The rest of the morning passed quietly for Harry, although that might have been because he spent most of his time sleeping. For all that his breakfast hadn’t been poisoned, he would have sworn Snape laced it with a sleeping draught when he wasn’t looking, because he was conked out soon after, and didn’t wake again until Snape shook him lightly to rouse him for lunch. He hopped up at that point, sliding as far away from the unfamiliar touch as possible before realizing where he was. He glared at Snape challengingly, but the man didn’t take the bait.

“You need to take some potions with your lunch,” the man said.

Harry noticed that another tray had been brought up for him, filled to the brim, and on the side about a half dozen vials of disgusting looking brews were lined up in neat little rows. He choked back his groan of dismay. “I just ate.”

“Breakfast was several hours ago, Potter.”

Harry sighed. He knew that- Snape wouldn’t have fed him twice in a row- but he felt like he’d just eaten. His stomach didn’t feel like it could handle any more, and the thought of downing those unknown potions made him feel slightly ill. He gave his professor a pleading look, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work- Uncle Vernon would have clouted him for denying good food.

Snape sighed and took a seat in the hard, wooden chair across from Harry’s bed, scooting forward a bit so that he was at eye level with the boy. To his embarrassment, he had seen himself taking notes on how the Dursley boy interacted with his cousin at breakfast that morning, and had actually picked up on a few tricks that he thought to try out now. Anything to put Harry more at ease was a good thing, he had decided.

“Here, this one is a nutrient potion,” he told the boy, holding out a vial that was a murky grey-brown color. “I assure you, it tastes better than it looks.”

Harry looked doubtful, but he did take the vial, and, tipping his head back, down the potion. It had the taste of black licorice, of which Harry was no fan, but it was certainly better than some of the things he’d been forced to drink over the years.

“Very well done, Potter. Now, grab a couple of grapes to rid the taste, that’s it…”

By alternating between potions and lunch, Harry managed to get through nutrition potion, blood replenisher, painkiller, infection prevention, hydration potion, and, to Harry’s surprise, a potion to keep him awake. When he raised an eyebrow at that, Snape said that he didn’t want Harry sleeping the day awake less it keep him up at night.

It was only after the potions were gone that Harry realized Snape’s method had accomplished something else. Without really realizing it, Harry had eaten through a branch of grapes and a cup of potato soup. He glared at Snape when he realized he’d been tricked, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve a choice of how to spend the afternoon, Potter,” he said, frowning slightly. “You can work on a bit of school work, or you can play a game of chess.”

“With Dudley?” Harry asked, looking around. He’d only just noticed that his cousin wasn’t in the room.

“I set your cousin to his own studies,” Snape replied. “I have him reading Hogwarts: A History so he’ll understand a bit better when we get to school.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “But then, chess…”

“I certainly know how to play,” Snape replied, raising an eyebrow.

Harry almost choked. Snape was offering to play chess with him? He half wanted to claim that he’d prefer to study, but two things stopped him. One, it wasn’t really true; he was bad at chess, but he enjoyed the game. Two, it didn’t sound very gracious of him. It wasn’t beyond him that Snape was offering it as a bit of an olive branch.

“Chess sounds pleasant, sir.”

Snape sneered a little at the pronouncement, but he pulled out a board and set it between the two of them. The match was by no means even; Harry might have suspected that Snape would be able to whip his ass in chess. After all, it was a game based on logic, and considering Snape’s contribution to the guarding of the Sorcerer’s Stone, it was clear that the man valued it. In fact, it was probably why he had offered this option alongside Harry’s schoolwork. Chess was fun, but it was by no means an idle game.

“Next time,” Snape said, after he had taken Harry’s king, “you need to think ahead. If you need to, do it in small steps- think one step ahead, and then two, and then three, and so forth. Each layer will show you improvement in your game.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape nodded. “Homework now, I should think. If you work until supper, I might have something a bit more interesting for you afterwards.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit at the pronouncement. Snape was offering him incentive for doing schoolwork? It was as though he had entered a twilight zone. He accepted the textbook, parchment, and quill Snape handed him without another word, and allowed himself a small smirk when he saw that it was his potions text. Go figure.

“Something amuse you, Potter?”

Harry sobered instantly. “No, sir.”

He dug into his schoolwork in a frenzy, scanning his eyes across the essay topic before flipping open the textbook. He had no doubt in his mind that Snape would be as meticulous as ever at ripping his essay to shreds, and part of him resented the idea of putting an effort into something that would be ridiculed regardless, but the past couple of weeks had, at least, had the desired effect; Harry was no longer stupid enough to voice objections to the expectations of his elders. It was too stupid.

Four hours. It was four hours between lunch and dinner, four long, grueling hours bent over a textbook or his parchment, alternately. He had rewritten the essay twice now, adding in more facts and better transitions each time, and fluffing up his concluding paragraph, determined that Snape would at least be forced to give him a passing grade on this assignment. It would be a nice way to start off the year, anyway.

By the time Snape left to get Harry’s dinner tray, Harry was so tired of studying he was actually excited, despite the fact that he was, once again, decidedly not hungry. Harry was surprised when Snape returned, not alone or even with Dudley, but with a Healer (recognized only from the sterile while robe the man wore). As far as Harry was aware, there hadn’t been any Healers in his room up until now, although it was quite possible- and even plausible- that they had come in and run diagnostics while he slept. Despite being in an infirmary, he had sort of forgotten that Healers were to be expected.

“Good evening, Harry,” the man said, hazel eyes flicking up from the file he was reading to rest on Harry, who was once again backed into the far corner of the wall. “I trust your time here thus far has been restful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I know bed rest can be quite irritating for an active youth, but your professor informs me that you’re taking it rather well, all things considered. It really is the best thing for you, as weakened as your body is right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Healer nodded, satisfied, before running a few diagnostic charms on Harry. To Harry, it seemed to take forever, and when the Healer finally sheathed his want, Harry found himself releasing the breath that had gotten stuck somewhere between his lungs and his mouth.

“Much better than you were when you came in here,” the Healer affirmed. “You’re still far too underweight for my likings, and that broken rib will be a beast when your painkillers wear off, but other than that, you’re recovering nicely.”

Snape cleared his throat. “How much longer will it be before Mr. Potter can be released.”

The healer shrugged. “If he went home now, he would probably be fine; however, I’d rather keep him here another week to make sure he gets an adequate amount of sleep and gains a bit more weight.”

Snape nodded even as Harry bit back a groan. A week? Just being here a day was torture, and though he doubted Snape’s house would be much better, at least there was apt to be a color there other than white. Probably black, actually. Or green. Harry groaned again.

“Problem, Potter?”

“No offense, sir,” he said, scowling a little, “but I think I’d rather be back at Privet Drive than stuck in this bloody bed for a week.”

Snape had stood up almost before Harry finished his sentence, eye’s flashing dangerously at the proclamation, narrow face twisted into an ugly grimace. “Have you any idea how much work we put in just to keep you alive after that bastard had his hands on you? Or do you really have no care whatsoever for your own general wellbeing?”

He’s mad Harry thought, shuddering a little as he backed as far away from his angered teacher as possible. He felt himself begin to shake a little in fear, and willed himself to stop. Uncle Vernon was always worst when Harry acted like a little pansy girl. Harry wasn’t supposed to be scared, because, after all, he deserved whatever anger adults decided to throw in his direction.

Snape scowled as he saw Harry fighting to get himself under control. What in Merlin’s name had possessed him to try and parent an emotionally damaged teenager? After all, he was in the practice of sending even the toughest students from his office in tears without even thinking about it. It didn’t help assuage his guilt to see the Healer glaring at him ferociously. He glared back, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

“Po-Harry,” he said, dropping his voice to a lighter, less intimidating one as he crouched once more in front of the child. “I do not appreciate your apparent lack of concern for your own behalf; however, my anger was misplaced. I am truly furious with your uncle because of what he did to you. I haven’t any right to take that anger out on you. I apologize.”

Harry stared at him a long moment. “Sorry, Professor. I didn’t really mean it… It just came out.”

Snape forced himself to nod before patting Potter once on the knee. “I forget sometimes that you children are given to exaggeration. Do try not to be insufferable, though. I think the Healer has quite enough to be getting on with, without someone as old as you throwing a tantrum.”

Harry blushed. “Yes, sir.”