Snape was blessed with many diverse talents, but none had ever served him half so well as his ability to hyper focus on whatever he was doing at the time. Deep concentration allowed him to finesse his potions, to carefully draw forth the potential hidden in each bit of lace wing or bat toenail. In his heyday, potions wise, he could spend days like that, eating whatever was set in front of him without tasting it and sleeping without remembering he had done so.

He found himself slipping into that state now. He was pleasantly relaxed, carefully paring manticore spleens and mashing them into a fine paste for later use. He even hummed a little while he worked, something perhaps a dozen living people had ever heard ( and those he had frightened into silence long since, at least so far as his expressions of human emotion went).

The last spleen was carefully mashed, and Snape stood and stretched. He was starved. Had the boy eaten? His mind dismissed the thought for a second and then circled back for a closer look. The boy----took a walk --no slammed doors-- no sighs-- house silent-- must not be home.

Snape reassured himself that nothing could be wrong. His wards had not gone off. He hadn't heard the boy scream. Assuming the boy had obey him, then….Snape wondered if he was getting as dotty as Albus pretended to be, grabbed his cloak and set off. Not running, not exactly, not yet.

Upstairs was dark. Snape felt a metallic needle of fear pierce his throat. "Lumos".

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the boy's trainers, caked with sand, sitting beside the chair. Sand. White sand. There was no sand on his property. Worse, as he looked closer, he saw a few speckles of something darker and more vicous. He had no proof it was blood, but since when he Snape needed proof-- of anything-- to give Potter hell? Flooded with relief, he marched off, rather looking forward to the battle he anticipated.

Harry hurt all over. He felt like Dudley had mauled him with his Smeltings Stick, only tipped in iron. His body was a mottled patchwork of bruises, a few really nasty scrapes and a cut on his shin which had bled a worrying amount of time before clotting. He was dozing when Snape threw open his door, conscious as ever about making a dramatic point. The last haunting strains of dread dissipated when he saw the miserable little brat curled on his side, hand over his face to block the light from the hall.

"POTTER! Get up this second, you deplorable little nit wit!"

"Huh! S-Snape? Wh'times'zit?"

Snape flicked on the light with a wave of his hand and jerked Harry's covers off before the boy had even gotten his glasses. He winced as soon as he saw the damage-- Potter looked like he had been attacked by a herd of starving hippogriffs. He pushed his concern for the boy down and focused on his anger instead.

"Well, Potter, how kind of you to grace me with your presence, and in such fine condition, as well. Tell me, wherever did you get those huge bruises you neglected to mention when you slunk in and crawled up here?"

Harry sat up in bed, forgetting he wore no PJ top. " I didn't slink! I just didn't want to interrupt you, is all. Besides, I--"

"Potter! Have you no sense of self preservation at all? Not only did you flagrantly disobey and then hurt yourself, you have the audacity to talk back about it? I can do nearly anything I want to you, and you court disaster ?"

Snape made himself calm down and look at the boy objectively. First heal him, then kill him slowly. Savor it. The child's arms were purple, his hands doubtless a fright. "Turn around." The boy's back was a battlefield of small cuts and large black and blues.

"Did a proper job of it, didn't you?" He felt something rising in his stomach. Snape probed it for a moment and then pulled his attention away from it. It didn't feel right to him.

"How are your legs, then, Potter?"

"Bad."

"Sorry?"

"Bad, sir. Especially the backs."

Snape gestured for the boy to stay where he was. He went to his private stores and pulled out a phial of Bruise Heal, a salve for Potter's scrapes and a small draught that would help the boy sleep without pain.

Harry had expected many things from Snape, but not what actually happened. Snape returned with his hands full of phials ( Harry moaned internally) and salve. He forced the Bruise Heal down Potter's gullet and proceeded to anoint his scrapes and cuts with the salve. They stopped stinging at once, though his muscles still burned.

"Thank you. Sir. It's much better."

"You're welcome, boy. Now, why don't you tell me WHAT THE BLOODY HELL YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE PLAYING AT? ARE YOU TRYING TO GET KILLED? HAS THAT IDIOT WEASLEY RUBBED OFF ON YOU?"

The blood drained from Potter's face and Snape was forcefully reminded of the night that had started all this. This time the boy would not be so easily cowed.

" I wasn't playing at anything. I saw a snake and followed her and--"

" A snake? You nearly killed yourself for a snake?"

"No, sir. I wanted to see the ocean, and the snake went to a nest in the cliffs and I went too, but I slipped and almost fell."

" Strangely, Mr. Potter, I can't recall there being any cliffs on my property. In fact, the nearest ones are over a mile away, far beyond comfortable shouting range. Didn't I tell you to stay within shouting distance?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you get hurt?"

Harry felt his insides twist. Nothing he said could salvage this situation, so he simply told the truth. " I lost my footing and slid down part way, but there's a tiny path a few meters down. I slid directly onto it."

Harry didn't mention how close to death he really had been, how dry his mouth was even thinking about it, the way he had nearly slid over the edge, the leaden thumping of his heart, the buzzing gnat thought in his mind “This can’t be it, can’t be it, can’t be it”.

                Not for nothing was Snape a feared man. He leaned forward and got directly in the child’s line of sight. “ I’d like to tell you I’m surprised, Mr. Potter, that you don’t remember the little talk we had at Hogwarts about foolishly risking your life.  About the sacrifices that have been made for you. About the many people who don’t wish to see you dead. ‘

                “I won’t, however. It would be a waste of my time even to try, because you have given ample proof that you are too stubborn and selfish to listen to the adults in your life—don’t sit there and try to gainsay me about this boy, I’m in mood for your cheek—simply rest assure we will have further dealings in the morning and you shall not like them.’

                Snape pulled his wand and murmured an incantation. The floorboards around the bed glowed briefly blue, and Snape said “Try to walk away.”

                Harry couldn’t. “Age line. Your punishment tomorrow will depend in part on your good behavior tonight, so don’t try and cross the line or I’ll know. I’ll bring you something to eat later, and then you’ll go to bed.”

                And that’s what happened. Or should have happened, and did happen until 3:16 AM the next morning, for that was when Snape was woken from a pleasant dream he couldn’t quite remember by the Potter brat. More accurately, by the Potter brat’s screams.