Usually, Galen would see a child’s body as mostly white and pale pink, with a number of patches of deeper pink on the extremities: the more clumsy children, for instance, would have fuchsia splashed across their knees and lower hands.

As Galen saw things, almost every inch of Harry’s skin was the deep red of old blood, his lungs and ear canals were fuchsia- indicating numerous, probably untreated, infections- and a number of his bones showed worrying pink lines of old breaks incorrectly set. In short, Harry looked like he had been crushed by a falling building and left in the dust to die or mend. Another cause for concern was that Galen’s findings indicated malnutrition and, more worrying still, in the snake’s own words, the boy was starved in the soul.

Just to make sure, Poppy had drawn Harry’s Medical Records from the NHS: apart from a nasty incident involving the supposedly accidental ingestion of a muggle cleaning product (hence the unusual redness in the oesophagus) Harry’s Medical Record was a blank. Shit.

So here the Mediwitch sat, her stomach trembling with a mixture of horror, anger and grief. Severus would be here soon and Poppy knew that she must break Harry’s confidence and tell him what she knew. It felt wrong, fundamentally wrong, to betray a boy who had already been so badly betrayed but what else could she do? If Harry returned home, he would be constantly at risk.

Tears heavy in her eyes, Poppy clasped her hands and prayed “Asclepius, bring your light and healing to this poor child…”

OoOoO

Sometimes, Severus really, really wanted to brew a certain type of potion: just a few common, house-hold ingredients and he could make something that would have him happily watching the pretty lights for the next eight hours. After all, if one is away with the fairies, one doesn’t have to face life’s problems. Like the sad, green eyes of one’s best friend, set in the sad, pinched countenance of one’s boy-hood nemesis.

However, the first time one knocks back a vial of happy potion, one crosses a line: one can never go back and, oh, doesn’t that make it easier to do it a second time, and a third, and a fourth. And that route ends with one selling oneself on street corners for a bit of salvia divinorum.

Best stick to whiskey, there’s a chap.

Petunia Evans. Oh, it was no bloody wonder why Dumbledore had lied; Severus had never made any secret of his dislike for Petunia. She had been a vile, vicious girl, one who delighted in small evils and- if she thought nobody was watching- large evils too. Severus would never forget poor Lily’s tears when she came home to find Valentine, her rabbit, dead in his cage. Old ‘Tuney’, however, hadn’t known that Severus was a Legilimens- well, at least until the furious boy had hexed her bald.

The Wizengamot had, of course, dismissed the case: no witch or wizard would criminalise a young boy for reacting badly towards someone who’d killed his best friend’s familiar. (Especially when the hex had not caused physical harm and was easily fixed.) In his closing speech, Dumbledore had urged Severus and Lily to forgive Petunia, for the rabbit’s death must have been an ‘accident’.

Severus poured himself another whiskey, then tipped it back into the bottle. He needed to be sober to confront Dumbledore. Bloody Dumbledore. Of course Petunia Evans wasn’t as bad as poor, sensitive, melodramatic Severus thought she was. After all, Severus had also disliked charming, oh-so-noble James Potter because of the cheerful boyhood japes the latter had played. Like breaking three of Severus’ ribs, stripping him nude in front of a jeering crowd and setting a werewolf on him.

Harmless fun. Just like ‘Tuney’ must have been having with Harry bloody Potter all these years.

And, therefore, Dumbledore had lied to Severus. Richard and Amanda were dead. Died just after James and Lily got married, according to their obituary in the Halsenford Recorder.

Severus sighed: he might have thought Harry’s situation almost karmic, had he been a different sort of man. Sins of the father and all that. But, although Severus would have be the first to call himself a mean S.O.B, he did have a shred or two of decency and what appeared to have happened to Harry didn’t seem like justice.

Enough mooching around. Whatever Poppy’s report said, the content wouldn’t soften with time.

OoOoO

“So, if you were to put a percentage on the likelihood of abuse..?”

“Oh Severus” cried the Mediwitch, wringing her hands “ninety-five, one-hundred percent. Harry’s body… I’ve never seen a child with anything like it. Only you…”

“Yes, yes, you don’t need to remind me. The only question is; will this be enough to convince the Headmaster?”

“Severus! You cannot suspect…”

“The blood wards, Poppy!” Interrupted the Potions Master irritably “And even if Harry were not under threat, you know how Dumbledore can be.”

“What other evidence would Albus need?” cried Poppy “Harry’s only been to see a physician once and that was when he swallowed bleach!”

“I am going to have to pay the boy’s guardians a visit” Severus said slowly.

“Severus, I don’t think that would be a very wise idea.”

“I simply want the truth, Poppy. Anything else can wait. Pensieve evidence is admissible in the Wizengamot, so it should be good enough for the Headmaster.”

“Then I’m coming with you. I’d like to give this Petunia a piece of my mind.”

“If we’re to convince Albus, it would be best for you to remain impartial. I’ll ask Charity: as a muggle born- and Professor of Muggle Studies, no less- she should be beyond suspicion of bias.”

“But Charity isn’t a legilimens.”

“Item 12.a.ii of the Truth Serums Act should cover it.”

“Veritiserum?”

“Of course. As Harry’s Head of House and having reasonable belief that Harry has been abused, I am entitled to use Veritiserum on his guardians to verify as to whether Harry should be made a ward of Hogwarts.”

Severus smiled grimly “I should like to hear Petunia Evans admit the truth for once in her wretched life.”