Poppy Pomfrey had seen quite a bit in her tenure as Hogwarts resident medi-witch.  She had patched up any number of students from various Quidditch accidents, potions accidents, charms disasters and unsupervised duels.  She had even on rare occasions dealt with her colleague the Potions Master when he'd returned from his spying duties, fighting the Death Eaters in secret duels.  Yet the boy Severus brought to her now was broken and battered worse than anything she had ever encountered.

"Severus!" she gasped.  "Dear sweet God . . .! Is that Harry?"

"It is, Poppy," he answered, and in his tone was none of the sarcasm that was usually present when he spoke of the Potter boy.  Instead there was . . .dare she think it . . .compassion and a certain empathy for the boy's obvious suffering.  "They've been at him for a day or so . . .I have no idea if I'm accurate in my estimation, but he's lucky to be alive . . .and sane . . ."

"Do you know if he still is?" whispered the Healer, going to her cabinet and grabbing several potions. 

Snape hesitated.  "I . . .it's difficult to say, but he did recognise me a little . . .but he's been in so much pain and delirious since I took him from there . . .still, there's a reasonable chance he is still in his right mind."

Poppy nodded.  "I can't ask you to read him Severus, until I've healed the worst of the physical damage.  What did you dose him with?"

"Two vials of the Extra Strength Class Five Pain Potion," answered the Potions Master.  "I had to, else he would've never survived Apparition."

"You did right, my boy," Poppy replied, smiling warmly at him, a thing which would have shocked most people.  But then again, few people knew that once Severus had been her apprentice Healer, and had confided in her his deepest darkest secret when he was a boy, that he had been abused by his Muggle father for over half his life.  It was Poppy who had comforted a distraught Severus when his mother had died of a rare blood infection when he was sixteen, and since then she had served as a surrogate mother or aunt to the younger man.  She began administering the Blood Replenisher and some Skele-Gro to the unconscious boy.  "Sev, run a diagnostic if you would."

Severus immediately drew his wand and performed the elementary charm, it was one he'd mastered as a child with ease.  Few people realized that he was quite a talented healer, he'd been healing himself for years from his father's beatings before he'd ever attended Hogwarts.  He'd even considered becoming a Healer once, but then he'd discovered Potions was his true calling, though he still kept up with the latest Healing techniques.  In his line of work, he needed to.

"His nervous system is still in shock, overloaded with pain.   That's to be expected.  He's been hit with the Cruciatus more than once," he reported in a quiet professional voice, though he felt his insides clench in sympathetic agony.  He'd been on the receiving end of that curse when Voldemort was alive, so he knew exactly how it felt.  "He's suffering from malnutrition, a broken rib, cracked tibia, lacerations about the back, bottom and thighs, I think he was whipped with a cord." He suppressed a flinch, no one knew how much that hurt better than he did. "He also has a fever and some mild congestion in his lungs." He waved the wand across Harry's legs and discovered a sprained right ankle and a pulled Achilles tendon.  The boy had also bitten his lip raw, probably in an attempt to keep from screaming. 

Severus scowled, recalling that he used to do the same during one of his father's punishment sessions, for Tobias despised boys who cried and had made sure his son never gave into that particular weakness around him.  Severus had become a master at suppressing tears by the time he was seven, and even now he rarely succumbed to them. 

Yet he found himself blinking rapidly when he looked down at the broken wreck of his best friend Lily's child, the scrawny thirteen-year-old would have inspired pity in a dementor, and Severus was far from the cold-hearted individual he pretended. 

Poppy was in full healer mode now, casting spells rapidly and Severus assisted her wordlessly, they had worked together for so long now words were unnecessary.  The Cruciatus Curses Harry had been hit with had done the most damage, and they would not be able to tell how much for some time. But the potions Snape had given him in the beginning had worked very well and Poppy administered another dose once she had mended Potter's rib with a Bone Knit charm, and afterwards Harry had breathed easier.

Severus summoned several salves from the medi-witch's cabinets without being instructed and removed the child's clothing, applying them gently and thoroughly wherever they were needed.  He knew they would need to be reapplied some time tomorrow, for the bruising and lacerations were extensive and would not be cured with just one dose.  Magic made the salves work at an accelerated rate, but even that did not guarantee instantaneous healing. 

But at last he had finished and carefully charmed some pajamas on the slight figure in the bed and waved his wand over the patient again, checking his magical reserves and his mental state.

Potter's mind was dark and fearful, even in sleep, Severus was not surprised, there was an awful lot of emotional trauma there.  He made a mental note to inform the Headmaster that the boy should have counseling at the very least, lest they be left with a suicidal child on their hands. 

As for his magical reserves . . .Severus frowned and repeated the spell. 

And got back nothing, as before.

"What the bloody hell . . .?" he growled, performing the charm again.

"What's the matter, Sev?"

"He's not registering, Poppy.  His magical signature is . . .nonexistent."

"What? But that's . . .impossible!" the nurse went pale.  Then she cast the same spell, trying to read Harry's magical signature, which was never absent from a wizard, even one as badly injured as Harry was.

"Oh dear sweet Merlin!" cried Poppy.  "He's a blank, Severus! I can't sense his magic at all. It's as if . . .he's a Muggle!"

Severus swallowed softly.  "No . . .there's still traces, but . . .it's very faint. . . I think the trauma broke his magical core down, Poppy.  It was too much, whatever they did to him . . .they've shattered his magic."

Tears were streaming down Poppy's face as she stared at Harry's sleeping form.  "Severus . . .what can we do? There's no spell I know of to mend this."

"We call Albus," answered the Potions Master heavily.  If anyone would know something to help the boy, the old wizard would.  "Perhaps he and Fawkes can manage to pull off a miracle."

Poppy moved immediately to the fireplace and firecalled the Headmaster, who had retired to his personal quarters, as it was the middle of the night. 

However, Dumbledore came instantly once the nurse told him what had happened, his purple and silver robes wrinkled, his beard flying every which way, as he stepped out of the fireplace to view the damaged Boy Who Lived, who was now nothing more than an ordinary magicless human.