When Harry woke up again, it was evening. He struggled to sit up on his elbows and noticed he appeared to have been moved-instead of being out in the main area of the infirmary, he was off in a secluded corner, surrounded by screens that glowed with an ethereal blue light. His bed sat right by a high, arched window and looking out, he could see the sun setting over the forest.

"Ah, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey's voice intruded before he could properly appreciate the twilight, and one of the screens shimmered for a moment before the slightly plump mediwitch stepped through. Harry gaped at her in shock. How had she done that? She noticed his awestruck gaze and smiled.

"Magic, Mister Potter," she reminded him gently and waved her wand in another complicated curlicue. "Ah. You're healing nicely," she nodded in satisfaction. "Your arm shouldn't hurt anymore. Correct?" Harry nodded, slightly dazed when he realised that was indeed the truth. He'd been inside when she cast the spell, but the shock of that agony had radiated through the entire system. Now, there was nary a twinge.

"We'll do your ankle tomorrow afternoon, that won't be as complicated," she explained. "Ah! Harry, we won't be using the same spell," she tacked on hastily at his panic-stricken expression. "I'm still not entirely sure what went wrong this morning, but I suspect some type of allergic reaction, almost. It isn't called an allergy when it comes to spells, but some people have bad reactions to particular spells. I don't know why that happened, but rest assured, it is not supposed to hurt that much! We'll try a more old-fashioned spell and take it slower." She smiled reassuringly at Harry, who couldn't help but smile back. He liked this nurse. She was kind to him and didn't look at him like he was something nasty found on the bottom of her shoe, like he was accustomed to by medical professionals. Then again, this medical professional hadn't had her ears pumped full of Aunt Petunia's nasty-voiced poison about what a wretched child he was, and how he always picked fights with Dudley, and she tried her best, she really did, but it wouldn't surprise her to find the boy was slow as well, never doing his chores or his homework, always claiming to have this earache or that sore knee, what was a parent to do?

This nurse knew what the Dursleys had done, and it both delighted and terrified Harry. She believed him (and boy, wasn't that new!), she'd seen what they did, but still...he belonged with them, didn't he? Even if they had abandoned him at a supermarket. Maybe it was just a joke. A stupid prank, that's all, and he'd fallen for it and gone off and left. Of course they must have come back, and he'd not been there. He really was an awful child.

They left for hours, Jay reminded him acidly, but Harry didn't listen, too preoccupied with his own gloomy thoughts as Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, checking his arm carefully by both magical and mundane means.

"Okay, Harry," she finally said, catching his attention and holding up a beaker of what looked like thick sludge. His nose crinkled. "I need you to drink this. I know it looks nasty! But it's a very important nutritional potion, and it's going to help you with your malnutrition. Also-it doesn't taste nearly as badly as it looks." Her wink encouraged him and he slowly took the glass and drained the contents. To his surprise, it tasted like hot peppermint with a hint of citrus.

"It's made to taste as nice as possible because of what it is," she explained to him. "Children-and adults, for that matter!-have a hard time with nutritional potions if they taste bad. Well, with all potions, really, but unfortunately, most can't be made to taste better. This one can."

Harry smiled hesitantly at her, and handed the empty beaker back. His hand shook for a moment and he regarded it with distaste, hating to show even the tiniest bit of weakness to anyone, even a nurse.

"I'll bring you dinner in a few minutes," she continued, seemingly ignoring the tremor in his hand. "Professor Snape will be by after that to speak with you, and I'll also bring you a few things to keep yourself amused. Don't worry, Harry. Things will be all right." She ruffled his hair, an action that left him blinking in shock, and left, melting through the same hospital screen like some sort of apparition. Only that hadn't been a ghost!

Well, I suppose things are looking up now, Tom commented dryly. Granted-we're still going to have to tell Snape who our guardians are.

Shit. Harry had forgotten all about that!

It was a slightly wary and hesitant Potions Professor who made his way up to the Hospital Wing that evening. He'd spent most of his day dodging Dumbledore and researching guardianships. It seemed like a relatively simple process, particularly in a case where the previous guardians had been abusive or neglectful. With Poppy's testimony and Harry's new medical charts, proving that was a shoo-in. The only potential fly in the ointment was, as always, Albus.

Severus liked to think that his employer would never toss a child to the proverbial wolves, but the man had proven himself, time and time again, to have his head in the calculating clouds of 'the greater good.' If he deemed it for the greater good that the Boy Who Lived grow up beaten down and defeated by his guardians, Albus wouldn't even blink. It's necessary, dear boy, he would twinkle at Severus behind his half-moon spectacles and pop a lemon drop in his mouth, and as far as he was concerned, that would be the end of it. The man carried a terrifying amount of clout within the Ministry and even the Wizengamot. If he was firmly opposed to Harry being taken away from his prior guardians (and given to a former Death Eater, no less), the process would complicate itself more than the most tangled ball of yarn.

He couldn't let Harry go back there. The child had been terrified, cowering away from him at the thought of returning, to the point he'd snapped his ankle like a winter twig and not even noticed, so great was his panic. The amount of ill treatment the boy had gone through was nothing short of appalling. If Dumbledore wasn't careful, his hidden saviour would be dead within a few years.

Granted, Severus had no idea if Harry would even want him as guardian. The boy had taken to him, true, but who's to say it wasn't simply an after-effect of trauma? The simple fact that Severus had been the one whose doorstep he'd fetched up on-literally? The thought made him feel a bit sick, but he had to face the fact that perhaps Potter wouldn't even want to go near him, particularly after his explosive outburst of temper...again.

The sad thing was, Severus was more than used to abused children. Slytherin House was chock full of them. He'd spent more than one night staying up to soothe a child's nightmare that was more flashback than dream, of discreetly sending a first year here and a fourth year there to the Hospital Wing to repair the damages the summer had wrought. He'd dealt with countless tantrums, weeping fits, and more bursts of explosive rage than he could count. The gamut of reactions that traumatised children possessed was large, and yet he was familiar with all of it.

So why he'd reacted like an angry bear at Harry mouthing off, he hadn't a clue. He'd moved past the boy's parentage, hadn't he? Harry was nothing like his father. Sure, he had a tendency to back-talk and more than a small streak of defiance, but he was an eight-year-old. What did Severus expect? Perhaps he simply wasn't used to dealing with children as young as Harry. He was awkward around the first years, and they were eleven. How could he deal with an eight-year-old boy who belonged in primary, not Hogwarts?

His steps slowed as he approached the warded corner where Madam Pomfrey had deposited Harry. Not even Dumbledore could access it, only the people keyed into it could, and at the moment, said people were Poppy and himself.

He may not know how to deal with Harry, but he was going to have to find out. For the boy's sake, if no one else's. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and entered Harry's erstwhile room. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but for Harry, he would manage it.