past the disgust and horror and fear, and help his friend. He moved forwards, towards his brothers, both in blood and not. Harry didn’t show any signs of movement, or becoming conscious. It was worrisome, but understandable given the circumstances. He spoke with an uncertain voice “We need to get him to Hogwarts, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can fix him, right?”

Ron tried to ignore the grim look on Fred and George’s face as they carried Harry out to the car, he was a dead weight, but with three people carrying him, it was fairly easy. Ron shuffled into the back, keeping as far to one side as he could. He watched worriedly as Fred and George tried to shove Harry into the back, it was tricky, and it ended up with Harry slumped on Ron’s side. His head hung limply on Ron’s shoulder, blood steadily dripping onto his shirt. Ron wound his arm around Harry’s side, gripping tightly onto the thin boy. It was hard to ignore the way Ron could feel Harry’s rbs through his shirt.

O-O

Tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor of the entrance hall, Severus waited. He’d been tasked to wait for the Weasley twins and their younger sibling. And as if that weren’t enough, he had to wait also for the Golden Boy himself, the boy-who-lived. Potter. Severus was sure he’d shown enough displeasure at this fact, but still, Albus has denied him the opportunity to retreat to his quarters and ignore the hoards of miscreants. The frown that showed on his face was surely permanent now. He’d had to deal with that Malfoy brat smirking at him for the whole of the feast, as if favouritism was a trait of his. He’d grown to hate his father and his spawn was just as bad if not worse. Having to keep up the appearance of even being able to tolerate him was too much. But at least he wasn’t as spoiled and arrogant as Potter. He could just tell that he had been fed with a silver spoon all his life, spoiled and praised, and given everything he could ever want with no thoughts for how lucky he was. Severus never took anything for granted, not when you could have everything you love ripped away from you without a second's notice, or without the privilege of being loved by the people that you were supposed to trust. Severus was glad Tobias was dead, the scars on his back could prove that. Potter would never know what that was like. The physical and emotional pain of the abuse suffered at the hands of a parent.

O-O

Ron thought that nothing could go wrong now, but when they were flying above the water around the castle, the car stalled. The grating noise the car made was disturbing, but not as disturbing as the car tilting forward and dropping fast. It was lucky that Fred spun the steering wheel in the direction of the Hogwarts grounds. The car slammed into the immaculate grass with a loud thud. It jarred Harry’s body, and he let out a small whimper in his unconsciousness

Ron was glad he could still make noise, the silence emanating from him had unnerved him. He was still worried though, when blood began pouring heavier from the multiple wounds that marred his face. He looked to the front, checking to make sure that Fred and George were ok. Fred had a small gash on his temple, and George looked uninjured. At least there wasn’t anyone else to worry about, Ron thought.

That was until he noticed the black swooping mass advancing on the car, it was only when it finally came out of the shadow’s of the castle and the moonlight shone down on it, that he realised it was Professor Snape. Ron blanched, face going white with fear. He could see the thunderous expression on his face, and Ron wouldn’t be surprised if their punishment would be expulsion. That was until he remembered his best friend, unconscious and bleeding out on his shoulder.

Ron jerked in determination, shoving the door open with his foot once he’d turned the handle. It swung open, and he didn’t hesitate to hop out. Hastily but gently pulling his friend out with him. He forgot the glaring problem of Harry being unconscious, until Harry dropped like a dead weight when Ron had pulled him out from the car. He turned, quickly pulling one limp arm over his shoulder whilst wrapping his own around Harry’s thin waist.

“Professor, Professor, please.” Ron knew it was somewhat of a lost cause asking for Professor Snape’s help when he was this angry. But he didn't care, he was desperate. Desperate to get Harry help.

O-O

Severus was furious, he had expected them to be driven up by their parents, at least with a good guilty expression on their faces, even though Severus knew that was hard to hope for. He hadn’t expected to see a flying weathered car crash onto the fresh grass of Hogwarts front lawn. Especially not with the Weasley twins driving it. Without wasting a moment, he was striding towards the car, his cloak swaying powerfully in the breeze behind him. He didn’t slow, so excited with the prospect that he might get to expel some of the arrogant little brutes.

He didn’t slow until he was only two feet away from his prey, and his eyes caught sight of Ronald Weasley slowly dragging an unconscious limp Potter from the car.

Severus had been expecting them to have shameful faces on, or arrogant ones, especially with them being gryffindors. But the closer he advanced on the children, Ron Weasley looked pale as a sheet, and Potter was completely unconscious. He was a mess to put it lightly, Severus was horrified to say the least. And over the years of attending death eater meetings, and watching Voldemort torture his victims, it became increasingly difficult to horrify him. There wasn’t much that did, he was substantially good at remaining stoic in the most drastic of situations. 

On most occasions he was able to hide his emotions, hidden well behind his occlumency shields. There were rare occasions when his shields fell, and his emotions were visible on his face in full clarity. He supposed this was one of those times, because his eyes had widened involuntarily in shock, mouth slackening. His forehead scrunched up in worry, brows furrowing. Severus could feel his chest increase in speed with every inhale. His stride quickly turned from one of anger to one of speed. 

He made it to the banged up blue car in under half a minute. Black eyes staring down at the red headed child dragging Potter out from the car. His face was pale, eyes solely focused on his friend. He looked panicked, and from what Severus could see, his hands were coated in the congealed substance of Potter’s blood. Before the child could get any further, Severus placed a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Weasley.”

The red haired boy’s eyes immediately flew to his, “S-sir? C-can you help him? Please?” 

He didn’t have to contemplate the request. It was his obligation, both being a professor, and Potter being his student, as well as the promise he made to Lily. He had promised her that he would look after the child, even if that meant with his spy work, that he had to do it from a distance. Severus could admit that he had been and still was skeptical about Potter, what with his father being the arrogant and self centred James Potter. It was still his obligation to protect the boy, even if he was loath to do it. 

“Hand him to me, I will get him medical attention.” Severus attempted to lift the bleeding boy into his arms, but the Weasley had a firm grip on him. “You will need to let go in order for me to get him help Mr. Weasley.” His words seemed to achieve the desired effect of jerking him out of the trance-like state he’d fallen into. 

“S-sorry Professor.” He looked guilty, for what Severus couldn’t determine. He didn’t reply, instead giving the child a firm nod. Weasley’s grip had lessened significantly, giving Snape the access needed to lift the limp body into his arms. He made to hold the boy with one arm behind his back, and the other underneath his knees. It was surprisingly easy to lift the small body. It was almost like carrying someone with the feather light charm applied, but Potter still held some weight. Even if it was not much. 

Severus paid no mind to the blood now hastily soaking into his robes. It was warm, and it was spreading fast. It was disconcerting, especially with the lack of heat coming from the boy himself. He felt cold, and his skin looked pale and gaunt. From where Severus’s hand rested on the side of the boy’s torso, he could feel the outline of his ribs. It was uncomfortable to know the poor state with which the child was in. Something akin to worry. 

He spared a short glance at the youngest Weasley and the twins, Ron was pale, the moonlight highlighting his ashen complexion. The twins however seemed contemplative, their faces stuck in thought. Severus didn’t waste time trying to decipher their emotions, not when there was a child that needed medical attention. James Potter’s spawn or not. 

Turning on his heel, Severus made his way back across the soft grass. His robes billowing behind him in the cool afternoon breeze, the moon shining down upon them. It cast a shadow behind him as he rushed back towards the castle. Severus couldn’t know how the boy had come to be injured, but he had no doubts it was probably of the boy’s own doing. He wouldn’t put it past Potter to get in a fight with someone, he was known for being arrogant. Severus had watched the boy strut around the school for one year, showing blatant disregard for the rules. Severus had no doubt the boy was just like his father. 

He was too focused on delivering the boy to the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, to notice the sound of feet scuffing on the grass behind him. He caught sight of a flash of ginger hair, before the younger Weasley boy was stopping in front of him. “S-sir, please. You have to make sure he doesn’t go back, he can’t Sir. They’ll kill him, they will. T-they’ve already tried to. Look at him.” 

His head nodded towards the bleeding limp body held within his arms, his gaze flashed down to him. Only for a second, but confusion was still at the forefront of his mind. “Who will? Who are you talking about?” Severus couldn’t stop the irritation from seeping into his tone. He had no patience for people that talked in riddles, or alluded to things but never mentioned them. 

“His relatives Sir, they abuse him.” 

An annoyed sigh escaped from his mouth, “I don’t have time for your fabricated stories Mr. Weasley, your friend needs medical attention for his foolish actions. There’s no point in defending him, your friend should think first before he decides to get into fights.” He tried to turn away from the Weasley boy, striding further across the green towards the castle. 

“Please Sir, I’m telling the truth. They- they had him chained up in their damn basement. They even had shackles that dampened his magic, I don’t care if you don’t like him Sir, but please. They’ll kill him.” 

Severus could barely restrain himself. He turned around, staring down at the boy in front of him. “You will not take that tone with me Mr. Weasley. You’ve already destroyed part of the grounds of the castle with your muggle car, do not waste my time with your foolish stories. You’re lucky you’re only going to be walking away with 50 points from Gryffindor, when I could just as easily be making you get back on the train home.” His words were emphasised with a sneer, teeth bared in anger. 

He strode off, not giving the boy a chance to catch up and interfere once more. He slipped in through the open doors to the entrance hall, the candles on the wall were now aflame. The sun having gone down a long time ago. Severus made his way down the halls, making sure to go past the great hall. That way had always been the fastest way to get to the Hospital wing. 

It was only when he got closer to the doors to the great hall, that he notice some of the younger years. Specifically the first years gathered around the entrance. He could see when they spotted Potter in his arms, because they’re faces instantly looked worried. “Is he alright Sir?” 

“He will be.” His answer was curt, and he didn’t spare them a second glance. Decidedly walking straight past the open doors to the great hall. If anyone had seen him or the boy in his arms, Severus did not care. He walked past groups of first years, all of them staring at the castle around them with wonder in their eyes. He remembered when he’d once been like that, although his excitement had been vastly muted. Never having the confidence in others to be able to relay his true emotions. 

He didn’t find a lot of students in the hallway outside the infirmary. It was the furthest part of the school, far away from most of the dorms. He entered the hospital wing, only to find Madame Pomfrey not inside. That did not phase Severus though. He just laid the boy down on one of the beds. Stepping away from the bed, he slid his wand out of its holster by his hip. He swished his wand, conjuring his patronus. He only spared the elegant doe a brief glance, before he relayed his message to the magical animal. “Tell Madame Pomfrey to come to the hospital wing immediately. One of her more troublesome students requires medical attention” 

Severus watched as the Doe galloped off before evaporating into thin air. It was only a short minute before the woman in question popped through the fireplace. She made her way over to the bed, brushing off the soot from her white skirt. “What seems to be the problem?” 

Her eyes sweep across the unconscious boy on the bed. Severus can see when she notices the blood coating his face and soaking into the knees of his sweatpants. “Mr. Weasley and his older brothers delivered Potter to Hogwarts in their muggle car. This is probably the product of nothing more than a fight, with a muggle boy no less.”

Severus couldn’t tell whether Poppy agreed with him or not, her face showed only determination to heal the boy. She turned her face to look at him, “We have to remove his clothes, so I can see the damage. Severus, why don’t you start removing the boy's shirt and sweatpants, I’ll retrieve my healing kit, and diagnostic kit.” 

He opened his mouth to protest, but Poppy had already turned her back to him. All Severus could see was the back of her dress as she entered the cupboard that held her stores. Resigning himself to the tedious task of relieving the boy of his clothes, he turned to the bed. He hooked slender, potioned stained fingers under the hem of the too big shirt. It was a struggle, especially with the boy being unconscious. But Severus managed to pull it off, slipping it over the boy’s boney shoulders. With Potter’s stomach and chest visible, the bruises that mattered his skin were also visible. It seemed that every inch of skin was covered with mottled bruises, skin turned deep shades of purple, some turned a sickly yellow. 

It was utterly more disturbing, when he noticed the small burn marks that littered the top of his chest. They looked like thin strips, the skin around them looked red and puffy. Potter obviously hadn’t treated them well enough, or even attempted to disinfect the wounds. It was Potter’s neck that disturbed him the most, with the dark bruises in the shape of thick fingers. They wrapped around his neck, going further round to the back of his neck. They looked harsh in comparison to his pale skin. They were enough to send Severus’s stomach rolling with unease. No muggle boy was large enough to make these marks. The size of the hands was obviously from an adult, and a large one at that. 

Severus didn’t have much time to wonder what had actually happened to the boy, or who. Poppy was rushing out of the cupboard with two kits in hand. “Get his sweatpants off next Severus.” He went to comply, fixing his fingers in the loose waistband. His eyes travelled down the boy’s body to look at the sweatpants, but he couldn’t help noticing the boy's wrists. Each wrist was rubbed raw, the skin an unhealthy red. A big bruise wrapped around each wrist. Severus’s best guess at what could have caused it, matched what the Weasley boy had said. In perfect clarity. They had obviously been caused by some form of shackle. It was the only possible cause. 

Using his occlumency skills, he pushed the dark thoughts to the empty spaces in the back of his mind. Refusing to think about those thoughts further, he pulled at the sweatpants. They slid down the boy’s legs, slipping off easily with the way they barely fit. It wasn’t until he got to the boy’s knees that he encountered any problems. The fabric was stuck to the boy’s knees, and even in the low lighting from the burning candles surrounding the infirmary. He could tell that it was blood, the coppery scent emanating from the soaked fabric. 

He tried to be gentle as he pulled the fabric away, watching as it clung to the boy’s skin. He pulled the trousers all the way down, once they were free from his knees. Once the sweatpants were placed in a heaped pile on top of the boy’s shirt, he finally took in the boy’s knees. His eyes firmly fixed on the shattered mess of skin and bone. It was grim, the sight of it made his stomach increase from its nauseous churning. His dinner was expelled onto the sparkling clean floor of the hospital wing. He vanished it with a scourgify, trying not to be ashamed at the fact that he had lost his steadfast composure. 

He turned his gaze to Poppy instead of the battered mess of the boy’s body. She was completely pale, tears pooling in her eyes. She stared at the boy’s broken body for a few moments before she directed her horrified stare to Severus. “Who could have done this to him?” 

It was impossible to ignore the truth, even though he’d been avoiding it, not entertaining the of it. The boy’s family had done this. He’d known Petunia since they were kids, he’d known she didn’t like wizards or magic. She’d festered a hatred for it, when she knew she’d never become a witch. Petunia had harboured jealousy for her sister, Severus knew that. She’d always glared at him, whenever he’d hung out with Lily. He just never imagined she could do this, to a child no less. Even if it wasn’t her, if it was that oaf of a husband of hers. He didn’t understand how someone could allow it to happen. 

There was no denying the truth now, no matter how horrible it seemed. “His relatives. Mr. Weasley told me they did this, I believed in a moment of foolishness, that he was telling me falsehoods. I did not believe him that the boy’s relatives did this, I thought this was the product of a muggle fight. I see now, I was mistaken.”

His eyes were fixed steadfast on the bottom of the bed, just below the boy’s feet. He was too ashamed to meet his colleague’s eyes. Shame was not an emotion he felt too often, it was something he hadn’t experienced since he called Lily that horrible name. He’d been filled with regret, not wanting to lose the girl he’d fallen in love with. But it had been too late, she fell for Potter, and Severus had been alone. He had never wanted to feel that way again, and luckily he had not. Until now.

“That doesn’t matter now. He needs treatment, and a diagnostic charm wouldn’t go amiss.” He risked a glance at her face, and Poppy was not looking at him. Her sole attention rested on the boy laying broken in so many ways on the bed. Severus watched as the older witch opened the diagnostic kit. She pulled out a scroll, it glowed a faint blue. Second came a quill, its feathers were white, but as it neared the tip it gradiated to blue. She whispered a few unintelligible spells under her breath, before the scroll glowed an even brighter blue and the quill started to scribble onto the paper. 

He slid behind her, dark eyes surveying the list of injuries which seemed to never end. It started at the boy’s birth, gradually marking injuries until it got to the most recent. When it finished, it was almost three feet long. It made Severus feel sick, noticing how many times the boy had been sick and the symptom had gotten worse, but the diagnostic spell showed no treatment received. The boy had been left to suffer, to overheat, or cough himself hoarse with pneumonia but never received treatment. It hurt worse seeing the record of belt marks on his back. Severus remembered how much that hurt, the painful swollen welts on his back. He’d wished for it to stop, but it never did. He’d stood there and taken the belt lashes, the beatings, but no one ever saved him. 

If it was the last thing he did, Severus was going to save this boy.