The icy Potions Master was completely alone. Not alone in the physical way, no, Severus was surrounded by his pesky students nearly every day. But he was terribly lonely in his heart. Since his beloved Lily died, he had cared for no one, and no one cared for him. Well, maybe except Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster was like his father. And the Potter brat.
'I should hate that troublesome child' thought Snape moodily. For weeks now he had questioned himself if he really cared what happened to the twerp, and had sternly told himself that of course that he wouldn't care if the child was eaten by a herd of rabid griffins, but every time he repeated that, he subconsciously denied it as well.
He walked through the cold dungeons, sneering at every student who managed to get themselves lost in the dank and dark place. Sneering, he strode over to a group of first-year Hufflepuffs, who shied away from the looming shadow of the teacher. "5 points from Hufflepuff" echoed around the damp hallway, before Snape directed them in the right way, and it was the last punishment before Snape gave way to his tiredness and resided to his quarters.
Unlike the rumours going through most of the student body, his rooms weren't only black, green and silver, but were a pleasant chocolate brown colour, with a honey coloured trim, making the rooms as a whole quite cosy. He didn't bother correcting the rumours that went around him, such as him being a bat Animagus or even a vampire. A small snicker escaped his pale lips. "Best let them be afraid, it's the best way to shut them up" he murmured quietly to himself as he stepped through the swinging portrait of a red haired woman with startling green eyes. Severus glanced at the portrait as he passed it, and sighed. He seemed to do that a lot lately. The portrait of the woman was a constant reminder of who he lost, but he would not trade it for his life. 'Why did Lily's portrait have to be a Muggle one?' he wondered for the millionth time since she passed away. If it had been a magical portrait, at least he would have someone to talk to, to keep him company, even if it was only a picture.
As the Professor got ready for the night, his mind strayed to Harry. "Potter, NOT 'Harry'!" he scolded himself out loud, desperately trying to convince himself to call the detested brat 'Potter', as he had always done, but succumbed to the onslaught of memories in which he had called the boy by his surname, and the hurt and slightly offended, if maybe curious, look in the boy's eyes when he had done so. There was surprisingly many of them. This didn't shock him, as he knew full well that he used the boys surname every time he had the chance to talk to him.
He winced at the thought that he had hurt Lily's only child multiple times, but forced the mask of neutrality upon his face and heart, which was by now used to the sudden changes of emotion.
"There, that's better" he said as he felt the familiar feeling of expressionlessness return. He crossed the hallway into his bedroom, where he edged under his covers and closed his eyes. 'Why am I thinking of Har-Potter- again?' he thought before falling into of the black void of his surreal dreams, where he was looking into the Mirror of Erised, only to fall into it and get stuck in it for ever.
The next morning, which was a Friday, Severus billowed into the Great Hall, much like always, but without his usual frostiness. Oh it was still there alright, but slightly covered with a layer of concern. Even without having to glare at every table in the Hall, he sufficiently quietened the whole room with just his presence. The now very familiar smirk slid onto his face, although he was not feeling like making a cutting remark to anyone at the moment, even if that someone was a certain Harry Potter, who was once again sitting in his circle of fourth year friends, who were all purposely focused on their food, all except Harry. Snape caught his eyes for a single moment, and in that single moment, memories rained down on him; the memories of himself, his eyes, after his father had given him a beating. 'Wait… Did this mean that Harry, *cough*-Potter, had been abused? The Amazing Golden Boy, The Great Gryffindork, The Boy-Who-Lived, being abused?' Somehow the teacher couldn't imagine the Great Golden Gryffindor being abused.
He decided to investigate that matter further when he finally got to sit down. For now he was content with furiously studying the pain, hurt, and sadness that had flashed through the child's eyes, before they had been quickly replaced with anger and hate, which Snape knew was directed at him.
Once Snape had sat down at the Head Table, the chatter quickly returned to its normal level of noise, filled with many conversations ranging from Quidditch to toenails, and from that to Thestrals. For a moment or two, Snape tried listening on some conversations to see if he could learn anything new about what was going on around the castle, but all he found out was a part of a third-year Ravenclaws study schedule.
"Sounds like a zoo" remarked Snape, his tone slightly amused, but mostly annoyed, to the teacher sitting next to him, which turned out to be Professor McGonagall.
"Come on Severus, it's nearly the end of year, they have plenty to talk about, with Harry winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Give them a break for once, Sev." Minerva yelled over the ruckus the students were making. She was one of the few people Severus had permitted to call him 'Sev' and she didn't like to miss an occasion to use the nickname.
Snape snorted. He was proud that Hogwarts had won the Tournament, but was completely horrified at what happened at the end of it, and the terror Harry – no, Potter – was subject to. He still couldn't figure out why he cared if the boy was murdered by Voldemort at all. 'Because you see yourself in him…' whispered a little voice in the back of his head, causing Snape to bury it with other unwanted thoughts.
During the whole of the breakfast, the teacher kept a close eye on Harry, but not for the reasons you may think. The concern that he had pushed away as he entered the hall came flooding back to him.
'That boy seriously needs to eat more' thought Severus when he spotted how thin Harry was, and how little he ate. He was practically a stick on legs. 'Maybe he has an eating disorder' and other possibilities swirled around his head as he subconsciously ate his breakfast, which consisted of fruit salad with cream and his usual coffee. That thought was one of the less prominent ones, because Snape figured that he would have told a teacher, or even the school Mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, that he had troubles eating.
Another idea rose up from the depths of his mind, where he had buried it a few weeks back. 'Was Potter being… abused?' He eyed the boy uncertainly; trying to figure out if that might be true. Many thoughts of denying that appeared in his head: 'Dumbledore wouldn't put the Boy-Who-Lived with abusive relatives, would he?' or 'The prat would have told someone, seeing as he can't seem to stop trying to be in the centre of attention', but he hasn't heard anything from either students or teachers. Snape shook his head, hoping to clear it of its muddled thoughts, but only succeeding in getting a migraine.
The day passed slowly, and by the time last period ended, which Severus had with fifth years, he was nearly climbing the walls from frustration.
'Salazar's grey beard, how much longer will I have to endure this Hell… actually I think Hell would be better than this…' Thoughts like this passed sluggishly through his mind, which was half-dead from all the stupid statements and made up facts he had to hear today.
"Do you little dunderheads really think I believe you? Wolfsbane Potion was made to treat rabid wolves? That's new to me" He felt a good, satisfactory feeling as his students hung their heads in shame over their poorly written essays.
"Last time I checked Wolfsbane was made to treat lycanthropy, not rabid wolves" The last part was said frustratingly calmly, to give the students a feel of how angry he was. Snape found that this technique worked best, even if most of the pupils were now able to judge his temper just by his tone of voice. If he shouted, his anger was plain, and gave the students no feeling of remorse, as many of them had learnt to block out shouting as well as he Occluded. So the eerie calmness in his voice made the students jumpy and fidgety, not knowing what to expect.
He kept lecturing the group of Gryffindor's for another few minutes, but his tiredness took over, and he dismissed them without a detention, no doubt giving them a new thing to gossip about.
By the time he got to the portrait guarding his quarters he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. But as he took the first step towards the entrance to his rooms, his feet struck something solid, successfully tripping him up.
A soft series of 'oof!' sounds as well as "Great Merlin!" escaped his lips as he fell face-first on the cold stone. He lay still for a few minutes, just to make sure that the thing he tripped over wasn't alive, before cracking open an obsidian eye, determined to find the cause of his fall.
The black eyes widened in shock as he laid eyes on the battered and bruised boy with a lightning scar that lay curled up in front of his quarters.
He rushed over to the still form to check for a pulse, putting two fingers on his wrist, just as he had been taught during his basic training as a Healer. He forced his normally steady hand to go still, as a shaky hand definitely did not help while checking for a pulse.
He found none.