Pain. Guilt. Disgust. Fear. No, not fear - terror. 

Harry felt a lot of emotions as he stumbled down the corridor in the darkness, afraid to light his wand for fear that he’d be caught, but these were the main three. 

He’d been unsettled by the bars on his window and the locks on his door over the summer. He’d been lonely and sad that his friends hadn’t written, then angry when he found out they had and the letters had just been withheld. He’d been nervous when they’d flown the Weasley’s car to school and a bit more nervous as their disciplinary actions had been determined. He’d been downright scared when he heard the mysterious voice in the walls that no one else could hear. 

Tonight, though, none of those emotions compared to the ones surging through every fiber of his being. He had to run, he had to hide. He had to find somewhere safe…and Harry had to do it before he caught up with him again. 

The second year, much smaller than his peers though quicker than most, darted behind a statue to pause and catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how many hallways and staircases he’d passed through as he’d tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and him but he knew it would never be enough. As long as he was within the castle walls, he’d be in danger. It could happen again. 

He’d have gone straight to Gryffindor tower if he’d been absolutely sure that no one besides his housemates and Professor McGonagall could get in, but since he wasn’t sure if anyone else had access, he couldn’t return there. There was only one way in and one way out, and he couldn’t let himself get trapped somewhere that he may turn up. 

He shivered in the cold air, realizing he hadn’t even grabbed his shirt or robes in the mad rush to place as much distance between himself and his classroom as possible. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering more as his body began to cool off from the burst of physical activity, the moisture from his sweat chilling him even more. He wasn’t sure what hallway he was down or even what floor he was on in the dark, which only increased the terror pumping through his veins. 

He felt disgusting, not only on the outside, where blood dripped down his leg and awful bruises and teeth marks contrasted with the pale skin of his neck, but also on the inside, where guilt swirled and mixed with his fear in a sickening kaleidoscope of memories. 

He hadn’t said no. 

He should have, but he had been afraid to. The man had been so nice to him and had seemed like he really cared that Harry had been having a pretty rotten day so far. He’d said Harry wasn’t to blame for getting detention, that he understood what it was like for students to be cruel and spread rumors and it was only fair that Harry had retaliated. He told Harry that the other students were jealous of him, of his fame and his skills. 

Harry hadn’t really believed him; he knew he had earned that detention the moment his fist landed on the third year Hufflepuff’s cheek in a fist of rage. He had felt the guilt stirring with the anger in his gut when he’d been reprimanded for muggle-style brawling…as if the consequences would have been any different if he’d used his wand or something. 

Even though Harry was cynical of his words, he couldn’t deny that having someone on his side - someone justifying his feelings and actions, someone who seemed to really understand that he wasn’t inherently evil just because he talked to snakes - made him feel warm inside in a way that few adults ever achieved (mostly because most adults never took his side on anything). It was the same feeling he had when Dumbledore praised him, the same feeling he had when he did well in class and was awarded points, the same way he felt when flying and catching the snitch.

And it wasn’t even the first time the man had taken interest in him or shown kindness to him; he’d gone out of his way to make Harry feel special and wanted since term began. How could he have possibly said no to someone who had been so nice to him? At first, he hadn’t wanted to hurt the man’s feelings - he didn’t really understand what was going on. By the time he realized what the man’s intentions were, it was too late to say no. When Harry had tried to back off, the man told him he was a tease and looked so disappointed in him. Harry had felt bad about disappointing the one person who had been on his side this year and couldn’t run off like he’d originally intended. 

So not only had this awful thing happened to him, but it was his own fault. He could barely stand to be in his own skin with how dirty he felt. 

Harry could hear footsteps approaching and he stiffened, covering his mouth and nose with his hand in an attempt to stifle any sound of his breathing. He just needed to pretend he wasn’t there, then he wouldn’t be in danger. Well, not in as much danger - as long as he was at Hogwarts, he was still at risk for this happening again. 

“Who’s there?” A silky voice questioned in the dark, “Show yourself.”

It wasn’t him. Harry’s legs quivered and he locked his knees to keep from sinking to the ground, the relief that swept through him zapping all of his remaining energy as well. It wasn’t him, but he still couldn’t be found like this - bloody and half naked. If anyone saw him, they’d know. He couldn’t let that happen. No one could know, especially not Snape.

Harry should have known Snape wouldn’t give up so easily, and soon the hall was lit with the tip of the professor’s wand. Harry remained rigid behind the statue, hoping Snape would give up and continue with his patrolling.

Luck was never on his side. 

A cold, thin hand grabbed his arm, pulling him from his hiding space as Snape spat out, “Potter, of course, I should have known it would be you.” 

The professor paused, taking in the boy’s appearance, and then asked, “Where are your clothes?”

Harry shook his head, refusing to answer and refusing to look Snape in the eye. He couldn’t find out. No one could find out. 

“I require a verbal answer, Potter.” Snape continued, his voice taking on a hard edge that led any sane person to comply for fear of being pickled next to the toads in the potions cupboard. Harry only shook his head again. 

The man’s grip tightened and Harry whimpered, looking at the professor in confusion when Snape dropped his arm at the wounded sound. 

“It is well past curfew, Mr. Potter, yet here you are, wandering the corridors with only your trousers on. You will tell me what you are up to, and you will tell me this instant!” 

In response, Harry bent forward and vomited all over Snape’s boots and his own bare feet. 

Snape swore lightly, though Harry barely registered the words being said as the corridor seemed to distort and wobble around him. He was finding it hard to breathe and the taste of bile lingering in his mouth only made him want to sick up more. Every inch of his body throbbed, though the parts that had been…violated…earlier hurt the most. 

“Deep breath, Potter.” Snape instructed the boy, seeing the wild look of panic in the child’s eyes and the increasingly rapid breaths, “Were you on your way to see Madam Pomfrey? Are you unwell?”

Harry shook his head, murmuring, “No, no Pomfrey. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m-”

“You most certainly are not fine, Mr. Potter.” Snape retorted, cleaning the mess the boy had made before giving the child a scrutinizing look, “There is little you could say or do to convince me otherwise. If you weren’t heading to the hospital wing, where were you sneaking off to?”

Harry looked down at his shaking hands, unable to formulate a response. He didn’t know where he was going; there was nowhere safe to go. 

“Answer me!” Snape demanded, raising his voice to try and retain the boy’s attention. Something was definitely wrong with the boy; the Potter he knew would have uttered six excuses by now and mouthed off at least twice without even realizing it. 

Harry remained silent, which ignited a flame of fury in the professor. He reached forward, grabbing the back of Harry’s neck to pull him along when Harry panicked, a surge of magic pushing Snape away while Harry shouted in pain and fear, curling in on himself even further.

Something was definitely wrong here. 

“What’s wrong with your neck, Potter?” Snape asked in a no-nonsense tone, crossing the distance back to the boy and shining his wand at the boy’s throat. 

There was no mistaking what he saw - fingerprints on both sides of the boy’s throat and collarbone. Further inspection showed matching marks on the boy’s jawline. A wave of nausea crashed through Snape and he forced himself to remain calm as he asked, “Where did you acquire those injuries, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, numb and barely hearing the Professor’s questions through the buzzing in his head. His body hurt and he didn’t know why his magic had pushed Snape away - was it because the professor had aggressively pushed down on a bruise? But if his magic cared about who and how he was being hurt, why hadn’t it pushed away him? 

“Potter! Look at me!” Snape demanded, panic rising as the boy still wouldn’t respond to him. He had a very good idea how those bruises came to be, especially paired with the boy being half-dressed and clearly in a state of panic and/or shock. He needed the boy to tell him he was wrong before Potter’s magic wasn’t the only thing making waves in the castle. He didn’t want to think about a child being violated in such a way within the castle, especially not a child he had vowed to protect. Lily’s boy could not have been harmed in such a manner, not within these walls. 

Footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor, taking both by surprise.

Harry flung himself at the potions professor, burying his face in the man’s robes and whispering so softly that Snape had barely been able to register the words, “Don’t let him get me. Please.” 

Snape looked down at the boy in surprise, intending to ask more questions now that he seemed to be coherent, but all plans died on his lips as he noticed a small puddle of blood where the boy had been standing.

“Where are you hurt?”

The footsteps were getting closer, and Harry tensed, his small hands balling Snape’s robes in his fists. 

“Potter - Harry. I need to know where this blood is coming from.” 

Harry shook his head violently, trying to block out Snape’s voice and questions. He didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t think about that. He started to shiver again, increasing his grip on the stern professor’s clothing. Snape may not be the nicest teacher, but Harry had no doubt that the man could be equally as terrifying to adults as he was to children and could think of no one better to protect him. 

“Potter, listen to me. If someone hurt you--”

“Severus?”

The footsteps had finally arrived, the Deputy Headmistress’s voice echoing in the otherwise empty corridor, “What is going--Mr. Potter! What happened?”

It wasn’t him. Harry felt relief wash through him and this time his legs could no longer support him. He would have fallen straight to the ground if the strong arms of the potions master hadn’t caught him and steadied him on his feet. 

“I was wondering the same thing, Minerva.” 

Harry shook his head again, trying to bury his face in the professor’s long black robes once more, but Snape wouldn’t allow it, holding the boy out at arms length, “Potter, we cannot help you if you don’t tell us what happened.”

“Is that blood?” McGonagall asked sharply, “Potter, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Harry wanted to tell her off for just assuming that he was doing something wrong, but then that pesky guilt flared again, reminding him that this was his fault, that he hadn’t said no, and all he was able to produce was a whimper. 

“Minerva, a word?” Snape asked, with a tilt of his head. He wanted to share his suspicions with his colleague, but was hesitant to do so in front of the skittish boy. 

“No!” Harry shouted, his disoriented and exhausted mind able to connect the dots through the fog to tell him that if they were going to talk in private, they wouldn’t be there to shield him, “No, please, no.”  

The boy’s shouts had quickly faded to whispers and both professors looked at each other, silently communicating their concern over the child. After a moment, McGonagall replied gently, “You’d rather I not talk to Professor Snape, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, panic over possibly being left alone to his defenses still guiding his responses. He was barely aware of his surroundings and the words spilling from his mouth as he replied hastily, “No, please Professor, you can’t - if you leave me alone, he’ll find me.” 

McGonagall took in the child’s pale complexion, the dark bruises standing out even moreso as they continued to talk, the child’s state of dress and the child’s clearly fragile and anxious mental state and quickly came to the same conclusions as Snape had moments prior to her arrival. She was silent for a moment as she wrapped her mind around this information, but then quickly jumped back into her leadership role and stated firmly, “Mr. Potter, I can assure you that whoever--” she paused, looking for the right word, “--harmed you will most certainly not find themselves anywhere near you again.”

“As soon as we get this sorted out, he will have a one-way ticket to Azkaban.” Snape added, his tone clipped as he began to think of other possible outcomes for the predator that would be less legal but more satisfying to enact, “You are no longer in danger. You have our word.”

Harry shook his head, panic still pumping through his veins like blood, “No, no, no…” 

“Mr. Potter--Harry!” McGongall said firmly, trying to make sure she had the boy’s attention, though it was all for naught since he refused to look at them and only continued to whisper the word ‘no’. 

The two professors looked at each other once more, momentarily at a loss, then Snape stepped forward, crouching down to be on eye level with the distraught boy, “Listen to me.” he paused, giving Harry a moment to collect himself, “We will keep you safe; we just need you to talk to us. Can you do that?”

Harry shook his head, lifting his head. His eyes were bright with tears and wild with panic. Snape could tell just by his expression that though Harry was looking in his direction, he wasn’t really hearing their words. The child’s gaze shifted so he could peer down the dark hallways, on edge and seemingly ready to bolt. Snape knew they had to do something; they couldn’t remain here in this dark, chilly corridor with Harry half-dressed and waiting for his attacker to return. 

“Professor McGonagall and I will bring you to the hospital wing, Harry.” Snape told the boy, leaving no room for argument though his voice lacked most of the acid it normally held. Harry instantly opened his mouth to respond, but Snape cut him off by continuing, “And we will remain with you, to protect you. We won’t let anyone in.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, wondering if he could believe the stern professor. Why would Snape care enough to stay with him and guard the doors? Why would McGonagall, for that matter? Then again, why would Snape lie? Snape was a lot of things, but Harry had never known him to be a liar, he was more likely to tell the truth, even if it was painful and awful to hear.

But did Snape and McGonagall even have the power to keep everyone out of the infirmary? Wasn’t that Madam Pomfrey’s decision? He looked from his previously-most-hated professor to his head of house, desperately wanting to believe they’d protect him, but finding it hard to trust them because historically adults never meant it when they said that. 

“What if someone is sick or hurt? They’ll have to come in, then.” Harry reasoned, his voice wavering slightly, “You can’t keep everyone out.” 

“Then Madam Pomfrey can tend to them in the hallway, for all I’m concerned.” Snape reassured the boy, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and forcing the child to meet his gaze, “We will accompany you and then while Madam Pomfrey is tending to your injuries I will guard the doorway at wand-point. Anyone who tries to get past me will leave in a matchbox. Do you understand me?”

Harry nodded slowly - he was fairly certain Snape would take great joy in sending people away in matchboxes - and he braced himself for what was to come. They’d have to cross the castle to get to the infirmary and he could be lurking around any corner. Then he’d have to be examined and they’d all know what had happened, how filthy and dirty he is. 

He wanted to refuse to go, to ask them to take him anywhere else where he wouldn’t have to confront what had happened. He didn’t know if he could even say the words, he wanted to forget about it completely…but everything that had been violated hurt so terribly that he felt like his insides were going to fall out and he desperately wanted Pomfrey to wave her wand and fix him, to take all of the pain away so he could resume pretending like he was okay. 

“That’s a good lad.” McGonagall said gently, both she and Snape flanking the child as they began their journey to the hospital wing, “We’ll keep you safe, you just leave it to us.”

~*~

Harry had many regrets, especially revolving around the events that had taken place on this very night, but going to the hospital wing was probably going to rank within the top ten most regrettable moments of his life. 

It wasn’t bad enough that he had to strip down with shaky hands and feeling like his body was on display for the world, but then he had to watch Pomfrey tend to him through teary eyes. He hadn’t meant to make anyone cry, he felt awful for doing so. And once Pomfrey’s tears started, McGonagall got a bit weepy as well, which mortified Harry even more. Why were they crying over him like this? 

His heart raced as he wondered if maybe they were crying because he was broken now, maybe they couldn’t fix what he had broken - and Harry was sure something had been broken because walking was excruciatingly painful. 

“For Merlin’s sake, where is your professionalism?” Snape had told the two women in the same tone he used when telling Harry he was an idiot in class. It may have been comical, watching someone besides him getting told off, but Harry was still too worried about what parts could possibly be broken inside of him to find the humor in the situation as he would any other time.

The tears dried up quickly, indicating to Harry that he wasn’t broken or dying and his head out of house and the mediwitch were probably just emotional, though he really didn’t understand that, either. He’d never met an adult who cared enough about what happened to him to cry over him. It was really unsettling. 

The exam was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Pomfrey felt the need to verbally document all of the abuse his body had suffered over the evening - Harry knew it was for recordkeeping sake, as a quill was writing everything she dictated, but he really wished McGonagall and Snape hadn’t been there to hear it…though he also didn’t want them to break their promise and leave him. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted, his head still felt foggy, as if his brain was functioning about thirty seconds behind everyone else’s. 

Harry knew most of the injuries she was cataloguing; bruises on his face and his neck. He remembered getting those clearly, the man with his hands tightly on Harry’s face, forcing him closer as Harry squirmed to get away. He remembered what had happened next, his mouth being pried open, and--

Harry bent forward, throwing up into his lap as memories assaulted him. Ironically, that was the same result that had happened when he had done that to him. He was cleaned up in the blink of an eye, though he barely even noticed as his blood pounded in his ears, the sounds of the room growing muffled as his vision greyed around the edges. His chest hurt as he struggled to pull in a breath, but choked on the air before it could make it to his lungs. 

“Move!” He heard Snape’s voice snap followed by a sigh of exasperation, his footsteps approaching the bed, and Harry wanted to remind the professor that he was supposed to be guarding the door, though he couldn’t get his brain nor mouth to work properly. A vial was pressed to his lips and Harry automatically swallowed, relieved to get the nasty taste of sick and the memories of the tastes of other things out of his mouth. 

Within moments, the room had come back into focus and his lungs began to work again. He rubbed his eyes with shaky hands before stealing a glance towards his two protectors. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I should have thought of giving you a potion before we even began.” Pomfrey apologized kindly, gently pushing Harry back against the pillows, “That was just a calming draught, it should help with some of the big feelings you’re feeling right now.”

Harry couldn’t do anything other than nod, his body feeling heavy and his eyes trying to close, though he tried to fight them. He was relieved to see Snape had returned to his guard post, and his last conscious thought was that he did finally feel like maybe he was safe. 

~*~

“Did he say who did this to him?” Poppy asked quietly, her voice trembling with rage. She’d just confirmed everyone’s speculations over what had happened and was very glad that the child had fallen asleep after his potion, because the magic in the room was practically tangible and she knew it would frighten him.

Severus took it upon himself to respond, since he had been the first to come across the distraught boy, “No, only that it was a male. Judging from the bruises, I would assume it had to be a teacher or an older student, those are the marks of adult-sized hands.” 

“He served a detention with Gilderoy tonight.” Minerva gasped, puzzle pieces starting to fit together to paint a gruesome scene in their minds, “You don’t think…”

“That is a logical assumption.” Severus sighed, “Although it easily could have been an older year out after curfew. I suppose there’s one way to find out.” 

At the curious glance of the two women, Severus continued, “Mr. Potter is missing his shirt, his socks, and his shoes, if you haven’t noticed. If we find those belongings in Lockhart’s possession, it would hardly be coincidental.”

“Do you have any veritaserum in your stock?” Minerva asked, her Scottish accent heavier than usual due to the emotion held in her voice, “I believe the fact that he had access to Mr. Potter alone tonight warrants an interrogation.”

“We need to call in the Headmaster.” Poppy interrupted before the conversation could get out of hand, “Albus can take the documentation from my exam and call in aurors to question him.”

“No, no one enters this room.” Severus insisted, “You may go to him, but he is not to come here.”

“Honestly, Severus, he needs--”

“We gave him our word.” Severus interrupted the mediwitch, “No one comes in unless Harry has given his approval. This is non-negotiable.” 

“He’s the headmaster!” Poppy retorted, sounding scandalized, “Surely Potter would be fine with the headmaster being here.”

“No, Severus is right.” Minerva countered, “We gave Potter our word. No one is to enter. We failed to keep this child safe when it mattered most; the least we can do now is make sure he feels safe while he heals.” 

“Go on, go inform the headmaster of what has transpired. We will watch over Potter until you return.” Severus insisted, “But remember, no one comes in until he’s awake and can make that choice.” 

Clearly upset to have such restrictions placed on her post, but knowing she was unable to sway their decisions, Poppy left at once to alert the headmaster to the danger residing within the castle. In the hospital wing, Minerva took a seat next to her students’ bed while Severus set up his own chair near the doorway. Both knew without doubt that this would be a long night.