Snape sighed wearily. His head was pounding, and all he really wanted was a drink, but he wasn't about to let any of that weakness show. Not when Harry Potter, cursed Griffindor annoyance that he was, sat in his armchair, looking more lost than ever he remembered the boy looking before. He scowled right back, trying to refrain from letting loose with any of the million acidic insults on the tip of his tongue. Potter certainly had no right to be here, making him feel guilty and trapped in his own quarters. Dumbledoor was a bloody fool if he thought this little arrangement was going to last the rest of the break. They had both been sitting here, glaring at each other mutely for the last hour. Potter didn't seem like he was willing to break the silence, and Snape guessed that he would have to say something soon if either of them wanted any sleep. He was about to ask if Potter intended to gape at him like the brainless idiot he was for the rest of the evening when the boy suddenly spoke, in a low, flat monotone, looking down at his knees.
"I'm sorry for causing you trouble. I know you don't want me here. I'll ask Dumbledoor to get someone else to watch me."
Snape growled a little. Damn him, was he that easy to read? "There is no one else." he intoned flatly, "We're stuck with each other." He fished in his robes and came up with a bottle of salve. "Madame Pomfrey asked me to give this to you. It's healing salve. She wouldn't tell me why you needed it though," he left the statement open in case the teenager felt like enlightening him. It was the closest he was going to come to asking about Potter. The rest was up to the boy.
Potter reached over and snatched it hesitantly, trying to avoid eye contact. Snape grabbed his wrist as he was pulling away again, infuriated. He instantly regretted it when Harry turned white and his eyes went very wide in his already-pale face. He stiffened visibly and tried to pull away, but Snape wouldn't let him. Spoiled brat was putting on an awfully good show, but he wasn't that stupid. He yanked him closer, using the wrist he had hold of. The boy screamed. Snape let go hastily and Potter retreated across the room, cradling his wrist to his stomach.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled, grabbing Potter again and dragging him into the bathroom. Harry struggled a little, but it was weak. Snape reasoned that if Potter had wanted to stop him he would have tried harder. He was after all a Quidditch captain, and certainly should have had some muscles to show for it.
He pushed Harry's sleeve backwards, and prodded at the flesh with his wand. The boy was shaking again, and it unnerved him. Even though it was probably just for show, he reminded himself belatedly. He flinched when Harry moaned, low in his throat, pleading. His wand twitched a bit as he ran it over Harry's arm.
He made Harry sit on the toilet as he cast a counter spell to the Glamourie he had detected. When he finished muttering the words, he saw dark purple and green covering Harry's arm, and the bone was protruding slightly. Harry's wrist was broken. Severus was shocked.
Harry sobbed when he saw his marred flesh. He touched one hesitant finger to the bruising and was distracted to Potter's growing looks of panic as he began another counter spell.
"Please! Don't! I'm fine. It's nothing, I promise."
Snape looked up, startled, and Harry pulled away from him violently. He ran to the entrance of the bathroom, and was almost there when Snape locked it without even lifting his wand. Harry whirled around, eyes wide, and then went abruptly limp, falling heavily to the floor. He would have hit his head on the counter if Snape hadn't dived towards him and snatching the unconscious body. Harry curled tighter into a ball in Snape's arms. Snape swept a stray piece of hair away from his face gently and gasped. Harry's scar was bleeding! A red sheen coated his fingertips when he touched them to the wound. Harry moaned and clutched at his chest, shivering even when unconscious.
Snape sighed. What was he supposed to do about this? Dumbledore was gone and there was no one else to turn to. And even then, what was he supposed to do, admit that he couldn't handle a fifteen year old boy? He laid Harry on the couch, sitting next to him, and lifted up the over-large T-shirt gently. He noticed nothing unusual, except that Harry whimpered when the dark haired man touched his ribs. Snape passed his wand over the prone body, countering all the Glamouries Harry had cast on himself. He had no idea what was going on, but he vowed that the moment Harry woke up, he would get a straight answer from him.
When the Glamouries were gone, a gaunt, pale body lay on the couch, ribs sticking out dangerously, dark bruises splotched all over the sickly skin. All he could do was stare in horror and numb disbelief. How could this have happened? Why would someone do this to the Boy Who Lived? And why in the name of Merlin was Harry hiding it from him? Was he ashamed? Snape growled. Much as he had always wished Harry Potter an early death, he wasn't at all inhuman, just better at acting indifferent than most people.
Snape picked up one of his "patient's" wrists gently, cradling the swollen bone. Lines were drawn in blood all over the exposed limb. The cuts weren't as old as the other wounds. These were recent injuries. And unlike the other ones, these had not been inflicted by another person. Some of the cuts were quite deep, and it made Snape sick just looking at them.
Right here was the reason he hated Muggles so much. He could tell that Muggles had done this to Harry because of how much evidence was left after the beatings. Wizards had ways of causing pain without leaving so many scars.
After a second of thought and scanning Harry's body, Snape tried one more spell, one that he had almost forgotten about, to see where the worst of the injuries were. Harry's leg glowed a sickly greenish color, as did his wrists, a large jagged scar that ran along one of the boy's lower ribs, a broken rib, his ankle, and his jaw. Snape remembered that he hadn't thought to cast the counter-glamourie on Harry's face. Doing so, he could only hiss in sympathy when the boy's jaw was shown to be puffy and his face covered in bruises. He noticed a split lip and very black eye in addition. Severus was nearly panicking when he finally came to the conclusion that he had to single-handedly heal Harry, coax an explanation out of him, punish the people who'd done this, support Harry emotionally, and then give a detailed report to Dumbledore when all this was cleared up. Snape blanched. He hated this job sometimes.