In retrospect, Severus should have realised what his intentions would do to the child. He was already more than well aware of the usual effect the thought of going to the Hospital Wing had on his abused Snakes. It was just...it was Potter...

Harry, he corrected himself firmly as he squatted down and lifted up the boy in his arms. Not his father. He had no desire to be seen walking through the halls of Hogwarts carrying the Boy Who Lived, but it wasn't like it was a difficult trip to his fireplace to Floo through. The child was frightfully light, and he could feel bones pressing against him.

Striding to the fireplace, he tossed in a handful of green powder, and was stepping into the Hospital Wing not a minute later, a still unconscious Harry Potter firmly within his grasp.

"Poppy!" he called, laying the first year down on a bed as Potter stirred, eyelids fluttering weakly. The Mediwitch bustled out of her office, jaw a bit slack in surprise at seeing the Boy Who Lived sprawled out on a bed, and Snape looking rather discomfited beside it.

"Severus?" she asked, wiping her hands on a towel she carried at her belt and drawing her wand. "What is it? What's wrong with Harry?"

"See for yourself," Severus gestured, a bit dryly, toward the now fully awake and cowering Savior of the Wizarding World. The boy looked absolutely petrified, shivering in his too-large robes like he'd caught his death of cold.

"Mr. Potter?" Poppy asked, her voice gentle. "Are you all right?"

Through Harry's panic, he heard the woman ask the question, and he sagged a bit in relief, his response coming automatically.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, peeking at her through his fringe. He heard his Professor snort beside him, and despite himself, startled.

"The truth, Potter," Professor Snape instructed. Harry's shoulders hunched and he stared down at the rather starchy sheets he found himself lying on.

"I don't know, ma'am," he finally revised his answer, aware it was painfully inadequate and more than half-expecting a blow to the head or back, like Uncle Vernon liked to do when he hadn't answered properly (which was most of the time).

"That's all right, Harry," the woman said with a smile. She looked nothing like Aunt Petunia. "I'm Madam Pomfrey. I'm here to help, all right?" She waved her wand in a very complicated-looking spiral and an odd tingling filled Harry's bones, crinkling his nose and making him feel like he had to pee for a brief, startling moment.

Then her wand was spitting out loads of complicated red squiggles in the air, and the frown between her brows kept getting deeper and deeper, and Harry couldn't stop himself from scooting to the far end of the bed, ready to run.

"What on earth has happened to this child?" Madam Pomfrey exploded, and Harry was gone, nearly flying across the room to end up stuffing himself head-long into a storage cabinet, cramping himself into the tightest ball possible. He couldn't stop trembling, and his ears kept buzzing again, and all he could think of was what a terrible mistake he'd made, letting her do that, letting anyone do that. Obviously he was bad, her reaction certainly couldn't mean he was good, after all. He had to be bad, and oh gods, now he'd run away from her, he was sure to be in even more trouble...!

Harry knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn't stop, his breathing echoing painfully loud in the confined space, until he heard footsteps, and then the door was eased open, and his Professor was there. The man didn't look angry, though. Just...concerned? And suddenly Harry was too confused to panic anymore.

Severus wanted to shake Poppy as the boy escaped into a storage cupboard. Damn the woman, she knew better than to yell like that around abused children, and from what little he'd managed to understand of the diagnostic results, there was certainly no doubt the boy had been abused!

"I'm sorry, Severus," Poppy said, the corners of her mouth trembling. "I didn't think..."

"That's obvious," Severus sneered. He crossed the room to the cupboard the boy had stuffed himself in, doing his best to sound non-threatening.

"Potter?" he asked, swinging open the door. The boy looked up at him with brilliant green eyes, glazed over with tears. There was a scratch down one cheek that oozed blood, probably from how he'd crammed himself in there. "Would you come out, please? You aren't in trouble."

"You promise, sir?" the boy whispered, in a voice so faint Severus had to strain his ears to catch it.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Madam Pomfrey was...startled at your results, Potter. She was not angry at you."

The child uncurled himself and clambered out of the storage cupboard, still trembling like a leaf, but he made no protest when Severus guided him back to his original spot and helped him climb back onto the bed.

"I apologise, Harry," Poppy said quietly. "Professor Snape is right. I am not angry at you, but I apologise for shouting and making you believe I was."

"It's all right, ma'am," Harry murmured shyly, still peering down at the ground.

"I want you to be able to feel like this is a safe place, Harry," Poppy explained, conjuring up chairs for her and Severus. "It can't be a safe place if I'm frightening you."

Harry only shrugged a little, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"So, Harry," Poppy continued, leaning forward, her smile becoming more encouraging. "Would you like to tell me about your guardians?"