Harry wandered slowly back to his dorm after dinner, pondering the ‘Snape Problem’. The potions master had been…almost tolerant. And had called him by his first name. And hadn’t taken points off for him falling asleep during detention.

I don’t like it. I don’t trust him. He’s never treated us with anything other than contempt, Harry’s ‘sensible’ inner voice said. His ‘cunning’ inner voice disagreed almost immediately.

True he’s never liked us, but he’s always looked out for us, hasn’t he? He’s never seriously tried to harm us.

What about the pensieve incident? He threw a vial at us.

He was pushed over the edge. We did invade his privacy, after all. Anyone would be pissed after that. I say trust him.

Both voices fell silent. Harry didn’t question why he thought in plural, it just came naturally. It wasn’t like there were actually other people there. He was just debating, having an ‘inner conflict’, one could say.

He knew the ‘cunning’ voice had a point, that Snape had always ultimately looked out for his wellbeing, but he couldn’t help being wary of the man. Snape in a rage reminded him far too much of something to be afraid of. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but something inside him froze whenever the Potions Master got that ‘I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your life’ look in his eyes. Harry decided, in the end, to just wait and see. So long as Snape was being less nasty, he could at least tolerate the man one day a week. Especially since he never seemed to be able to remember what happened.

What if Snape was memory charming him?

But no, he was sure it was just one of his Blank-Outs. They’d been happening with greater frequency lately, so it was no surprise that someone as stressful as Snape would bring them out.

“Hey, Harry,” Hermione called from her seat by the fire as Harry entered the common room. “How have you been? Did you have a chance to eat dinner or did Snape keep you too late? How was detention?”

The barrage of questions, especially the speed at which they were asked, made Harry want to laugh out loud. Hermione would never, ever, stop being curious. If that happened, he was quite sure the world would implode upon itself.

“I’ve been good, yes I’ve eaten, and detention was,” Harry paused. He didn’t want to tell Hermione he slept through it, especially since he didn’t think he had, because that would mean he fell asleep in the library and woke up in Snape’s classroom. He finally decided on saying, “good.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, since Snape not taking points was definitely good, but he still felt guilty.

“That’s good,” Ron sighed. “The last thing you need is Snape acting like a git, right after Si–” And Harry didn’t hear any more.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

“–rius…er…sorry mate,” Ron apologized quickly after Hermione hit him. He had a talent for sticking his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry said moodily. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

He ignored the fact that he had just barely entered, turning back and leaving the portrait hole. Stupid Ron, bringing Sirius up. He hadn’t had a chance to grieve yet, so the wound was still raw, and steadily festering.

“Hey Potty, what’s the matter?” an incredibly unwelcome voice asked. “You’re running like there’s a dementor after you.”

Malfoy’s goons laughed, or rather grunted amusedly. Harry turned to face him, sneering.

“Maybe I just saw my shadow,” he suggested calmly. “After all, I’m more dangerous than anything you’ve ever experienced.” He drew his wand and pointed it at the blonde, who seemed frozen in shock at seeing the ‘Golden Boy’ acting so strange. “I wonder, Malfoy; what would you do if I tried? If I said the killing curse right here? Would you just stand there, petrified like the scared little ferret you are?”

“Potter!” Snape shouted, swooping down the hall.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry shook his head to clear it. He had just had a Blank Out, he knew it right away. Now if he could just figure out why he had his wand pointed at a terrified Malfoy in the middle of a nearly empty hall, maybe he would know what had made Snape look so mad.

“Sir?” he asked, slipping his wand away.

“What is going on here?” Snape hissed, his face livid with rage. Harry wanted to shrink back from it, but forced himself to stay.

“Er…Malfoy and I were just…talking, sir,” he lied, less smoothly than he could have.

“He was going to kill me, Sir!” Malfoy whined. “He’s crazy, batty! He should be in St. Mungo’s, I tell you!”

“Indeed,” sneered Snape. Harry got the feeling the professor agreed wholly with the Slytherin’s assessment. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Return to your dormitory.”

Harry nodded glumly and retreated, not willing to risk losing more points.

If only he knew what in Merlin’s name he had done!

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Severus knew immediately, as soon as he turned the corner and caught sight of the altercation, just who was threatening Draco. That stance, that sneer, the dangerous glint in those eyes could only belong to a Slytherin; it was Tom, and Tom was capable of almost anything, he was sure.

“Potter!” he shouted, trying to bring the boy back to himself. It worked, but now what to do? Harry Potter would not threaten to kill another student, but with Draco there he couldn’t possibly be lenient, or take Potter aside and explain what had happened. The boy didn’t even know who Tom was.

If he wasn’t faking. Which he was. That’s what Potters did.

He would have to be satisfied with taking points, as he couldn’t very well hand out even more detention. Who knew what would happen if he was exposed to the boy too much. He was looking forward to having the rest of the week Potter-free.

Unfortunately, it was not to be.

An hour before curfew on Friday, there came a soft knock at his door. He told whoever it was to come in, but when nothing happened, got up and angrily threw the door open himself. The hallways was empty.

“Idiot children and their pranks,” he muttered, even as he felt a breeze and wisp of fabric go by. Closing the door, he turned and watched his office space expectantly.

Sure enough, Potter appeared, balling up a silvery cloak and stuffing it in his robe pocket. Severus noticed immediately what had brought the boy here – the glamour had apparently succumb at last to the spell stone amulet, revealing Potter’s horrific condition for all to see.

“What are you on about, Potter,” Severus sneered nonetheless. “Why are you in my private office?”

“Don’t play dumb, Professor,” Potter sneered. “You know why we’re here and you know what we want. Now take it off.”

“Whatever do you mean, Tom?” he asked, leaning back against the door to prevent any escape.

“This,” Tom said, motioning to the stone. “We can’t hold the spell up any longer, not without bringing it to Harry’s knowledge or losing control altogether. So take it off.”

“No,” Severus said. Tom glared, eyes so intense that the former Death Eater almost backed down. “Not yet,” he amended. “You need to be healed first. Now, I am no medi-wizard, so–”

“We’re not going to Pomfrey,” said Tom firmly. “We won’t betray Harry like that.”

Severus thought for a moment. “How about we make a deal,” he suggested, finding himself surprisingly willing to compromise with the obviously Slytherin side of Potter. “I’ll take off the amulet if you promise to only put a glamour on your face until Poppy’s taken a look at you. No one will know Harry was ever injured, but you’ll still get medical attention. What say you?”

Tom thought it over, then looked at him with wide, bright eyes, stuck out his lower lip, and said, “I want a pudding, too.”

“Fine, Foster,” Severus sighed, aggravated. “A pudding, too, after you’re done.”

“Then we have a deal, Professor,” Tom agreed, inclining his head respectfully. “Now remove the stone.”

Severus complied, then moved in front of the door again, waiting expectantly. The boy sighed.

“Isn’t there a healing potion you can give us?” he asked resignedly.

“There are such potions, but I do not have any prepared, nor would you be able to ingest any,” Severus pointed out. “With the sever malnutrition, it would practically burn a hole through your stomach.”

Tom sighed. “Very well.” He raised his wand and applied glamour to his face, making the changes slight but noticeable. His hair he lightened from jet black to a dark brown, lengthening it to the bottom of his ears and making it straight. He added freckles, took away his glasses, and changed his eyes to brown. No one would ever think this was Harry Potter.

They walked in silence, Severus making sure to walk behind Tom so he could keep the boy from walking off, if necessary. Thankfully, Tom showed no signs of going back on their deal and soon they were in the hospital wing.

“Stay here,” he ordered firmly, striding off to fetch Madam Pomfrey. The medi-witch was in her office, filling out some reports, but stood up quickly when Severus entered.

“How can I help you?” she asked, smiling politely.

“I have a student here who is suffering malnourishment as well as various injuries,” he explained quickly. “Before you ask, he wishes to remain anonymous, but will answer to the pseudonym ‘Tom’.”

Poppy nodded and hurried out, followed closely by the potions master. In the main ward, Tom had moved exactly one large step to the right and seemed to be snickering at his little joke. Severus rolled his eyes. Juveniles.

“Goodness me!” Poppy gasped, bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. She raised her wand and cast a series of spells, causing a scroll to appear in front of her, which she reached out and grabbed before it could flutter to the ground.

“Forty kilos, severely underweight,” she muttered, “lesions covering back, upper thighs, buttocks, and chest; drastic bruising, including hematoma on the back and at least one organ, regular bruises on the back, thighs – front and back – and upper arms; burns on hands and arms, and a hairline fracture in his left humerus. Merlin, who would do this to a child?”

Ignoring her own rhetorical question, the nurse had Tom remove his baggy, tatty muggle clothes, allowing him to retain his pants, and went to work. The cuts came first, as those could be healed with a touch. Most of them didn’t leave marks, but the older ones that had started to get infected would leave scars – on top of those he already had, evidence of long-term abuse. In the end, his back was pretty much half scar tissue and half bruise. His chest looked like that of a war veteran at least twenty years older than Harry. The rest healed cleanly.

Bruises couldn’t be healed as quickly, unfortunately. Poppy had to use a few complicated spells to subdue the hematoma, but that obviously took too much power on top of the healing she’d already done. The burns would have to be taken care of with a salve, which the medi-witch applied deftly.

Tom stood there, looking bored, during the whole ordeal, but Severus could see quite clearly that the boy was being affected, and not positively. After over a decade looking after Slytherins, including several students from abusive homes, he could easily spot the suppressed flinches and the tensing. When it got time to apply the bruise salve, Tom was practically trembling.

“Just a moment, Poppy,” Severus suggested, holding the witch lightly by her arm. “Perhaps a break, to give the paste time to soak in and settle? Why don’t you have a cup of tea to get your strength back while we wait.”

Poppy, no fool herself, could easily see the truth and nodded, pouring cups for the teacher and student as well, to bring them when the break was done.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked quietly once the nurse was gone.

“I don’t like being touched,” Tom snapped, breathing harshly. “I don’t know if I can do this for the burns.”

“Is there one of you who does like touch?” Severus asked. Tom snapped a glare on him that suggested Severus had just put his foot in it, so he hastily qualified his statement. “Comforting, healing touch?”

“Foster does,” Tom said softly, “but he’s the worst actor of the lot of us.” He sighed. “Danny could…probably handle it. And he’s almost as Slytherin as me.”

Harry’s face went blank. Severus leaned forward in anticipation of meeting this new ‘person’. After several tense moments, an expression of boredom appeared. Not the dangerous-looking boredom of Tom, but plain teenage why-aren’t-I-doing-something-fun boredom. Severus actually recognized the look – he had seen it on Potter’s face whenever he was listening to Hooch’s pre-game pep talk or being forced to sit through his captain’s lecture to the chasers or beaters.

Danny played Quidditch for Potter.

This surprised Severus, as he had thought Flying was something Potter was naturally good at. They would certainly be talking about this.

“Snape,” Danny hissed, “is the break almost over? I’m this close,” he put up a hand with his index finger about half an inch from his thumb, “to summoning my Firebolt and flying out through one of the windows.”

“That would not be a good idea,” Severus pointed out dryly.

“That’s why I haven’t done it yet,” Danny said, sounding like he’d just barely left off, ‘obviously, moron.’

Luckily, just then Poppy reappeared, levitating two teacups and a jar of greenish salve in front of her. Danny slouched in an approximation of Tom’s stance (a rather poor approximation, in Severus’ opinion) and sipped the tea distractedly as Poppy gently rubbed the salve on his burns. The potions master’s respect for the boy grew, as he knew burns positively screamed with pain while being treated. The only indication was the harder-than-strictly-necessary way Danny put his cup down.

Poppy gave him a smile and sent them on their way. The moment they were out of sight, the boy’s control crumpled, as did his posture.

“Hurts, hurts, hurts,” he moaned softly, “bad Boy, bad! What did Boy do? Boy doesn’t understand, why is Boy being punished? Sorry, so sorry, won’t do it again, don’t hurt Boy, please don’t hurt Boy.”

Severus sighed, barely catching the sound from coming out sympathetic, and pulled a numbing potion out of his robes. He knew that without it, Potter (Harry, whoever the real person was) wouldn’t come back, and it seemed like Boy was the only one able to deal with pain, if only by retreating inside his own mind.

“Boy,” he said softly, trying to make his voice sound unthreatening. The broken form looked at him, face pinched as though about to cry, but eyes dry. “You need to drink this. It will stop the pain.”

“Won’t hurt?” Boy asked thickly.

“Won’t hurt,” Severus agreed. In a flash, the vial was gone from his hand and held upside down over Potter’s mouth. The boy drank it down with a grimace, then relaxed marginally when the potion went into effect.

“Potter,” Severus ordered. He wondered momentarily that, although Tom had hinted the there was a persona named ‘Potter’, calling out ‘Potter’ seemed to bring out Harry. More evidence that it was a hoax, he supposed.

The next instant, the glamour was back up and Potter looked at him confusedly.

“Professor Snape?” he asked, then checked his watch, eyes widening. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize it was after curfew, I was just going for a walk.

Severus sighed.

“Never mind, Potter. Just get back to your dormitory. And don’t forget your detention on Monday!”

“I won’t, sir,” Potter promised, half-running in the direction of Gryffindor tower. “Thank you sir!”

Severus ignored the likely-faked gratitude and returned to his quarters. He had new information to add to his notes.