Where Do I Go From Here?

by The Ivory Raven

After a difficult summer, Harry returns to Hogwarts and keeps his homelife a secret. But the new DADA professor leaves him with an even bigger secret to hide. How will he cope, and what does Snape have to do with it all? Warning:abuse, cutting, depression

11. Snape's New Ward

Disclaimer: Just in case you haven't figured it out by now…I don't own Harry, Severus, or any of J.K.R's other characters. But I do own Stroper!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 11 Snape's New Ward

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It was a rainy Wednesday evening, and Harry was staring sullenly out of the window next to his new bed in Snape's quarters. Just hours before, he had been roused from his place in the infirmary and brought down to the dungeons by way of the Floo, protesting the entire way as the dark-clothed man led him there with an iron grip on his arm. Harry rubbed at the spot where Snape's strong fingers had wrapped about his arm for the short journey, and although it no longer hurt, Harry was sure there might be a bruise there later.

Harry shifted his position on his bed where it sat in the corner of the room and he leaned against the nearby wall, pressing his cheek against the cold stone and peering out the glass as the fat plots of water landed on the sill. He brought his hand up as if to run his fingers over the glass, but as he was about to touch its surface, the image of the window shimmered as if it were made of liquid, and Harry was forcibly reminded that this was not a window at all, merely an enchantment, put there to make the room seem less like a prison, which in Harry's mind, it was, regardless of whether it had a window or not.

As he pulled his hand away, the image reasserted itself and he turned his head away from the sight, away from the blank wall masquerading as something it was not. Much like me, I suppose, Harry thought, and he curled up on his side, his head resting on the end of the pillow that stuck out from where his arms were clutched around it, squeezing its softness against his body in a parody of a hug.

After the short conversation he had with his Potions professor early that morning when it was reveled that he would be transferred to the dungeon, Harry had spent much time deep in thought. No matter which way he looked at it, this all felt as if it were some type of punishment, and he had made up his mind right then that he would just have to be more careful from now on; he mustn't be caught again. Of course, with the measures that Snape was taking to safeguard against a repeat of the incident, Harry wasn't so sure he would be able to cut again no matter how careful he was being.

As soon as they had stepped into Snape's quarters two hours ago, Snape had started setting up special wards around the Floo, Harry's bedroom, and then the rest of the rooms. Harry had, at first, tried to ignore the activity as the Professor walked into various rooms waving his wand about and casting the spells, but then Harry felt a tingle go through his body, and he had quickly turned from where he had been sitting on a wing-backed chair to see Snape's wand pointed at him. Realizing that the man had just cast a spell of some sort on him while his back was turned, Harry leaped from the chair in alarm, his face pale, and his eyes staring accusingly at the Potions Master.

Taking in the pallor of the young face of his student, Snape curtly excused the boy from the room, leading him to the bedroom that had been set up for him and directing the boy there with a the short wave of his wand that sent the door sweeping open before him. Harry had hurried from the sitting room only to discover that the space he had retreated to was almost as desolate as he could imagine. The small room had a bed pushed into its corner, the drab blue sheets doing nothing to brighten the somber mood of the room. The enchanted window was there of course, but the rainy weather it was reflecting from outside only made Harry feel lonelier.

He had investigated upon first entering the room to see if there was more to it than that, but a quick precursory glance told him all he needed to know. The room was bare; the bed and window being the only two things in it. Deciding that this entire ordeal must, indeed, be a punishment, he had resigned himself to looking out the window.

But now, two hours later, and curled around his pillow, it was starting to get dark and Harry was wondering if he would see his professor again before morning. Just then, Snape came striding into the room, and although the door had been open since Harry had first entered the room, he jumped in alarm at the professor's sudden entrance.

Snape paused only briefly at Harry's sudden movement, but a second later he returned to his task and a large trunk floated into the room as he guided its movements with his wand. Harry immediately recognized the trunk as his own, and he felt some slight relief knowing he would have his favored possessions with him during his stay.

The trunk landed with a heavy 'thunk' against the wall next to the bed, but before Harry could make a move towards it, his hopes of finding any contentment within the confines of his professor's quarters were dashed as Snape lifted his wand again, causing the trunk lid to spring open. Within three steps, the man was standing before the open trunk and incanting yet another spell.

Harry watched, horrified, as his pocket knife came sailing through the air, right into Snape's open palm. Withholding the roar of indignation that fought to make itself known, Harry leaped from the bed and blurted out, "Hey, you can't take that! It's mine!"

The effect those words had was instantaneous. Snape spun on the spot and approached the spot where Harry stood, scowling down at the boy and clutching the knife in his tight-handed grip,

"The last I checked, Potter, these are my quarters, hence, you will follow my rules. Rule number one," Harry winced as Snape thrust the closed knife before his face before withdrawing it just as quickly and sliding it into his pocket and continuing in the same restrained voice, "I reserve the right to withhold any item I feel poses a threat to your health."

"But-"

"Rule number two," Snape raised his voice just enough to drown out the objections Harry tried to make heard, "I also reserve the right to search your belongings if I feel it is necessary, so do not give me cause to do so. From this point on, you are not allowed to keep in your possession any item that holds the potential of being used as a tool for self harm; and that includes all blades, whether they be a simple shaving razor or a dull butter knife."

By this point, Harry was practically shaking with suppressed anger and shock; his tightly closed fists were held stiffly at his sides, almost drawing Snape's attention away from the boy's quivering chin. Be that as it may, Snape felt compelled to finish his little diatribe with the same level of harshness, wanting nothing more than to drive home the fact that things were, indeed, going to change; no 'ifs, ands, or buts' about it.

"And rule number three, Potter. You will follow a schedule that I will make out for you. There will be no more moping about in bed feeling sorry for yourself, and you will start eating meals on a regular basis; I'll not have you starve yourself while you're here."

Harry's arms lifted from where he had been holding them at his sides and he crossed them angrily over his chest as he bit out, "I don't mope around in bed, and I don't starve myself!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Snape cast the boy a snide look and pointed out, "If you don't mope about, then perhaps you would like to explain what it was that you were doing in here before I entered."

Harry fell silent after his blatant lie was pointed out and he sat down hard on his bed in a huff as Snape continued to refute the rash exclamation from moments before.

"And you have been starving yourself, Potter. Do you honestly think no one would notice if you suddenly stopped coming to meals with the rest of the students?"

"But I only missed a few," Harry irritatedly attempted to explain, "And I've been eating in the kitchen every once in a while, too."

Snape's brow arched ever so slightly with that proclamation, and Harry had the eerie sensation that the man knew that he had fudged the truth yet again.

"Is that so…,"The sudden, soft lilt in Snape's voice spoke volumes, and Harry inwardly cringed as the man continued, shattering one of Harry's half-truths yet again. "For I have it on good authority, that you have visited the kitchens a grand total of one time."

Harry decided that Snape must have been already informed by the elves that work in the kitchen, but despite that, he opened his mouth to defend his lie. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

"Save your breath, Potter. I've had enough of your lies. From this point on, I expect you to be truthful and respectful in your dealings with me, and in return, I will attempt to show you the same courtesy."

Snape briskly turned and headed back towards the door, but stopped just long enough in the open doorway to part some last-minute instructions.

"Dinner will be served in approximately fifteen minutes, and I suggest you come to the table promptly."

Harry instantly groused at the situation. First, he was dragged down to the dungeons to stay with Snape, no less, but now he has to eat with the man, too? He had hoped to be allowed at least a few of his previous freedoms, eating in the Great Hall being one of them, but it seemed that he was to be disappointed yet again.

Snape then left Harry to his thoughts, striding away in such haste that his long, black cloak whipped against the door frame as he passed. Harry grudgingly sat on his bed, dreading the upcoming meal, due both to the company he would have as he ate, and because he wasn't certain he would be able to stomach even half of the typical-sized portion without feeling sick. Even thinking about it now had his stomach feeling as if it were tied in knots, and he rubbed his hand over his belly as he waited.

Sooner than he would have liked, Harry heard the tell-tale 'pop' of a house elf, and he knew it was bringing the evening meal. With a groan of apprehension, he hoisted himself from his spot on the bed and made his way back into the main living quarters, dragging his feet the whole way.

As he passed the wing-backed chair he had sat in hours before, he paused a moment to get a better view of the room. He had been so upset earlier due to his abrupt arrival, that he hadn't even paid attention to his surroundings, but now that he had the opportunity to do so, he could not help but to be transfixed by it all. The room was large, and despite how Harry had always imagined Snape's quarters would look, the space was surprisingly inviting, decorated in shades of warm earth tones instead of the Slytherin colors of silver and green as he had expected.

Most of the wall space was taken up by large, ornate looking bookshelves, stained in cherry, and each was heavily laden with tomes of all sizes. The fireplace, through which he had arrived, was towards the left end of the room, opposite his bedroom door. A large, beautifully woven rug was positioned in front of the fireplace, with a wing-backed chair situated on either side of it, and a loveseat at the end, facing the hearth, leaving the greater expanse of the rug directly in front of the fireplace free and open; Harry supposed that this was done to allow unimpeded access to the Floo.

Each of the chairs had a small end table positioned close by, stained to match the bookshelves, and Harry could see an open book laying atop one of the end tables, its worn and yellowed pages giving testament to its age.

Letting his eyes wander to the other end of the room, he noticed a desk in the far corner, its thick, carved legs drawing his attention almost immediately. Next to the desk was the entrance to a small hallway that held three doors. Harry assumed that one door led to Snape's bedroom, and one led to what must be a bathroom, but he didn't have a clue as to what was hidden behind the last closed door.

"Looking for something?"

Harry whirled around in surprise. Snape was staring at him through narrowed eyes from where he sat at a small table that sat in the corner opposite the desk. Harry cast his eyes over his surroundings again, startled to realize that in his musings, his feet had automatically brought him forward and he was actually standing in the entrance to the hallway.

Thinking quickly, Harry said the first thing that popped up into his mind.

"Just looking for the bathroom, Sir, to wash my hands."

"Yes," Snape intoned wryly, "See that you do. First door on the right, and be quick about it."

Harry practically bolted to the proper door and swung it open. Inside he found a modest-sized bathroom, much nicer than the ones he was used to using in Gryffindor tower. Deciding not to take the time to inspect the room further, Harry hurriedly washed his hands and then made his way to the table.

When he got there, he saw that there were several platters full of food, along with two pitchers of drinks. Harry instantly recognized the orange colored liquid of the first pitcher to be pumpkin juice, but the other pitcher held a darker looking liquid that he couldn't place, and he thought that it must be there specifically for Snape's use since it was placed so close to the man's side of the table.

Harry took the seat opposite his professor and then stared at the empty plate in front of him in an effort to avoid the piercing stare that was being sent his way, but Snape would have none of it.

"Do not slouch in your seat. I expect you to use proper manners whilst you are here."

As soon as Harry lifted his gaze, Snape exasperatedly directed, "Serve yourself; I'll not be doing it for you."

Harry could feel his cheeks heat with anger and humiliation, and he resolutely kept his mouth shut out of fear of saying something that would get him into even more trouble. Grabbing the serving spoon from the closest platter, he scooped a little of the corn onto his plate, before placing a chicken leg and a roll on it as well.

Picking up his fork, he was stopped from getting his first bite when Snape said, "Before you eat, Potter, you need to take this." The long, dark-clothed arm of the Potions Professor stretched forward and held a small vial of potion aloft over the food until Harry timidly plucked it out of his grasp. Not recognizing the potion, and confused as to what it might be, Harry inquired, "What is it, Sir?

The answer he received was delivered with an even tone of voice that held not the smallest amount of distain, simply sounding very matter-of-factly. "It is a stomach soothing potion. It will ease any discomfort that you have as a result of your eating a normal meal."

Harry looked down in wonder at the vial wondering what on earth had happened to make Snape take pity on him. Deciding he'd better take advantage of the offering while he had the chance, Harry pulled the small cork from the vial and downed it all in one go, grimacing his face in preparation for the bad taste. Surprisingly though, he found it to have a rather pleasing flavor, leaving the taste of mint behind. Raising his brow in surprise, he blurted out, "Why can't you make all your potions taste like that?"

Snape barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "The taste of a potion is not determined after the fact, but it is merely the product of the combined ingredients within it. Any decent potioneer would know that it would compromise a potion to add any flavoring to it, though that fact doesn't seem to stop some from trying. It just so happens that the potion you just ingested is brewed with a base of septertine needles which tastes very similar to mint."

"Oh."

Harry stared dumbfounded at his professor for several moments, shocked at the fact that the man had actually spoke several sentences to him without throwing in some derogatory comment, but a sudden, purposeful cough derailed his train of thought, and he quickly scooped up a bite of corn.

The dinner continued in awkward silence for several minutes until Harry set his silverware to the side, feeling quite full despite the fact that he'd eaten less than half of the food he had on his plate. Chancing a quick look at his professor, Harry caught the look of disapproval on the man's face when Snape saw the half-full plate.

Sullenly picking up his fork again, Harry forced himself to eat a few more bites, but by the time Snape finished off his own meal, Harry still hadn't made much headway with his plate of food and he was currently using his fork to push the bits and pieces of his left over meal from one side of the plate to the other, much to the dissatisfaction of his Potions Professor.

"If you're done playing with your food, Potter, then follow me."

Snape stood from his chair and paced past where Harry was just rising from his own seat, not sparing a single glance in the boy's direction, but heading straight for one of the chairs that sat next to the fireplace. Harry noticed that it was the same one that had the end table next to it on which sat the open book. He off-handedly thought that perhaps that particular chair was his Potion's Professor's favorite, but further reflection was dashed from his mind as the man motioned Harry into the other chair with a curt nod of his head. Harry apprehensively perched himself on the very edge of the chair, much too nervous about it all to bring himself to the point where he could relax fully.

Snape fixed him with another one of his penetrating stares, and Harry soon found himself fidgeting in his seat, wringing his hands together until the sweat on his palms forced him to rub his hands down the tops of his pants legs in an attempt to dry them. At this point, Snape purposely cleared his throat to gain Harry's attention and stated, "I want to know how you came to be in the state in which you were found yesterday morning."

Harry instantly cast about for an answer. He couldn't tell him, he just couldn't.

Not knowing what to say, he decided to play dumb.

"I don't know..." Again, Harry's hands came together in his lap and he anxiously rubbed his right thumb against the scar on his left palm, "I don't remember."

The look on Snape's face made it obvious to Harry that the man would not be so easily swayed.

"I know that's not the truth. The bruises were in different stages of healing, Potter. Do you know what that tells me?"

Harry's mouth had suddenly gone dry and his tongue felt as if it were glued to the roof of his mouth, so he just shook his head 'no' instead.

"It tells me that the damage occurred over the course of at least the past several weeks. So, that leads me to believe that the injuries you sustained took place while in the care of your relatives."

Harry suddenly felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away. He gulped in several deep breaths, but still felt as if he were suffocating. Bolting to his feet, he replied in a voice fraught with tension, "No, I told you, I don't remember."

"I think you do remember, Potter. But for some unfathomable reason you feel the need to protect the person or persons responsible. Now is not the time for foolish Gryffindor chivalry. The ones responsible should be brought to justice."

Harry could do little more than shake his head in dispute against those statements. He was desperate to escape this line of questioning, especially now that he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Breathing deeply in order to stave off the impending bout of emotions, Harry flustered out, "I d-don't feel like talking about this right now."

He took a couple of hesitant steps towards his bedroom door. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

Then he all but ran from the room, shutting his door quickly in an attempt to shut out the voice of his professor calling out, "Potter.."

Now in the privacy of his room, Harry paced back and forth anxiously. Running a hand agitatedly through his hair, he stopped his pacing and stared at his trunk. Desperate for some relief, he dropped to his knees to dig through its contents. Pushing the clothes aside, he rummaged through it all looking for something, anything that would take the place of his confiscated knife.

Casting a rumpled shirt to the side, he eyed a small, brown plastic bottle. Confused as to what it was, he grabbed it out and held it up to the light. Even through the blurriness of his tears, he recognized the bottle of pills he had stolen from his aunt's medicine cabinet so many weeks before. Running his fingers over the label, he read the information printed there and then took off the cap. Giving the bottle a little shake, he surmised that most of the prescription was left.

Hearing the sound of movement from the room beyond, Harry hastily screwed the cap back on and tucked the bottle safely into a loose sock that he found sitting in the bottom of his trunk without its mate. Waiting a few minutes longer to be sure he wouldn't be disturbed, he commenced his rummaging and managed to find the short end of a broken quill that had been lying forgotten amongst the other odds and ends that were within.

Out of fear of being discovered, Harry gave his closed door another furtive glance before making his way over to his bed. After settling himself comfortably against the headboard, he rolled his sleeve up looking for a good spot to make the mark at. He had just pressed the quill to his skin when he thought better of it and rolled the sleeve back down.

Knowing better than to make any marks where there was a chance of Snape seeing them, Harry looked for a different area on which to mark. Thinking it the least likely place for Snape to see, Harry slid off his pants and found a spot on his inner thigh, stopping for only a moment to admire the scabbed over marks the fork left behind that morning. He then took the sharp end of the quill and pressed it to his flesh, relishing the sharp stab of pain the action caused. Slowly drawing the quill downwards, he left a scrape along his skin that flared with pain.

Finally feeling able to breathe deeply again, Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a moment or two, letting the pain push his agonizing thoughts aside. Just as he prepared to do it again, his bedroom door flew open, and Snape stormed in. Before Harry even realized what was happening, the quill was accio-ed out of his hands and Snape was looming over him with a look of fury on his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! I thought I made it abundantly clear that you were not to engage in this type of activity again, and yet, here you sit, bleeding onto your bed covers."

Harry's eyes flew down towards his lap, and sure enough, the small scrape had started to bleed at a spot near the bottom and a small trickle of blood was slowly making its way downwards to drip onto his blanket. Then, he registered the fact that he was sitting in front of his Potions professor wearing nothing more than his shirt and underwear. Grabbing the edge of the blanket up from where it was draped over the edge of the bed, he threw it across his lap, effectively hiding his indiscretion from view. But it was too little, too late; Snape had already seen.

Snape stepped closer to the bed, and out of both instinct and fear, Harry cringed as the man's shadow fell across his face. That, more than anything else, made Snape stop in his tracks. The man withdrew to the other side of the room where he resorted to pacing back and forth, focusing on breathing deeply to diffuse some of his anger. When he thought about it, it wasn't so much the fact that the boy had harmed himself again that bothered Snape so much, it was the fact that Harry was the son of James Potter, and that both of them had no regard to rules whatsoever.

If he were honest with himself, he knew when he set the rule against self harm that it was very likely to be broken; he had, after all, been through this process with several of his Slytherins over the years. Resolved to try harder, he made his way back over to the boy and sat upon the closed trunk. He waited for several moments, but the child refused to make eye contact. Finally, he broke the silence, causing the boy's shoulders to hunch even more as if the child were expecting a blow to accompany the words.

"Why?"

If there was one thing Harry was not expecting, it was the sound of Snape speaking to him in such a tone of voice; it was firm, yet un-reprimanding, and Harry raised his bowed head enough to look at the man through the fringe of dark, unruly hair that hung down and almost hid the top half of his face from view. When he couldn't bring himself to say anything in return, he heard that voice again.

"Why?"

This time, Harry sat up and actually looked at the man properly. Gone was the scowl from earlier, gone was the look of fury from minutes before; but still, he felt unable to say anything. He felt his nose running and sniffed it, but before he could even contemplate fetching himself a tissue, a folded white handkerchief was presented to him. Harry looked down at it for a number of terse moments before accepting the item from Snape's outstretched hand. He brought the cloth to his face and was somewhat surprised to feel how wet his face was. Had he really been crying that hard?

Rubbing his face dry, he then brought the handkerchief to his lap, assuming correctly that Snape would not want it back now that it was damp with the evidence of his latest crying bout. He nervously twisted the fabric of it around his fingers, still at a loss as to what to say, finally deciding to answer the question by way of an indecisive shrug of his shoulders.

Taking the answer for what it was, Snape decided to share his thoughts on the subject.

"I think we both know why you did it, Mister Potter."

Now, Snape had Harry's full attention, so the man continued on in that same tone of voice he had used minutes before.

"I think you were so distressed about the topic I attempted to discuss with you, that you felt the need to cut again."

Despite his better judgment that was telling him not to trust this man, Harry soon found himself nodding, giving the man the affirmation he was seeking. A terse silence followed, eventually broken when Snape asked, "You do realize that I must search your belongings now?"

Harry was quick to shake his head and utter a dejected, "No."

"You know I must, Potter. Rule number two. How am I to know there aren't other items hidden in your trunk that could be used in place of your knife?"

Snape stood and lifted the lid of the trunk, pausing momentarily at the jumbled up mess of clothes and books inside. "This mess is unacceptable. Whilst here, I expect you to keep your things in at least a half presentable manner."

Harry craned his neck to better watch as Snape shifted his things about in his trunk, praying that the man would not find his aunt's stolen bottle of pills. Although it had first been placed in the trunk unintentionally, he didn't want Snape to find it out of fear that it would only invite the man to question how it got there, and Harry really didn't feel up to another round of questioning tonight.

Harry held his breath when the sock with the bottle inside came into view; luckily, however, Snape pushed it to the side right along with the other pieces of clothing lying about in the trunk, ignoring its presence entirely. By the time Snape had reached the bottom, he had removed the other end of Harry's broken quill and was lifting a piece of old, tattered parchment from the bottom.

"Humph."

The professor's low voice sounded softly through the room, and Harry partially stood up from where he had been previously sitting on the edge of the bed to see what got the man's attention. As Harry peered over Snape's shoulder, he could see the man's long thin fingers gingerly lift out a rather large fragment of broken glass. With a start, Harry realized that it was a piece of Sirius's mirror that he had shattered months before, at the end of the last school term.

How had that escaped my attention before? Harry had not even remembered he still had it in his trunk, but now that he saw Snape lifting piece after piece out, he became aware of the fact that he had purposely tried to forget the horrifying incident that led him to break that mirror in the first place. He remembered how angry he had been that day, the day it had finally settled into his brain the fact that Sirius would never be coming back. Harry would never hear the man's laughter again, he would never feel that friendly arm slung around his shoulders in a hug, he would never have what he had always hoped for and had been promised…a home with someone that actually cared about him.

Just thinking about Sirius made Harry's chest hurt and his eyes sting. Shaking out the handkerchief from where it had been balled up in his fist, he wiped it across his eyes and sat back down on the bed, wishing harder than ever that Snape would just leave so that he could be alone with his thoughts for the rest of the evening…But as always, fate had never truly been kind.

Snape stood from where he had been crouched next to the trunk, his hands full of the various things he had uncovered while searching Harry's trunk. He silently left the room, and when he returned a moment later, his hands were empty again. Harry's heart cried out at the injustice of it all. What right did Snape have to take one of the few things Harry had that had been gifted to him from someone he loved? Harry pointedly ignored the small voice in the back of his head reminding him that he hadn't touched any part of that mirror since the day he broke it; instead, all he could think about was how Snape, whose hatred of Sirius Black was legendary, had removed one of the only reminders Harry had of the man.

Stifling a cry of pained anger, Harry stared accusingly at Professor Snape and bit out, "What did you do with it?"

Snape's lowered brow was the only sign of his incomprehension of the boy's outburst. When he looked at Harry, he could see the child's hands fisted tightly in the bedclothes, and he curtly asked him, "What are you going on about, Potter?"

"Sirius' mirror! You had no right to take it!"

Understanding dawned swiftly on Snape, and he was quick to refute the boy's accusation.

"I did not destroy your belongings, nor do I intend to keep them. They are currently locked away until such a time as I deem you fit enough to have them returned to you."

Harry's anger died down a bit, but he was still resentful towards Snape for taking those things in the first place. Before he could think longer on the situation, however, Snape once again seated himself upon the trunk and pulled a rolled length of parchment from his pocket.

"Here is the schedule you will be following during the duration of your stay."

Snape handed the paper to Harry, who took it and retreated to the far side of the bed, where he leaned against the wall and unfurled the parchment to read through its contents.

"As you can see," Snape continued, "there is a time allotted each day for study in the evenings. I also expect you to attend all of your assigned classes and the extra tutorage that Professor Dumbledore has arranged for you with Professor Stroper."

Harry resentfully looked over the schedule, his heart sinking more and more the farther down the paper he read.

"But, Sir…When do I get to go to Quidditch practice?"

Harry continued to scan the parchment until he heard his professor's answer.

"You won't."

"What?!" Harry was now more outraged than before. He clenched his fists in anger, crumpling the edges of the parchment trapped between his fingertips. "That's not fair! You know Gryffindor has practice every week. I have to go!"

"No, Mister Potter, you don't have to go. As a matter of fact, you are henceforth banned from further participation on your team until you have fully regained your health."

"B-but," Harry sputtered indignantly, "What do you mean, 'until I'm healthy'? Madam Pomfrey healed everything, didn't she?"

"Magic can't heal every wound, Potter, nor is it safe for you to fly until you have regained some of the weight you've lost during the summer."

Harry wanted to protest, but Snape wasn't finished yet.

"And as to that fact, tomorrow you will start a prescribed regimen of nutrient potions that will aid in your weight gain until you can eat more regularly."

"There's nothing wrong with the way I eat," Harry retorted.

"Potter, you hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive." And with that, Snape rose and made his way to the door. "And you wouldn't be amiss to try to sleep more regularly, as well."

Harry could see that the professor had stopped and was eying the bags beneath his eyes, and he looked down, hiding the top portion of his face with the curtain of dark hair that flopped forward.

"Lights out in half an hour." Snape then exited the room, pulling the door shut as he went, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

Snape walked directly to a locked cabinet that was situated near his desk, and using his wand to unlock it, he reached within it and pulled out a slender glass bottle and a small glass tumbler. Pouring himself a measure of the liquor, he made his way over to his favorite chair by the hearth and settled himself tiredly into its comfortable padding. As he had expected, the fire flashed in green, and he heard the Headmaster's voice call out, "Ah, Severus, do you have a minute to talk?"

By way of an answer, Snape cast a privacy ward around the Floo and took a swig of his drink. He knew that Albus had undoubtedly known he would be sitting there at that particular time, seeing as to how they both talked quite often in the evenings, whenever Severus wasn't out attending to his duties as a spy, that is. He set his almost empty cup onto the small end table, next to the still open book, and he gave Dumbledore his full attention.

"What can I do for you this evening, Albus?"

"I was just checking up to see how young Harry is doing. All is well I hope."

Severus gave the wizened wizard an incredulous look. "He's a Potter, Albus. You're lucky I haven't maimed him."

Dumbledore gave a hearty laugh and chastised the other man, "Surely, it couldn't have been that bad, could it?"

Snape grew very serious, and the change in mood sobered Dumbledore's usual cheerful demeanor rather quickly.

"He's a very angry and scared young man, Albus, and he has a lot of issues he needs to work through." Snape paused long enough to swallow down the rest of his drink and deposit the now empty cup back to its spot next to the book. "I'm not sure if I can help him…too much bad blood between us."

The soft, understanding visage of the old Headmaster nodded in sagely agreement of the statement, and he replied, "I know Severus, but you really are his best chance at recovery."

Snape opened his mouth to disagree, but Dumbledore pointed out, "Don't think for one second that I don't know the success rate you hold in treating your Slytherins who have similar problems to those of Harry. I hold your abilities in the highest regards in things of this nature, and I know you won't disappoint me if you'll but give the boy a chance."

"I don't know if I can, Albus. I've spent half the day wanting to throttle the little wretch, and the other half, pitying him for what those damn muggles have reduced him to!"

"Now, now, Severus, there's nothing wrong with taking pity on a troubled boy."

"Pity is not what he needs right now," Snape smacked his closed fist upon his outstretched knee in emphasis. "Damn it, Albus! He needs a firm hand, yet someone he feels comfortable talking to. I'm afraid I'm already being too harsh with the boy, but he's been grating on my last nerve. He's impulsive and stubborn! He's so convinced he's alone in the world that he won't let anybody in."

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, slowly nodding his head in agreement, "Sounds a lot like another young man I used to know." He gave Snape a pointed look, and the Potions Master felt his face heat in the unfamiliar emotion of embarrassment.

"Be that as it may," Snape argued, "Surely, someone else in the Order would be better suited for this task."

"Come now, Severus, you and I both know you've been keeping an eye on Harry since he first started at Hogwarts, albeit from the sidelines, so let's not go spitting hairs on this. Give it at least a few weeks before you give this venture up; I'm sure things will settle down between the two of you soon." The wizened wizard smiled warmly and asked, "After all, how much harm could one teenaged boy be?"

Totally exasperated by now, Snape answered, "He's already cut himself again, Albus."

The recent smile Dumbledore had sported moments before melted from his face, and Snape continued on before the old man could interrupt.

"I tried to talk to him about the injuries we discovered in the hospital wing, but he ran from the room only moments after I first brought it up. I had decided to leave him alone for the rest of the evening, but several minutes later, the protection ward I had placed on Potter warned me that he had been injured. When I went to investigate the matter, I found the boy had cut himself."

"So soon?"

Snape did not speak, but merely nodded his reply. The short silence that followed was soon broken, however, when a movement from behind caused Snape to turn in his seat, searching out the distraction. Harry was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, the door mostly closed behind him, and his hand still on the knob.

Snape heard the voice of the Headmaster hurriedly say, "I'll check in on you both later, Severus." Then the crackle of the fire was all that Snape could hear as he and his ward regarded each other for a second or two before Harry finished shutting his door and made his way towards the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

As soon as Snape heard the bathroom door click shut, he turned back to the fireplace only to discover that the old man was gone, and he flicked his wand to bring down the privacy ward he had earlier erected. Scrubbing an open hand wearily across his face, he rose from his seat and put away the empty glass tumbler that still sat on the end table. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to see the evidence of his drinking, despite the fact he hadn't imbibed enough to do anything more than take the edge of his finely honed temper. Besides, for all Snape knew, Harry's relatives might be drinkers, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Harry another reminder of them.

So, with practiced ease, he spelled the cup clean and placed it back within the cabinet, getting the door shut just as Harry re-entered the room. The boy stopped in the hallway, as if nervous to pass so closely to where Snape stood a few feet away, but as Snape cast a spell on the cabinet and the door locked with a click, Harry hurried past, not stopping until he was once again ensconced in his room.

Snape cast a tempus charm and saw that it was time for Harry to go to bed, but before he could take even one step towards the bedroom door, the ribbon of light that shone from underneath it went out, and the Potions Master resigned himself to a quiet evening reading his book.

Making himself comfortable again in his chair, he pulled the book towards him and started at the spot where he last left off, leaning back in the chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed in that manner, but when he first felt the tingling sensation that alerted him to the protection ward, the fire was low in the grate. Setting the book down, he made his way over to Harry's door and paused just outside it to listen for some clue as to what the boy was up to. Hearing nothing, but once again feeling that slight tingle make its way through him, he pushed the door open.

At first, he was unable to see anything amiss, the darkness of the room making it impenetrable to the man who had just come from a well lit area, but as his eyes adjusted to the change in the light level, he was shocked to see Harry thrashing about in his bed, his limbs knocking haphazardly into the stone wall and bed posts. With a flick of his wand, the light was restored to the room and Snape stood transfixed by what he was witnessing.

The boy's body was twisting about in the bed as if he were in agony, the bed covers that were wrapped about him seemed to only make it worse as the child kicked at them, trying to get them off. But the worst of it was the look on his face, the silent scream that seemed to warp the features of his face with its severity. At first, Snape was too shocked to realize what he was seeing, but then commonsense made itself known, and he used his wand to lift the silencing charm the boy had placed on himself.

As soon as the spell was lifted, his piercing screams ripped through the air like a hot blade, almost making Snape cringe from the noise level alone. Rushing forward, he pushed up the dark fringe that was plastered against Harry's forehead due to the sweat, fully expecting to see the famous scar swollen and bleeding, but to his utter surprise, the boy's forehead was completely unaffected.

Having no other recourse, he grabbed hold of the bony shoulders and gave the boy a light shake in an effort to wake him.

"Potter! Wake up, Boy!"

The response was instantaneous, Harry's struggles increased in strength and he now swung his arms wildly through the air in an attempt to displace the hold Snape had on him. Capturing the thin wrists in his hands, Snape pushed Harry's arms to either side of his body and shouted as loud as he could to be sure he would be heard above the boy's screams.

"Potter, wake up! No one is trying to hurt you! Wake up!"

But still, that didn't work, and Snape was sure he'd be covered in bruises from where Harry's knees kept coming up and pounding against his side. Now determined to wake the child, he did the only other thing he could think of.

"Harry! Open your eyes! You're safe here, Harry! Wake up!"

Finally, the harsh movements slowed to a stop and the screams died down to mere whimpers. Snape released his hold on the frail arms and watched as Harry's eyes opened a fraction before clamping shut again. In realization of the problem, Snape dimmed the lights in the room and turned back to his charge.

Again, those emerald eyes flickered open, confusion and fear clouding them as Harry reached up to tiredly scrub at his face, pressing the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes.

"Wha-" Harry began, his voice trembling, but as he pulled his hands away, he saw Snape there and grew deathly silent, staring at Snape as if he were Voldemort himself. The look on Harry's face was enough to send Snape uncharacteristically hurtling from where he had been sitting on the bed. Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Snape questioned the startled youth.

"What was that all about, Potter? And why, pray tell, was there a silencing charm in place?"

All prior sounds of kindness had drained from Snape's voice as the awkwardness of the situation left him as unsettled as Harry was feeling, and when Snape still hadn't received an answer after several minutes, he said, "I'm waiting, Mister Potter, so do enlighten me."

"Harry." He answered, still unable to bring himself to making eye contact with the harsh man standing before him. "You called me Harry earlier."

Snape was taken aback by the statement, especially since it was one he couldn't refute, so he replied, "So what if I did? That doesn't give you permission to ignore my questions. Now for the last time, why was there a silencing charm in place when I entered your room?"

Harry ran a hand through his wild locks of hair as he considered his response. Knowing better than to try to lie his way out of it, he explained.

"I get nightmares, Sir. I'm used to casting Silencio before bed each night so I don't wake anyone. My nightmares tend to be…rather bad."

"Rather bad? You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead, Potter."

Harry's face went as scarlet as his house colors and Snape watched as he fidgeted with the edge of his blanket for several moments. Then, seizing the opportunity to make headway in helping the boy to open up, Snape decided to question Harry again while the boy's defenses were down due to the nightmare. Summoning a chair from the table in the next room, Snape placed it next to the bed and sat down.

Lowering his voice into what he hoped was a softer tone, he asked, "Was the dream about this summer?"

Harry's head shot up and he looked at Snape with a scared, frantic look, but Snape pressed further.

"Was it, perhaps, about how you got those bite marks down your neck?"

Harry's hand shot up to his neck in alarm, running his fingers over where the marks had been, glad Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal them so proficiently.

"I-I don't know how I got those." Harry's voice came out so softly, it was barely more than a whisper, and Snape had to crane forward slightly to catch all of it. The statement made Snape cast a disbelieving look at Harry's hunched-up form, but he could detect no sign that the boy was lying.

Trying again, he asked, "But it was about this summer, correct?"

Harry drew his knees toward his chest and clutched them with his arms, drawing his body into a self-defensive ball as if the memories brought the response on automatically. Then with an almost unperceivable nod of his head, he confirmed Snape's suspicions.

Snape watched as Harry bit at his bottom lip in nervousness, and he hoped that the boy would continue to respond to his queries. Shifting forward even more in his seat, he waited for the child to look at him before resuming his questioning.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Harry immediately looked away again and shook his head, and when he finally spoke, it came out weak and mumbled. "Don't want to."

With a resigned sigh, Snape stood from his seat. "Perhaps tomorrow then."

Harry looked doubtfully up at him, and Snape did his best to keep his face as neutral at possible, especially when all he could think about was how best to curse those blasted muggles that had managed to damage this boy more than the Dark Lord had ever been able to.

"Try to get some sleep," Snape advised, not missing the shudder that went through the boy's body upon the very mention of the word, "You still have to go to your classes tomorrow."

Having second thoughts about how best to handle the situation, he walked out, and called for a house elf. After making his request of the creature, He only had to wait for a minute or two before it popped back into the room with the items he had asked for. Taking the tray from its gnarled looking hands, he dismissed it and sat the tray onto the table.

There was steam coming out of both the teapot and the mug, and Snape set the empty teacup aside so that he could inspect the mug's contents. The cocoa within was thick and frothy, and the steam it was sending up was leaving the thick scent of chocolate wafting through the air. Truthfully, he hadn't been sure exactly what the elf would bring when he had only specified it to 'bring a tea set and…something a teenager might like'.

Looking down into the mug, he had to admit to himself that, despite the fact he never drank such beverages growing up since he found them too sweet for his tastes, the aroma of it was very tempting, indeed.

Picking the tray back up, he made his way back to the bedroom, only to stop halfway there and change direction. Making his way over to the cabinet where he hides his liquor, he unlocked the door and began searching through the contents on the uppermost shelf, pulling out a flask filled with a light blue liquid inside. Pulling the cork, he poured a small dose of the mild calming draught into the mug, the strong scent of the cocoa masking the potion's slight odor perfectly.

Content that it was sufficiently mixed, he carried the tray into Harry's bedroom, where the boy still sat, staring out the window and blearily blinking his tired eyes in his attempt to stay awake. Snape sat the tray atop the trunk, and the soft rattle of the tea set as it settled was enough to make Harry turn rapidly from his view of the dark night sky in surprise. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized someone else was in the room with him.

At first, Harry's eyes had shot over to where Snape was just settling himself in the chair, but then he caught a whiff of something and it drew his eyes down to the small silver tray nearby. He could see the tea pot and the delicate teacup sitting next to it, but by the other end of the tray, the end closest to him, was a dark green mug. Sniffing the air again, Harry could detect the hint of chocolate and he shot a look of shock and incredulity at the man.

Reaching over to grasp the handle of the mug, Snape extended it to Harry, who was still wearing that same look of astonishment.

"You know, Mister Potter," Snape began somewhat wryly, trying to make light of the situation, "I'm not always the complete and utter bastard they make me out to be."

But Harry was still staring at him and had not moved at all, even to take the offered mug, prompting Snape to narrow his eyes and order, "Drink your cocoa."

Even hearing the dark man of the dungeons say the word 'cocoa' was hard to believe, as far as Harry was concerned, but it seemed to do the trick, for Harry broke into motion, accepting the mug and bringing it to his mouth to gently blow across the surface of the liquid in an effort to help it cool more quickly.

Snape fixed his cup of tea the way he liked it and the two spent the following amount of time in an almost companionable silence. As the minutes passed, the professor watched as Harry slowly relaxed under the effects of the calming draught, the boy's body sinking further and further down on the bed, and his eyes falling closed only to come flying back open seconds later by a sheer force of will. Finally, however, those eyes fell shut and stayed that way, and Snape was glad for his fast reflexes as he was just in time to catch the emptied mug as it slipped from the boy's limp fingers.

Heading to the door with the tray and its contents in hand, Snape pulled out his wand to lower the lights and was almost out the door when he stopped with a groan of irritation. Shutting his eyes, he muttered, "Merlin save me from foolish Gryffindors," and another flick of his wand sent the blanket flying up into the air, only to resettle it self properly over Harry's body.

With a click, Snape shut the door and headed off to bed as well.

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A/N: Sorry, this chapter took so long to post. To make up for it, I've made it extra long; I hope you enjoyed it. I had to go to a public library almost an hour away from my house to get this posted. I've been without phone service and internet service ever since Hurricane Gustov went through; if fact, I just got power back a few days ago and it's been three weeks since the hurricane made landfall…over my house! And then, no sooner had we returned home, we had to evacuate again because Hurricane Ike flooded our town. The roads were impassable until a few days ago.

Now for the good news!! My house was undamaged from either hurricane! In fact, it's the only house in the entire town that suffered no flood damage or severe wind damage. I can only say that there's a lot of power in prayer!

Unfortunately, my internet provider will be unable to fix my connection for another two months…ARRGH! I know this will keep me from posting as often as I want to, but I will be trying to make the chapters longer to make up for the long wait.

Thanks to you all for your patience and support. Please send me a review; it will be nice hearing from you now with everything that's been going on. Bye for now, and Happy Reading!!