Believing is Seeing by LBibliophile

Double checking that the Potter boy is still following, Severus stalks into the Headmaster’s office. He sneers at the man smiling benignly from behind his desk, wordlessly rejecting the proffered sherbet lemons.

“Ah, Severus. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, and that of… James?”

“Potter junior not senior. The fourth years were practicing glamour charms today.”

“In Charms, I assume?” Severus glares at Albus’ raised eyebrows, not in the mood for the Headmaster’s whimsy.

“No Albus, in Potions. Yes in Charms; Filius was inconsiderate enough to require me to cover his class, as you no doubt already knew.”

“I find myself rather confused as to why you require my assistance in dispelling what appears to be a correctly performed simple charm; and why you feel it so urgent as to interrupt my meeting with Poppy.”

“It is not Potter’s charm…” Giving up he turns to look at the other occupant of the room, glad to see the mediwitch is already present as predicted. Meeting her eyes he glances pointedly at the boy standing to one side then raises an eyebrow. She nods slowly in reply, then flicks her eyes towards the Headmaster and gives a small shake of her head. So. She is here to tell the old man about Potter but hasn’t had a chance to say anything yet. They had both wanted to avoid the issue coming into the open in this way but it seems that even in this Potter has to complicate things. Releasing his irritation in a sigh, Severus turns back to the Headmaster.

“I believe we are both here about the same issue. I have asked Minerva to join us; perhaps it would be best to wait a few minutes until she arrives.” Albus nods in assent, and an awkward silence fills the office; two of the occupants wondering what the meeting is about, the other two wishing they didn’t already know.

Thankfully, it is only a short time later that the door opens to admit the Gryffindor Head of House. Her stride falters as she enters the office, taking in the tense atmosphere and the identity of those present.

“What in Merlin’s name has Mr Potter gotten into this time?” The boy in question turns to look at her and she gasps in surprise at the sight of the once-familiar face. “James? But… how…?”

Severus growls in frustration – alright, so his spell ended up closer to the father than the son, but surely not by that much - and dispels the glamour, eliciting another gasp as the boy’s fading but still colourful bruises are revealed.

Gathering herself, Minerva turns a stern gaze on the school’s mediwitch. “I hope, Poppy, that this is what you are about to explain?”

Severus glances at the child under discussion – confusion clear in his posture – then takes a step forward, gathering everyone’s attention.

“I am the one who brought this issue to Poppy’s attention. Several times this term I have noticed… anomalies in Potter’s appearance and behaviour which raised certain questions. When he was required to visit her for a potions accident I asked that she also complete an intentional injuries scan.”

He looks at her expectantly and Poppy hands a piece of parchment to the three teachers.

“These are the current injuries the scan showed, and those for the three years since Mr Potter started at Hogwarts.”

Silence fills the room as they read through the list, expressions becoming increasingly serious as with each line a picture is built up of a childhood far different to the one they had assumed.

“My boy, why didn’t you tell us?” At the Headmaster's question Potter speaks for the first time since entering the office, his clearly long-pent anger bursting out of him.

“Why should I? It’s not like you’ve noticed or cared before. Not you, not anyone.”

“Before…” Minerva’s voice is faint, the implications of his statement slowly sinking in.

Harry sneers; the expression which is so commonly seen on Severus himself looking disconcertingly out of place on the younger face.

“Really Professors? Are you that blind, or are you just thick? This,” and he gestures at his bruised face, “is hardly unusual for this time of year.”

“Watch yourself Potter.” Severus’ voice is sharp, but he is speaking reflexively, his mind busy. Another puzzle piece is sliding into place; it appears the boy did not realise his magic had created glamours to hide the injuries. Severus has trained his instincts to latch on to any sign of others hiding a secret, but Potter never thought it was a secret so did not display the reactions that would raise alarms. He shudders as a thought occurs to him. How must the boy have felt, thinking that they could see his hurts but did not care enough about their ‘saviour’ to try to help him?

Lost in his thoughts he is only half-aware of Poppy as she steps forward to explain.

“Minerva, according to the scan, such… incidents… have occurred over at least the last eight years.” She holds up a rather longer piece of parchment and shocking the teachers into silence as this new piece of information is absorbed. “As for your question, Mr Potter, it is not entirely their fault they didn’t know. Until now your injuries have been hidden by glamours; even I could not see through them until I knew what to look for.”

He looks at her in confusion, anger still tingeing his voice. “I didn’t notice any glamours… Besides, what did you expect? After all, you knew about the cupboard.”

“What cupboard?” Severus pulls his attention sharply back to the conversation, not liking the tone and context of the boy’s statement.

“The cupboard my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to of course.” Once again he is looking at them as though they have missed something obvious. Severus glances at the Deputy Headmistress beside him for her response.

“Mr Potter,” Minerva returns her student’s look with a matching one of her own, “the letters are automatically addressed to each students’ current sleeping place, so what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

“Just that, Professor. My bedroom for the first ten years with the Dursleys; more commonly known as the cupboard under the stairs!”

Severus is in shock. Lily’s child – any child – living in a cupboard! Minerva rocks back as though struck, her face paling before flushing red. Startling the others who had been watching the argument, she spins around to glare at Dumbledore.

“Albus! I told you…”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry tunes out the adults as they start to argue. Keeping half an ear on their conversation – he really was left on the Dursleys’ doorstep? – he focuses most of his attention inside. He is not sure what he is feeling at the moment. Embarrassment; that they have seen and commented on his weakness. Anger; that they didn’t notice before. Anxiety; over what will happen next. Fear; of what the Dursleys will do when they find out. And hope; carefully contained, that help has come at last. From within the maelstrom of emotions he draws his Gryffindor courage, steeling himself to ask the necessary question; the question that will set him free or shatter his fragile trust.

“Professors, you asked me why I never told you and I said because no one ever cared before. Now you know, what are you going to do about it?”

The room seems to hold its breath, everyone turning expectantly towards the headmaster. Dumbledore looks old, his eyes serious without their twinkle as he holds Harry’s gaze.

“Mr Potter, I do not yet know the best solution to this situation, though I will ensure everything is organised in plenty of time before the end of the year. But I promise you, I will not let this continue.”

It is not a proper answer, but Harry still smiles, relief spreading through him. At last, someone sees. Someone believes.