Severus had been expecting them to have shameful faces on, or arrogant ones, especially with them being gryffindors. But the closer he advanced on the children, Ron Weasley looked pale as a sheet, and Potter was completely unconscious. He was a mess to put it lightly, Severus was horrified to say the least. And over the years of attending death eater meetings, and watching Voldemort torture his victims, it became increasingly difficult to horrify him. There wasn’t much that did, he was substantially good at remaining stoic in the most drastic of situations.
On most occasions he was able to hide his emotions, hidden well behind his occlumency shields. There were rare occasions when his shields fell, and his emotions were visible on his face in full clarity. He supposed this was one of those times, because his eyes had widened involuntarily in shock, mouth slackening. His forehead scrunched up in worry, brows furrowing. Severus could feel his chest increase in speed with every inhale. His stride quickly turned from one of anger to one of speed.
He made it to the banged up blue car in under half a minute. Black eyes staring down at the red headed child dragging Potter out from the car. His face was pale, eyes solely focused on his friend. He looked panicked, and from what Severus could see, his hands were coated in the congealed substance of Potter’s blood. Before the child could get any further, Severus placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Weasley.”
The red haired boy’s eyes immediately flew to his, “S-sir? C-can you help him? Please?”
He didn’t have to contemplate the request. It was his obligation, both being a professor, and Potter being his student, as well as the promise he made to Lily. He had promised her that he would look after the child, even if that meant with his spy work, that he had to do it from a distance. Severus could admit that he had been and still was skeptical about Potter, what with his father being the arrogant and self centred James Potter. It was still his obligation to protect the boy, even if he was loath to do it.
“Hand him to me, I will get him medical attention.” Severus attempted to lift the bleeding boy into his arms, but the Weasley had a firm grip on him. “You will need to let go in order for me to get him help Mr. Weasley.” His words seemed to achieve the desired effect of jerking him out of the trance-like state he’d fallen into.
“S-sorry Professor.” He looked guilty, for what Severus couldn’t determine. He didn’t reply, instead giving the child a firm nod. Weasley’s grip had lessened significantly, giving Snape the access needed to lift the limp body into his arms. He made to hold the boy with one arm behind his back, and the other underneath his knees. It was surprisingly easy to lift the small body. It was almost like carrying someone with the feather light charm applied, but Potter still held some weight. Even if it was not much.
Severus paid no mind to the blood now hastily soaking into his robes. It was warm, and it was spreading fast. It was disconcerting, especially with the lack of heat coming from the boy himself. He felt cold, and his skin looked pale and gaunt. From where Severus’s hand rested on the side of the boy’s torso, he could feel the outline of his ribs. It was uncomfortable to know the poor state with which the child was in. Something akin to worry.
He spared a short glance at the youngest Weasley and the twins, Ron was pale, the moonlight highlighting his ashen complexion. The twins however seemed contemplative, their faces stuck in thought. Severus didn’t waste time trying to decipher their emotions, not when there was a child that needed medical attention. James Potter’s spawn or not.
Turning on his heel, Severus made his way back across the soft grass. His robes billowing behind him in the cool afternoon breeze, the moon shining down upon them. It cast a shadow behind him as he rushed back towards the castle. Severus couldn’t know how the boy had come to be injured, but he had no doubts it was probably of the boy’s own doing. He wouldn’t put it past Potter to get in a fight with someone, he was known for being arrogant. Severus had watched the boy strut around the school for one year, showing blatant disregard for the rules. Severus had no doubt the boy was just like his father.
He was too focused on delivering the boy to the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, to notice the sound of feet scuffing on the grass behind him. He caught sight of a flash of ginger hair, before the younger Weasley boy was stopping in front of him. “S-sir, please. You have to make sure he doesn’t go back, he can’t Sir. They’ll kill him, they will. T-they’ve already tried to. Look at him.”
His head nodded towards the bleeding limp body held within his arms, his gaze flashed down to him. Only for a second, but confusion was still at the forefront of his mind. “Who will? Who are you talking about?” Severus couldn’t stop the irritation from seeping into his tone. He had no patience for people that talked in riddles, or alluded to things but never mentioned them.
“His relatives Sir, they abuse him.”
An annoyed sigh escaped from his mouth, “I don’t have time for your fabricated stories Mr. Weasley, your friend needs medical attention for his foolish actions. There’s no point in defending him, your friend should think first before he decides to get into fights.” He tried to turn away from the Weasley boy, striding further across the green towards the castle.
“Please Sir, I’m telling the truth. They- they had him chained up in their damn basement. They even had shackles that dampened his magic, I don’t care if you don’t like him Sir, but please. They’ll kill him.”
Severus could barely restrain himself. He turned around, staring down at the boy in front of him. “You will not take that tone with me Mr. Weasley. You’ve already destroyed part of the grounds of the castle with your muggle car, do not waste my time with your foolish stories. You’re lucky you’re only going to be walking away with 50 points from Gryffindor, when I could just as easily be making you get back on the train home.” His words were emphasised with a sneer, teeth bared in anger.
He strode off, not giving the boy a chance to catch up and interfere once more. He slipped in through the open doors to the entrance hall, the candles on the wall were now aflame. The sun having gone down a long time ago. Severus made his way down the halls, making sure to go past the great hall. That way had always been the fastest way to get to the Hospital wing.
It was only when he got closer to the doors to the great hall, that he notice some of the younger years. Specifically the first years gathered around the entrance. He could see when they spotted Potter in his arms, because they’re faces instantly looked worried. “Is he alright Sir?”
“He will be.” His answer was curt, and he didn’t spare them a second glance. Decidedly walking straight past the open doors to the great hall. If anyone had seen him or the boy in his arms, Severus did not care. He walked past groups of first years, all of them staring at the castle around them with wonder in their eyes. He remembered when he’d once been like that, although his excitement had been vastly muted. Never having the confidence in others to be able to relay his true emotions.
He didn’t find a lot of students in the hallway outside the infirmary. It was the furthest part of the school, far away from most of the dorms. He entered the hospital wing, only to find Madame Pomfrey not inside. That did not phase Severus though. He just laid the boy down on one of the beds. Stepping away from the bed, he slid his wand out of its holster by his hip. He swished his wand, conjuring his patronus. He only spared the elegant doe a brief glance, before he relayed his message to the magical animal. “Tell Madame Pomfrey to come to the hospital wing immediately. One of her more troublesome students requires medical attention”
Severus watched as the Doe galloped off before evaporating into thin air. It was only a short minute before the woman in question popped through the fireplace. She made her way over to the bed, brushing off the soot from her white skirt. “What seems to be the problem?”
Her eyes sweep across the unconscious boy on the bed. Severus can see when she notices the blood coating his face and soaking into the knees of his sweatpants. “Mr. Weasley and his older brothers delivered Potter to Hogwarts in their muggle car. This is probably the product of nothing more than a fight, with a muggle boy no less.”
Severus couldn’t tell whether Poppy agreed with him or not, her face showed only determination to heal the boy. She turned her face to look at him, “We have to remove his clothes, so I can see the damage. Severus, why don’t you start removing the boy's shirt and sweatpants, I’ll retrieve my healing kit, and diagnostic kit.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but Poppy had already turned her back to him. All Severus could see was the back of her dress as she entered the cupboard that held her stores. Resigning himself to the tedious task of relieving the boy of his clothes, he turned to the bed. He hooked slender, potioned stained fingers under the hem of the too big shirt. It was a struggle, especially with the boy being unconscious. But Severus managed to pull it off, slipping it over the boy’s boney shoulders. With Potter’s stomach and chest visible, the bruises that mattered his skin were also visible. It seemed that every inch of skin was covered with mottled bruises, skin turned deep shades of purple, some turned a sickly yellow.
It was utterly more disturbing, when he noticed the small burn marks that littered the top of his chest. They looked like thin strips, the skin around them looked red and puffy. Potter obviously hadn’t treated them well enough, or even attempted to disinfect the wounds. It was Potter’s neck that disturbed him the most, with the dark bruises in the shape of thick fingers. They wrapped around his neck, going further round to the back of his neck. They looked harsh in comparison to his pale skin. They were enough to send Severus’s stomach rolling with unease. No muggle boy was large enough to make these marks. The size of the hands was obviously from an adult, and a large one at that.
Severus didn’t have much time to wonder what had actually happened to the boy, or who. Poppy was rushing out of the cupboard with two kits in hand. “Get his sweatpants off next Severus.” He went to comply, fixing his fingers in the loose waistband. His eyes travelled down the boy’s body to look at the sweatpants, but he couldn’t help noticing the boy's wrists. Each wrist was rubbed raw, the skin an unhealthy red. A big bruise wrapped around each wrist. Severus’s best guess at what could have caused it, matched what the Weasley boy had said. In perfect clarity. They had obviously been caused by some form of shackle. It was the only possible cause.
Using his occlumency skills, he pushed the dark thoughts to the empty spaces in the back of his mind. Refusing to think about those thoughts further, he pulled at the sweatpants. They slid down the boy’s legs, slipping off easily with the way they barely fit. It wasn’t until he got to the boy’s knees that he encountered any problems. The fabric was stuck to the boy’s knees, and even in the low lighting from the burning candles surrounding the infirmary. He could tell that it was blood, the coppery scent emanating from the soaked fabric.
He tried to be gentle as he pulled the fabric away, watching as it clung to the boy’s skin. He pulled the trousers all the way down, once they were free from his knees. Once the sweatpants were placed in a heaped pile on top of the boy’s shirt, he finally took in the boy’s knees. His eyes firmly fixed on the shattered mess of skin and bone. It was grim, the sight of it made his stomach increase from its nauseous churning. His dinner was expelled onto the sparkling clean floor of the hospital wing. He vanished it with a scourgify, trying not to be ashamed at the fact that he had lost his steadfast composure.
He turned his gaze to Poppy instead of the battered mess of the boy’s body. She was completely pale, tears pooling in her eyes. She stared at the boy’s broken body for a few moments before she directed her horrified stare to Severus. “Who could have done this to him?”
It was impossible to ignore the truth, even though he’d been avoiding it, not entertaining the of it. The boy’s family had done this. He’d known Petunia since they were kids, he’d known she didn’t like wizards or magic. She’d festered a hatred for it, when she knew she’d never become a witch. Petunia had harboured jealousy for her sister, Severus knew that. She’d always glared at him, whenever he’d hung out with Lily. He just never imagined she could do this, to a child no less. Even if it wasn’t her, if it was that oaf of a husband of hers. He didn’t understand how someone could allow it to happen.
There was no denying the truth now, no matter how horrible it seemed. “His relatives. Mr. Weasley told me they did this, I believed in a moment of foolishness, that he was telling me falsehoods. I did not believe him that the boy’s relatives did this, I thought this was the product of a muggle fight. I see now, I was mistaken.”
His eyes were fixed steadfast on the bottom of the bed, just below the boy’s feet. He was too ashamed to meet his colleague’s eyes. Shame was not an emotion he felt too often, it was something he hadn’t experienced since he called Lily that horrible name. He’d been filled with regret, not wanting to lose the girl he’d fallen in love with. But it had been too late, she fell for Potter, and Severus had been alone. He had never wanted to feel that way again, and luckily he had not. Until now.
“That doesn’t matter now. He needs treatment, and a diagnostic charm wouldn’t go amiss.” He risked a glance at her face, and Poppy was not looking at him. Her sole attention rested on the boy laying broken in so many ways on the bed. Severus watched as the older witch opened the diagnostic kit. She pulled out a scroll, it glowed a faint blue. Second came a quill, its feathers were white, but as it neared the tip it gradiated to blue. She whispered a few unintelligible spells under her breath, before the scroll glowed an even brighter blue and the quill started to scribble onto the paper.
He slid behind her, dark eyes surveying the list of injuries which seemed to never end. It started at the boy’s birth, gradually marking injuries until it got to the most recent. When it finished, it was almost three feet long. It made Severus feel sick, noticing how many times the boy had been sick and the symptom had gotten worse, but the diagnostic spell showed no treatment received. The boy had been left to suffer, to overheat, or cough himself hoarse with pneumonia but never received treatment. It hurt worse seeing the record of belt marks on his back. Severus remembered how much that hurt, the painful swollen welts on his back. He’d wished for it to stop, but it never did. He’d stood there and taken the belt lashes, the beatings, but no one ever saved him.
If it was the last thing he did, Severus was going to save this boy.