Previously:

"Nelli!" he called, and when the House-elf arrived, hiding her face in her hands much like Harry still was, he growled at her, "See that he gets cleaned up, then have Madam Pomfrey come down and take a look at his ankle. I'm late for class." He was half way out the bathroom door before he added, "And clean up that couch as well!"

Once in his classroom, Severus was able to get a partial grip on his temper, even as he frantically started setting out potion ingredients. Hmm. Maybe he should start letting the students gather their own from the storage closet, he thought, as an added test of their skills. Not to mention, it would lessen the time he needed to prepare for each class. Time he should be spending with his son. His thoughts, as he set out jars of black beetles to be crushed, ginger root to be shredded, and monkey intestines to be chopped, returned to Harry, and the scene he had come upon in the sitting room.

What in the name of Slytherin had happened to make the boy behave so? It wasn't as if he didn't know where the toilet was, nor how to use it; he hadn't had an accident like that before, to Severus' knowledge. And his whimpering pleas had been utterly heartbreaking, as if he really feared Severus would hurt him. Severus closed his eyes briefly, recalling his harsh, angry words. Maybe . . . maybe Harry had reason to fear him.

But what had caused him to remain on the couch, when he was so obviously in distress . . .

Oh. Oh, no.

"I'll be in my lab. You are to remain on that seat until I return."

Oh, Harry.

Severus had ordered the boy to remain on the couch. And then, he had castigated Harry for doing exactly what he had been told. Ai, Merlin. How much more of a horrible monster could he have been?

More than anything else at that moment, Severus wanted to race back to his quarters and apologize profusely to the boy. How could he have been so dense? How could he have forgotten, even for an instant, how seriously Harry took any orders, how desperately the boy strove to obey in everything, every rule, even every hint of one? How could he have been so cruel?

He had no time, however, to make it up to Harry, as the students started to pour in from the corridor and take their seats. He bellowed at them for silence, then ran through roll call quickly, glaring at every one of the dunderheads that was keeping him from his son. After that, he started his little speech about how wondrous this class could be if only the students were not quite as stupid as he was sure they were. With that out of the way, he flung the day's potion instructions up on the board and snarled at them to get to it.

Over the course of the next double period, he assigned twelve detentions, took forty points from Gryffindor, and failed two students' potions outright, because they dared not follow his instructions to the letter. If Harry could follow his instructions, even to his own detriment, why was it these children, who were twice his son's age, could not? How dare they flaunt their arrogant defiance like that?

---

Father was gone. Nelli was there, though, her voice soft, even with words that shamed him. "Youse needs to get out of these wet clothes, Master Harry. Master Snape wants you to wash now. Youse be wanting a shower, Master Harry?"

Harry nodded bleakly, hands over his face. How could she stand to look at him? He was such a freak! Peeing his pants, and now crying! No wonder his father had yelled and left him here. He was ashamed of Harry, he had to be. Probably didn't want such a freak for a son. No one could.

Gulping a few unsteady breaths, Harry did what he was told and peeled off the wet clothes. The smell made him want to throw up, reminding him of days spent in his cupboard with no relief but what could be had in a bucket, when the heat of the summer made the cloying smell unbearable. Balancing on his good foot - the other ankle didn't hurt at all, in fact he could barely feel it - he stepped into the shower.

Nelli helped him with the spigots, until the water was comfortably warm. But freaks like him didn't deserve warm water; it shouldn't be wasted on him. He should have only cold water, and hard scratchy lye soap instead of this nice foamy stuff, and no flannel, just fingernails, nails that scraped across his skin, scratching at where he had soiled, clawing hard enough to tear into his flesh and draw blood.

"No, Master Harry," Nelli said. Her tiny hands grabbed at his, pulling them away from his body. "Youse is not to be hurting yourself. Youse wanting Nelli to get Mistress Pomfrey now?"

Harry shook his head, his throat too thick to answer. What did it matter? His father hated him, and didn't even want him anymore, he could tell. He never should have talked to snakes, never should have lied about hurting his ankle, and should have held in his pee like a big boy, and never started crying like a stupid baby.

He was bad and never deserved to have a father at all. Uncle Vernon was right. No one could ever love a freak like him.

"Come now, Master Harry." Nelli had turned off the water, and was pulling him from the shower. She patted him down with a towel, and he stood, shaking, though not with cold, arms wrapped around his middle. No more tears, he swore. No more being a baby, even if he couldn't help being a freak who talked to snakes and wet his pants. He had to take care of himself, just like always. He had to, ‘cause no one else would. He took the towel from Nelli's hands so he could finish drying. A little bit of blood from where he'd gouged his stomach stained it, and he just stared at the stain, wishing he knew how to get rid of the proof that he was a freak.

"Youse can sit down there," Nelli said, taking the towel and pointing at the little stool Harry stood on so he could see the mirror when he brushed his teeth and hair before bed. He noticed the wet clothes were gone, thank goodness, though he deserved to have to clean them himself, he knew. The House-elves shouldn't have to do it.

"Master Snape is not wanting youse to walk on youse ankle, okay? I brought youse clean clothes, see, Master Harry? Does youse want Nelli to help youse with your clothes?"

He shook his head again and, seating himself on the stool, started pulling on clean socks and pants. The hurt ankle felt very odd, and wouldn't bend, but he managed to get the sock on it anyway. Nelli handed him trousers next, which he wriggled in to, without putting any stress on his ankle, and then a shirt, the easiest thing to put on, though he made sure the bleeding had stopped on his scratches before he did, so the shirt wouldn't stain, too. The shirt was pale blue, with a collar and only a couple buttons, and was clean and soft, softer than a freak like him deserved.

"Youse wait here, Master Harry, and Nelli is going to get Mistress Pomfrey."

"Okay," Harry said and folded his hands in his lap to wait. "Thank you, Nelli."

It was only a few minutes later that Madam Pomfrey's voice came from doorway of the bedroom, "Harry? May I come in?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, but his voice was hoarse, and he coughed to clear it. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said a little louder. "Please come in."

The Medi-witch appeared in the bathroom door, her face creased with worry, probably because of his ankle. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, shall we?" she said, and drew her wand. An instant later, Harry was floating in the air, almost like flying, except without a broom. But he couldn't even get excited about that, not now.

Madam Pomfrey floated him over to his bed, and settled him against pillows propped up behind him. "Your House-elf told me your ankle was injured. I'm going to remove this sock and see what I can do for it, and while I do, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I fell, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. He kept his hands in his lap and didn't look her in the eye, because he wasn't allowed to. He knew that. Freaks weren't like people, after all. But just then, Treacle Tart leaped up on the bed, sauntered over to him and walked up his legs as if she still liked him. She settled herself in his lap, on top of his hands, and purred and purred, till his eyes filled with tears again and he had to blink real fast to hold them in. He wanted to hug her close, bury his face in her fur and never look up again, but Madam Pomfrey was still talking to him.

"When did you fall?"

"Before lunch, ma'am."

"Where?" she asked as she removed his sock and ran her wand over the ankle.

"Outside, ma'am. On the rocks." He didn't mention the snake this time, since Father said that was to be a secret. Treacle butted her head against his arm, and he pulled a hand out from under her so he could pet her soft fur and scratch gently at her ears like she liked.

With a frown, Madam Pomfrey said, "This ankle has been damaged before."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

Her frown deepened. "Is your father in class?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"When did he put your ankle in the Body Bind?" He looked up quickly, confused, and she said, "When did he make it all stiff?"

"Oh. Before lunch, ma'am."

"Did he check it again before he went to class?"

"No, ma'am."

She waved her wand over his ankle a couple more times, and said some weird words almost under her breath. Pain flared all of a sudden, in his ankle, and he sucked in a tight breath. That made his lower back twinge, but he made sure not to wince or flinch away. That only provoked more trouble, he knew. But almost as soon as it started, the pain eased in his ankle, all the way down to a dull throb, followed by a pins and needles sensation, like his foot was waking up. The prickly feeling wasn't too awful, and he relaxed a bit against the pillows. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, though, and he swiped that away, feeling a little nauseous.

"What did you eat for lunch?" she asked. When, trying to catch his breath, he didn't answer right away, she said, "Harry?"

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, dear." She put a hand on his shoulder, and left it there, even when he flinched really bad. People weren't supposed to touch freaks like him. She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Can you tell me what you ate for lunch?"

He thought a moment, though it was hard with her hand there, even if it did feel comforting. He wasn't supposed to be comforted. "Um, some apple?"

"Is that all?"

"And milk," he admitted, sure he'd done something wrong. Maybe he wasn't supposed to have eaten anything. But Father had said to, hadn't he? "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Her hand left his shoulder, and though he knew it was bad to want such things, he wished she would go back to touching him. But Tree was still there, and her purring felt like it went right through to his bones, working against the ache in his chest.

Besides, Madam Pomfrey's wand was moving again. Then the pain in his back faded all of a sudden, as if it had never been there, and the same with the cuts on his belly stopped stinging. He let out a relieved sigh, glad it no longer hurt to breathe. "Why were you out on the rocks, Harry?"

As he remembered this morning, and Charlie, Harry's breath hitched again. Now he understood why Charlie hadn't wanted to talk to him, or go exploring, and why Payton had been mean and laughed at Treacle's name. Even they knew he was a freak. "I was ‘sploring, ma'am," he said quietly. "Not s'posed to be in the way."

Her head cocked to the side a bit. "Who told you that?"

"Uh-uncle Vernon, ma'am." He bit his lip, then dutifully repeated, "Good for nothing freaks must stay out of sight so normal people don't ever have to look at them."

Madam Pomfrey was quiet for a moment, and Harry peeked up at her from beneath his fringe, to see her eyes wide and her mouth in the shape of an O. Then she started muttering again, but this time about his father, saying things like, "How he could leave a child alone and in pain for hours without bringing him to me?" and, "Doesn't he have any idea of how to treat a child in his care?" and so on.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, only to open them again when Madam Pomfrey said, "Here, Harry dear, drink this for me. It will help heal your ankle, all right? And the bruising." Though he was a bit scared, he had to be brave and do what he was told, so he drank the potion she held to his lips, expecting poison and burning pain and vomiting, any second. The taste was yucky, but nothing worse happened when he drank the medicine down, and he leaned back again. "Good boy. Thank you, Harry," she said, and he knew she was lying, because he wasn't good.

She was quiet then, for a while, and Harry didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, opening his eyes slowly and rubbing the crust off his lids. His eyes ached, still, and he remembered again - he'd been crying.

He heard the sound of raised voices from the other room. Madam Pomfrey and . . . Father?

Almost desperately, he wanted to know what they were saying. Were they discussing how to best get rid of him? Was father telling her what a baby he was, what a freak? He would be prepared, if he got up to listen; he would know what was in store for him. But he was too tired to move, really, and his ankle still throbbed dully, reminding him that father had not wanted him to move about. He wouldn't disobey; he couldn't.

Instead, he closed his eyes again, one hand stroking idly through Treacle's fur, and wished he was normal. Just once. For Father.

---

At the end of his class, Severus flew - almost bat-like - to his quarters. He expected to find Harry still in distress, but hopefully with his ankle fixed by Madam Pomfrey. He did not expect to have the Medi-witch, almost frothing at the mouth, greet him at the door with, "Severus Snape, there you are! It's about time. You should be ashamed of yourself! I have half a mind to call Child Wizarding Services and have them do an investigation!"

All he could glean of her speech was that something else had happened to Harry. "How is he? Is he all right?"

"He will be. No thanks to you! How on earth could you have become a Potions Master without learning a thing about first aid, I will never-"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"His ankle, Severus! You wrapped it tight and it swelled again, cutting off the circulation to the whole foot. If I hadn't gotten here when I did, he could have lost it. Permanently. Do you understand me?"

"I . . ." Feeling the blood drain from his face, Severus stepped back from her ire. He had bound the foot, meaning to take Harry to the Infirmary. He hadn't check it again. "I understand," he whispered.

"Good. Because I believe your priorities need some adjusting."

"My priorities?" he echoed.

"Yes. That boy," she gestured to the bedroom down the hall, "is obviously in need of far more supervision than he is currently experiencing. Whose care are you leaving him in while you are playing about with potions?"

"The House-elves," he said, unable to keep a note of defensiveness from creeping into his voice. Playing about indeed! He had a job to do! "Albus assigned them himself!"

She glared at him hard enough to almost make him shuffle his feet like a chastised child. "I imagine they might be adequate to the task of looking over an eleven-year-old or older, though perhaps not even them. But for someone Harry's age? He's barely seven, and he should not be made to rely on himself so much. They aren't keeping him safe on the grounds, nor making sure he's eating properly. Barely a few bites of apple, and a sip of milk for lunch. He's malnourished as it is, and you know it!"

"I told the House-elves to make sure he was eating enough."

"Well, apparently they are ignoring your orders!"

"Impossible . . ." Though, now that he thought about it, they did seem to disregard his directives on a fairly regular basis, allowing Harry too much control over his diet, his whereabouts, and even what pets he picked up. Perhaps the elves weren't clear on who was in charge? Or maybe they were too used to catering to the whims of students?

"All that aside, Harry is in much greater need of your company. He feels like he's underfoot and in the way."

Severus shook his head. "He isn't."

"I didn't say he was. I said he feels that way. Do you know what he told me an hour ago?" Her voice was rushed, yet rough with some unnamed emotion as she went on without waiting for him to answer, not that he would have anyway; he did not play guessing games. "He said that good for nothing freaks were to stay out of sight so normal people didn't have to look at them. Does that sound like he thinks he's wanted?"

Severus squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. His words from just before lunch came back to ring in his ears. And his attitude . . . with all that Harry had been through, was it any wonder he had reverted to thinking himself a freak, or worse, when his own father had seemingly rejected him?

"I suggest," Poppy said, more calmly than Severus felt, "that you go in there and make it up to him. And I suggest that you find someone competent to look after him whilst you're teaching. Or else, find yourself a job where you can be with him more yourself." She paused, and he opened his eyes, to see her regarding him with a mix of righteous anger and concern. "He needs you desperately, Severus. Do not fail him again."

She was right. He had been such a fool. How could he turn a boy like Harry, who had so much trouble with trust and lacked almost any instinct toward self-preservation, over to mere House-elves? How could they have any understanding of his issues, of his psyche? Of the particular needs an abused, malnourished, and essentially lonely boy would have in a huge castle like this one, dominated by older, busier people who all had their own duties, as well. He was pretty sure that each of the House-elves ad other jobs besides watching Harry, too, so he was not even their first priority.

If Severus wasn't going to be able to watch Harry all the time on his own, he was going to need to hire someone who could and would.

"I also think," Poppy continued, when he did not respond to her earlier remarks, "that you might consider contacting Molly Weasley again, and see if she has any insights for you."

Molly Weasley. Yes, actually, that might be for the best. The thought, the idea, nearly made him laugh, that he would seriously consider asking the matriarch of the Weasley clan for advice. But Poppy was right. And Molly did already know Harry, and know about him. "I will, Poppy," he promised.

"See that you do. Now go see your son, Severus," she said again. "He really does need you."

Severus nodded and she stepped out of his way. He had some planning to do, and a Weasley to contact, but first he had his apologies to make.