Setting a scowl on his face, Harry looked up at Snape, who sat gazing at him with cool assessment.

“Mr. Potter, if you would please accompany me,” the man said finally, standing and gesturing a hand toward his office door.

Sighing, Harry hoisted himself from the chair and followed the man out of the office, through the dungeons once again. Focusing his attention on his feet rather than direction or the pain coursing through his body, Harry took note of step after step, how his ankles flexed on the stairs, and the slight burn in his calves as they finally reached level ground again.

“We’re here, Potter.”

Harry looked up at the open door, seeing through into the neat interior of the hospital wing.

“What is this?” he asked the man, flicking accusing eyes on his new Head of House without making a move into the wing.

“Do not fight me on this,” Snape responded, his voice sounding weary to Harry’s ears. “Go into the hospital wing, Potter.”

Anxious eyes darted between the doorway and his teacher before Harry finally took a step into the hospital wing. He didn’t know what Snape wanted, but Harry was fully prepared to lie should either Snape or Pomfrey ask how he’s feeling. There was no way he would let either of them take away the pain that he so deserved.

“Who is it this term, Severus?” Pomfrey asked, bustling into the wing before looking up with wide eyes to see Harry and Snape. “Oh, Mr. Potter. Congratulations on your resorting.”

Harry nodded numbly, furrowing his brow at the question glance in the nurse’s eyes.

“I take it you want a full work-up, Severus?” Pomfrey asked Snape, who gave a curt nod in response. “Very well. Please sit on the bed, Mr. Potter. This will only take a moment.”

Harry self-consciously took a seat on the white-cotton covered bed, hanging his head to look at his clenched fists once again. Pomfrey set a sheet of parchment on the nearby table before setting a quill on its point. It reminded Harry vaguely of Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Notes Quill, only in a red and white stripped pattern, rather than the sickening acid green.

Waving her wand and muttering a series of incantations that Harry had never heard before, the quill began writing as a faint blue light left the nurse’s wand and swirled itself around Harry. The boy tensed, watching the light warily before it quickly disappeared.

“Okay, just another moment,” Pomfrey replied, setting another quill and parchment, handing the first one to Snape.

Harry didn’t watch this time as a purple light enveloped him. He kept his eyes strictly on Snape, who read the parchment with a neutral expression. What had been written on that sheet? Did Snape really think him stupid and had Pomfrey run some sort of mental check-up? Harry’s breath quickened at the thought that they would find any of his injuries, but he forced himself to calm and dismiss the idea. Snape didn’t care about him; he’d just as soon add to Harry’s injuries before attempt to have someone heal them. With that calming thought, Harry closed his eyes, wishing desperately that the was all a dream, and he’d wake up in the morning to Ron’s snoring in the Gryffindor dormitory.

“Oh, dear,” he heard Madame Pomfrey say on a sigh. “I’ll be back in a moment Severus.”

Cold hands covered his own clenching ones and Harry flinched. His eyes shot open to see Snape’s black ones starring at him and Harry pulled back, trying to get away from the intense gaze that was boring into him.

“Relax them, Potter,” the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle without the sneering tone as he rubbed at Harry’s fingers, coaxing them to unclench. Slowly, Harry let his hands relax, if only to pull them away from Snape’s.

A moment later, Pomfrey returned, her arms laden with several potions and jars of salve.

“Please remove your shirt, Mr. Potter,” the woman said, setting the potions on the nearby table.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked coldly, his spine straightening as his muscles tensed, ready to flee from the room.

“Please remove you shirt so we may heal your injuries, Mr. Potter,” the nurse repeated, her brown eyes looking at him compassionately as she spoke.

Harry drew his wand at pointed it between Pomfrey and Snape. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“Expelliarmus,” Snape incanted calmly, sending Harry’s wand flying across the room.

Harry opened his mouth to rage at his teacher, but couldn’t find the words. “I… I- you bastard!”

“Mr. Potter!” Pomfrey said, admonished, but Snape simply waved her off. The man stepped forward, coming to stand mere inches in front of Harry. Gritting his teeth, Harry scowled at the man, restraining the urge to reach out and strangle him.

“What exactly do you think those reports told me, Mr. Potter?” he whispered.

“I don’t know!” Harry yelled. “For all I care, they showed you’re just a greasy git!”

Not rising to the bait, Snape leaned even closer. “They’re wizarding medical reports, Potter. The first one shows any injuries you are currently suffering from. The second one reports all the injuries you’ve suffered in the past year. What do you think they tell me, Mr. Potter?”

“Not a damn thing,” Harry snarled at the man, feeling his eyes burn in his anger.

“I am not going to ask you to tell me how you acquired these injuries,” Snape continued, still whispering. “However, you will have them healed. Do not force me to seek the Headmaster’s assistance, Potter.”

Harry seethed. How dare Snape try to blackmail him?! “I don’t want your help and I don’t need to be healed!”

Snape grabbed his leg just above the knee, causing Harry to cry out in pain as the man pushed on his burned skin. His mouth was suddenly filled with a thick potion, and Harry growled as Snape let go of his leg to clamp a hand over his mouth, forcing Harry to swallow the liquid. Harry’s pain quickly faded away, but his eyes were now filled with tears of rage as he swung his arm, intent on dealing Snape any damage he could manage.

However, Snape must have been ready for that as he deftly caught Harry’s wrist, pinning it to his side with a calm look on his face. Harry felt a hot tear run its way down his cheek as he clenched his fists in Snape’s grip.

“I. Hate. You,” Harry bit out, panting so hard in his anger that he thought he could easily cast the Cruciatus Curse on Snape.

The man simply let out a sigh. “I know, Potter. I know.”

----

Not for the first time, Severus was grateful that Hogwarts employed Madame Pomfrey as their resident Healer. Very few Healers would sit by and let Severus handle his students as he did, but Poppy allowed him to do as he saw fit, knowing that year after year, his methods achieved positive results.

The results of Potter’s physical work-up had been startling to say the least. Severe burns to his back and legs, torn cartilage in his jaw, and several hairline fractures on his ribs were the boy’s most pressing concerns, not to mention the puncture wounds on his palms from the boy’s fingernails or the various scratches and bruises littering his body.

Despite the current injuries that would have left in boy in nearly unendurable pain, over the past year he had suffered four fractured bones, a contusion to his liver, and what had to be lash marks from some implement on his back.

So, while grabbing the boy where Severus knew that his skin was burned was not the most polite way of going about things, it enabled him to give the boy a Pain-Killing Potion strong enough to numb the pain and allow Potter to think clearly.

“Let me go,” Potter ground out, his eyes now closed as tears dried on his cheeks.

“Are you going to allow us to heal you, or will I be forced to restrain you again?” Severus asked, trying to sound stern without being harsh.

Potter hung his head. “Why does it matter? I don’t want to be healed. Leave me alone.”

Severus glared at him. “It matters because, while you may prefer to use your pain as some sort of self-inflicted punishment, it is not productive and I will not allow it.”

The boy looked up with wide eyes. “How do you know…?”

Severus unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up his robes on his right arm, baring pale skin marred by many silver scars running in straight and diagonal lines up his forearm. “You are not the first youth to believe that physical pain can detract from the emotional, Potter, self-inflicted or otherwise.”

Severus had half-expected Potter to take his orders stoically, as he had taken everything else that evening. However, the anger and rebellion, while quite unexpected, were a good sign. That ability to feel, even if only in anger, meant that he had not been broken.

“Now, will you remove your shirt and trousers and allow us to heal you, or do I have to seek out the Headmaster to obtain permission to restrain you?” he asked, wishing desperately that this had been any other year, where he would be sitting in his office having a nightcap, not trying to heal a reluctant Potter and having his every belief of the boy challenged to utmost degree.

“No!” Potter shouted, looking alarmed. “Please don’t get Dumbledore, please, just… don’t!”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Pomfrey corrected from where she stood behind the boy.

“Please remove your shirt and trousers, Po- Harry,” he tried, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. As if the boy’s first name had some miraculous effect, Potter nodded and slowly began removing his robe--Slytherin, Severus noted with a wry smirk--before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his trousers. Madame Pomfrey conjured a screen around them to ensure privacy and Severus cast a Warming Charm in response to the boy’s shivering as he sat on the bed in his pants.

“I’ll work on his jaw and ribs, you begin on his back, Severus,” the nurse said, handing him a jar of Burn Salve.

Nodding, Severus moved behind the boy only to hesitate for a moment in complete shock. Potter’s lower back was covered in blisters that appeared almost in deformed ribbons, the surrounding skin a bright red. Severus knew those kind of marks from his other charges, not to mention his own experiences. They were scald marks. What shocked Severus the most, however, were the large, sporadic, crisscrossing scars that covered nearly the entire expanse of the boy’s back. He nearly asked the boy how he’d hid them for the past five years, but knew that they would only draw the boy back into himself, most likely fleeing the hospital wing in the process.

“Poppy, do you happen to have any Scar Balm on hand?” he asked the Healer quietly. Moving to accept the jar, Severus saw Potter’s shoulders shake slightly before silent tears began coursing their way down his cheeks. He kept silent, allowing the boy to believe he couldn’t be seen if he so chose, moving back behind him to gently dab on the two potions onto the boy’s back.

Poppy left the room to fetch Bruise Paste for the boy as Severus started in on his legs.

“So, uh, how come you know about healing, sir?” Potter asked awkwardly. A quick glance upward showed Severus that the boy had stopped crying and was now looking for conversation to keep his mind from focusing on what was happening.

“Healing and potions go nearly hand-in-hand, Potter,” he replied, still focusing on a particularly nasty burn where he had grabbed the boy earlier, a tiny flicker of guilt passing through him. “If it requires a potion, I am qualified to heal it.”

“Oh,” the boy replied simply. “W-what do you need to become a Healer?”

Severus looked up again, quirking an eyebrow at the boy.

“Better Potions grades,” he replied sarcastically, letting a smirk grace his features as the boy blushed. Was becoming a Healer one of the boy’s ambitions? Last he knew, Potter was itching to be an Auror. Then again, the past few hours had begun to dissuade many of the notions he had previously held. Besides, ambitions were a sign that the boy wasn’t suicidal. Severus certainly wasn’t going to question a good thing.

Madame Pomfrey returned just as Severus finished dabbing the Burn Salve on Potter’s legs. She handed the boy several vials of potions, glaring at him slightly when the boy raised his nose in trepidation of the concoctions.

“Now drink up, Mr. Potter,” she instructed, handing him the first vial. “The first two will heal your bones and liver, and the last two include a Nutritive Potion and one to balance your electrolytes. You should apply the Bruise Paste upon waking, is that clear?”

Potter nodded before quickly downing each vial, wrinkling his face and scoffing in disgust, causing Severus to smirk at the boy.

“Now, I’m inclined to keep you here for the night, however,” she began, holding up a hand to cut off Potter’s protests, “I also acknowledge your need for a good night’s sleep. Therefore, I will allow you to return to your dormitory with the promise that you will come back for a check-up tomorrow. It is a Saturday, so you should have no problem finding time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied, looking down once again. Severus wasn’t sure if it was the need for attention that upset the boy, or the fact that the nurse had covered his possible means of excuses.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said sincerely, nodding at the boy before turning to Severus. “I’ll leave you to return him to the dormitories.”

The Hogwarts nurse left for her office, leaving Severus and Potter in the wing, standing in an awkward silence. The boy shivered, and Severus noticed that he was still sitting on the table in his shorts.

“Put your robes back on and we’ll head back, Potter,” he said, turning to give the boy privacy before removing the conjured screens when the boy was fully clad once again.

The pair walked in silence down to the Slytherin common room, giving Severus time to sort out his thoughts on the boy who lived to be the bane of his existence.

Severus sighed. He certainly could not deny the evidence of child abuse staring him in the face, but not for lack of trying. Albus had certainly told him on many occasions that Potter had not had a ‘fairy-tale childhood’ as the old man put it, but he had never once mentioned the extent of abuse that the boy must have suffered. Abuse always started off simply, getting worse the longer it had time to occur. Anyone with Potter’s injuries had to have been suffering for quite some time.

He wondered if the old man knew what was happening to his ‘saviour.’ Although his first instinct was to say that he would have done something, had he known, he also knew that it wouldn’t be the first time that Albus sacrificed someone for the greater good. His own life was a recurring testament to that fact.

Also, what had happened to the arrogant, cheeky child who had a penchant for talking back in class? Had the signs of abuse and obvious depression always been there for Severus to see, only choosing to turn a blind eye? Or had the boy managed to hide his troubles for the past five years, perhaps the death of Sirius Black eliciting the now-noticeable change in the boy’s demeanour?

He wanted to tell himself that the boy was simply too good at hiding his abuse, that know one ever could have realised until now. Unfortunately, Severus may be excellent at lying and misdirecting others, but he could never lie to himself. Now looking back on the situation with an open mind, he knew that he should have noticed the signs. The way that Potter clung to any adult who gave him positive attention, while outright rebelling against any who belittled him, the fact that the boy never received any mail from home and stayed at the castle over holiday, if not joining in on the Weasley celebrations. Sighing, Severus knew that he should have seen, should have stepped in where no one else dared to interfere.

Even if he still held no affection for the whelp, he would not abandon the boy to be mistreated any longer. Many people thought Severus Snape to be a cold, embittered man, and he was, but he was still a human, nonetheless, with emotions and empathy. He had vowed to save any child from the childhood he had and always upheld that oath in his term as Slytherin Head of House. He was not about to break that vow just because the child in question was Harry Potter. Perhaps Potter needed saving more than most….

“I… I don’t remember the password, sir,” the boy muttered, breaking Severus from his thoughts to realise that they had reached the common room entrance. Shaking his head to clear it, Severus took a quick minute to focus. He didn’t usually get lost in his thoughts like that, to do so could be deadly for him.

“The password is ‘Mongoose’,” Severus replied, watching as the portrait’s lock overturned to grant them entry.

“Don't mongeese eat snakes?” Potter asked with a confused grimace on his face.

“Indeed,” Severus said, scowling. “Albus’ idea of a joke.”

“Ah,” the boy replied simply, awkwardly shuffling his feet before the portrait.

Severus let out a long breath. “Potter, I understand this is a difficult situation for you to adjust to, as it will be for myself, as well. However, you are now a part of my House, and I will try my best to keep that in mind until we settle into a more cordial agreement. I believe this will be a trying year for each of us. You will be rooming with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Perhaps not your choice roommates, but I believe it to be a good situation nonetheless.”

“Thank you, sir,” Potter whispered, obviously unhappy with the news as he stepped forward toward the doorway.

“Oh, and Potter,” Severus called, stopping the boy who turned around to glance at him. “As I told Miss Weasley, you can contact me anytime through the door next to the fireplace. Do not hesitate if you require my assistance.”

A simple nod was all he received in response from the downtrodden boy before he slipped into the common room. Sighing, an act that appeared to be becoming regular, Severus briskly returned to his office, intent on a nice nightcap before bed.

----

Sheer physical and mental exhaustion weighed on Harry as he stepped into his new common room. Despite the situation, all he wanted was to fall into a warm bed and pretend that the whole evening never happened. In bed, he could pretend that he hadn’t been resorted into Slytherin and he could act like Snape hadn’t pretended to care about him. As much as Snape went on about Slytherin loyalty and taking care of their own, Harry knew Snape didn’t care about him at all, and he would only use any information that Harry gave him against him.

Finding a silent and barren common room would have been a welcome sight, but unfortunately a familiar blond sat staring at Harry from across the common room.

“Oh, great,” Harry muttered dejectedly.

“Potter,” Malfoy called, standing to meet him in the middle of the common room.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his voice tired and quiet. “I’d really like to just go to bed, so if you don’t mind-”

“I know Professor Snape informed you of the rules of Slytherin decorum,” the boy interrupted. “I also know that I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t want to share a common room with you, let alone a dorm. Let me make one thing clear, Potter. I have no problems hexing you six ways ‘til Sunday here in the common room. But I won’t piss off Snape by attacking you in the hallways. So until you get this resorting business cleared up, I’m offering a truce, for the hallways and all other areas outside of the common room.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s rant with a rather detached demeanor. The blond boy tried to look so haughty behind his speech, but it was so easy for Harry to drone him out that it was almost laughable.

“Why don’t we just call it a truce all-around, Malfoy?” Harry sighed. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but we’re in the middle of a war and this petty rivalry just… doesn’t seem important anymore.” Harry ran a tired hand through his hair. “Why can’t we just… coexist?”

That was all Harry did anymore, anyway, coexist with people. It was like he lived right alongside the world, moving in the same direction just outside the boundaries of life, but never truly able to touch it.

“Fine, Potter,” Malfoy spat, holding out his hand disdainfully. “Truce?”

Harry extended his own hand and didn’t even flinch when Draco squeezed it tight enough to bruise. “Truce.”