Once again, thanks to all of the reviewers, but I'm a greedy writer… I'd love some more!!

Chapter 4: Danger of Secrets

They appeared in front of Snape's ancestral manor, an imposing castle. While Snape landed gracefully, his new ward fell to his knees despite the professor's firm grip on his arm. Disgusted at the boy's stupidity and weakness, the professor checked to make sure they had landed firmly within the wards before striding up the walkway.

Potter, his head aching from apparition and his uncle's wake-up call, swayed as he got to his feet, trying to focus on Snape's rapidly retreating back. Although he distrusted Snape immensely, the professor wasn't his uncle. If he was respectful and tried hard enough, the professor probably wouldn't beat him and might even give him some food.

Despite his best efforts though, he could not catch up to Snape, his rapidly swelling ankle and other injuries making his movements painful and awkward. Still, he moved as fast as he could, aware of his professor's tapping foot at the entrance.

Snape studied Potter's walk carefully. The child appeared a great deal more injured in the bright sunlight, although the majority of his body was still covered by those ridiculous clothes. Clearly, though, he was favoring one leg, and his tortured, but controlled breathing suggested broken ribs.

Still, if the injuries were the boy's fault, Snape would not be babying the brat. He waited until the child crossed the threshold before ushering the brat into the closest sitting room, crinkling his nose at the odor emitting from the child. Had the boy showered since he'd been home?

Harry stood awkwardly in the room as his professor leisurely picked a chair, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers as he fixed the young boy with his time-perfected look of disdain. Really, the smell of blood and filth was overwhelming; it reminded Snape of Death Eater meetings.

The boy was clearly terrified as well; he hadn't yet met Snape's eye. Instead he stood, balanced on one leg, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso. Scrawny and short, he looked younger than he was, although the rapidly darkening bruise on his cheekbone and bags under his eyes gave him a haunted look.

Aware that he would not be able to productively solve the current conundrum while all he could think of was Death Eater meetings and his father, Snape made the decision to force the child to shower before berating him.

Ignoring the voice that accused him of pity, he ordered the child to follow him up the stairs, compensating for weakness with a lecture on the boy's idiocy, irresponsibility, and inconvenience even as he walked slow enough that Harry could follow.

Harry barely realized Snape's mercy as he followed. Despite the July heat that permeated the grounds and house, Harry was freezing, and his chest hurt with every breath he took. Snape's words drifted in and out of his consciousness, still battling the sleeping medication that kept him feeling dazed.

"Not much of a hero now, are we Potter?" Snape's silky voice cut into his daze, and Harry met his eyes, willing himself to stay strong, even as his body shook. Surely Snape wouldn't beat him like his uncle did. Surely.

Snape frowned in confusion. He had expected the brat to be his mouthy, arrogant self, not this exhausted, trembling empty shell. The teenager certainly wasn't listening to him, not that that was anything new, but Severus was in no mood to deal with that now.

"This is your room for the duration of your stay." He ushered the boy into a large room, complete with closet, king-size bed and a bathroom. The architect who had long ago designed the mansion certainly favored oversized rooms.

"Shower – the house elf will bring you some clean clothes – and then we'll talk," Snape snapped, abruptly leaving the room. The longer he spent in Potter's presence, the greater his desire to vomit and force veritaserum down the boy's throat felt. Although the veritaserum might come in handy later, he should give the child a chance first. After all, he wasn't an idiot: something was seriously wrong, and he doubted he could lay the entire blame at Potter's feet, as much as he wanted to.

Potter barely realized when Snape left the room – his head felt like it would explode, but he figured he should shower before the professor returned in a worse mood. Vaguely, he wondered the professor's plans for him; what had his aunt told him? Would he have to go back? Best not to reveal anything; if the summer had been hard so far, whining to a professor would only make it much worse.

Harry could remember the first time he had tried to tell someone; his first grade teacher had been fired and he had been out "sick" for several days. He had gotten much smarter than then, and he wouldn't let Snape and his guardians fool him again.

"Potter! Shower, now!" The loud voice rang in the chamber, snapping Potter out of his reverie. Limping, he made his way into the bathroom as quickly as possible. How stupid of him to freeze; although Snape hadn't hit him yet, this wasn't a safe place by any means. If he wasn't careful, he wouldn't be eating today, and the deep, painful pit in his stomach convinced him he could not go much longer without food.

He tried to shower quickly – he didn't want to pass out in the shower – but he could not help crying out when the water hit the painful, raw welts covering his back and legs. The painful shock unbalanced him, and he stepped down too hard on his injured leg, his ankle giving out.

Snape heard the cry from downstairs, where he had been pondering his options. Worried against his will, he ran into the bathroom, just in time to watch Potter collapse in the bloody water. Without thinking, he rushed forward, turning the water off, and grabbing the now unconscious teenager by the shoulders.

"Potter!" he yelled, then, "Harry! Wake up!" The child still did not respond, so Snape lifted him gently and brought him out to the room. The boy was thin, too thin, and the amount of blood he was losing was ridiculous. How had the child managed to refuse treatment in this condition? Although he still had no intention of babying the teenager, he could not in good conscience let Potter kill himself.

With that in mind, he summoned water, bandages, and medicines and got to work. A basic diagnostic spell further sickened him: a broken arm, a severely sprained ankle, broken ribs, a back torn to shreds, many deep bruises and lacerations, a high fever, a severe nutritional deficiency and traces of sleeping medications in his systems. What had happened to the child?

Those questions could wait, he reminded himself, as he concentrated on bandaging the deepest cuts, mostly on his back. If he could just stop the blood loss, that would be something. As he did so, the boy began waking up, and Snape took advantage of his confusion to pour a blood-replenisher down his throat, clasping a hand over his mouth to prevent him from throwing it back up.

The child tried regardless, but finally swallowed. Severus waited a moment, watching the child's face gain some color and his body strength before thrusting a basic robe into Potter's hands and stalking out of the room. Although he had considered abuse on some theoretical level, the evidence now forced him to consider it more seriously. Perhaps just as worrying was the medicine already floating in the teen's body. He would have to select his own potions carefully; any reactions or overdoses could seriously harm somebody as underweight as Potter.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, he saw the teenager dressed, hair still sopping wet as he perched nervously on a chair. At the sight of his potions professor, Harry jumped up, careful to only use one leg and let forth a string of apologies, clearly terrified.

Snape held up a hand. "As much as I enjoy hearing you act like an incoherent, babbling idiot, Potter, we have more important things to discuss." The boy's face went, if possible, even whiter and Snape frowned, his frustration mounting even as he attempted to control himself.

"Why have you been getting into Muggle fights? I realize you are hardly capable of winning a wizard's duel, but surely you didn't feel so insecure you felt obliged to sink to a level you could compete at? Or not, I should say," he drawled off, well aware that insulting the boy would probably not lead to answers, but irritated enough to taunt him anyway. Sure enough, Potter began fidgeting, looking desperate, and searching, Snape, was sure, for a lie that would satisfy him.

"Before you decide to lie to me, and compound your predicament, let me ask perhaps a more pertinent question. Why did you refuse treatment for your injuries?" Snape, against his will, was becoming curious, as Potter looked utterly panicked at the question. He would later regret going further, but he couldn't stop himself from baiting the weak Potter, ignoring his early fears. "Goodness, Potter, didn't you think your aunt would tell someone eventually?" He asked, remembering Petunia's obvious timidity. "Or did you think you could intimidate her into silence?" He snarled at the boy, leaning forward so that they were face to face.

Potter lost it. Stumbling off his seat, he backed away, landing against the wall. His eyes were wild as he looked for an exit, an escape. Angry at the dramatics, Snape followed, watching with pleasure as Harry grew more and more nervous. Finally, Potter attempted to bolt, but Snape easily caught him and threw him back against the wall.

Potter's face immediately twisted in agony, and Snape regretted his decision as Potter slowly crumpled to the ground, unable to handle another assault to his already raw back. Severus reminded himself that as much as he needed answers, Potter could not afford more injuries. As much as he wanted Potter to be guilty, evidence still suggested otherwise. Time for a different tactic.

"Potter, I don't want to hurt you." Snape said through clenched teeth. "But you need to tell me what is going on." He was not convinced the child could even understand what he was saying at this point as Potter's breathing became more rapid and erratic. He knelt in front of the child, ignoring Harry's attempts to struggle away and grabbed his chin, forcing the teenager's face towards him. He pulled a vial out of his robes, watching the child's fearful anticipation.

"Potter, I will give you this pain-reliever, if you will tell me what is going on." The child looked completely torn, and Snape was a bit sickened at how much the child evidently wanted the potion. Yet something was preventing him from accepting, and after a moment Potter's eyes dropped from the bottle to the floor.

"I can't," he said in frustrated resignation, so quietly that Severus almost missed it. Shocked at the teenager's decision, Snape threw the bottle against the wall in frustration, not missing the child flinch as the glass shattered and the liquid leaked onto the floor.