February, 1968

"Something needs to be done about this," Mum said in a hushed voice.

Severus had parked himself on the bottom step, hidden by the gloom of the stairwell and the armchair he'd spent weeks strategically inching backward, so that he would be shielded from view during times of necessity. He'd done it slowly. Nothing drastic—a millimeter here, two there, so that by the time he had it where he wanted it, Da might assume it had simply ended up there by coincidence (if he noticed it at all).

"Did you see him yesterday, Tobias? This can't go on."

Da heaved a sigh, loud enough that Severus could hear it through the wall. "What d'you expect me to do?" he asked. "I work all day. I can't very well chase the boy round town."

"The neighbors are beginning to talk. Do you know what they say about us? About Severus?"

"It's all because of your bloody mumbo jumbo. If the boy would act normal, they'd treat him like it." There was a pause, and the clink of silverware. "Where'd they catch him this time?"

"I didn't ask. Severus should know by now that he can't wander freely if he wants to avoid those boys."

It was always the playground, these days, that the neighborhood gang caught him in. Before they'd started coming round, Severus had been able to do as he pleased there-play on the swings, climb up the slide and survey the trees like he was their king. But ever since he met Lily, Tuney had gotten to telling people about him. And because some of the others already knew him from the school on the other side of Cokeworth (a horrid place Da kept him going to), it didn't take long for the boys to learn where he played.

Severus had fought back—he always fought back—but it hadn't helped much. It never did. They'd spent a time knocking him round til they got bored and left him curled under the old slide. And though he'd waited til dark to drag himself back to Spinner's End, Mum had been waiting by the door. She always had a good sense for when he'd gotten into trouble.

She didn't comment on his blackened eyes or bloody nose, or the tear in the shirt he'd taken from her used laundry. She didn't take him in her arms like he'd seen the parents on Lily's telly do, or call up anyone's mum on the rotary in the kitchen. Instead, she pointed him wordlessly to the cold soup on the table and waited until he drank it down before sending him to bed.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he'd managed through a swollen lip. "I didn't mean—"

"To bed," she repeated flatly, and lit a cigarette with a snap of her fingers. And that had been that.

Da's late arrival was announced by the slamming of the door and a gruff, "Where's tea?" which was met with something Severus couldn't make out, but was sure to be acerbic. He'd waited until he heard the scrape of a spoon against a bowl to slip out of bed and out onto the landing, where he slid in holey socks down the stairs to hide and listen. He wasn't disappointed; Mum and Da never bothered to keep their voices down when they talked about him, whether it be good or bad.

Mum was talking again, and he pressed his ear to the wall of the stairwell, where it was thinnest. "Severus will learn to handle these things himself, or he won't. That's up to him."

"He's a child, Eileen."

"He's eight," she shot back, "old enough to care for himself. He'll need to learn self-reliance before he goes to Hogwarts. Pureblood children are expected —"

"Well he's not one of your bloody fucking Purebloods, is he?"

Mum hissed something indecipherable, and Severus leaned forward to strain his ears. The step creaked beneath him and his parents fell silent. Severus held his breath, wringing the hem of his shirt between his fingers. After a moment, Da said, "I won't be having that shit in my house, 'Leen."

Something popped, and Severus heard a drink being poured. The first of many, to be sure. "You don't have a choice, Tobias. The boy is a wizard. We've discussed this."

"I won't have a frilly little fairy for a son, prancing round in dresses. Not in my ruddy house. You think the neighbors talk now? What about when he goes off to that school of yours?"

He looked down at himself, at his mum's torn blouse and his too-small shorts, and felt shame curl deep in his gut. Dragging a hand through his hair, he tugged his fringe across to shield his face, and then stood and stepped back into shadow to ease himself back up the stairs. But when Mum spoke again, he turned back round to catch her last words.

"It isn't my duty to fix whatever reputation Severus has foolishly gotten himself. He has nothing to do with me when he leaves this house, Tobias, and it is up to him to learn to handle his own matters, without ruining our name in town in the process. The boy will do as he pleases, and if he fails and suffers for it, I shan't be there to correct his mistakes. The boy can take care of his own lot. I have my own problems to worry about. You will put an end to this—tomorrow, or so help me I will have you sprouting a new set of legs and feelers by sundown."

And Da didn't argue back, because before he'd had his drink, he never did.

Severus was awake before he opened his eyes.

There was a leaky tap somewhere in the room, tap tap tapping, buzzing at the edges of his consciousness. A soft white light shone across his face. His hands lay at his sides, exposed to the cold. The mattress beneath him was as thin as the one he'd spent the summer on, and for a moment he half expected to find himself back at Spinner's End with an old spring digging into his spine and the sound of the pipes shuddering to life with the boy's morning shower. He would smoke a cigarette, cook breakfast, and they'd go to the library in town. It would be a good day.

Then the events of the night came crashing back to him like a tidal wave.

What have I done? he thought, mind blank of all else. Then: Where am I?

But that answer came to him easily, for there was nowhere else he could have been. Albus had brought him to Poppy, where he would no doubt be hanged, drawn, and quartered for letting himself reach such a state. He would be dangling from the Astronomy Tower by noon.

His entire body felt mummified. Bandages had been wound about his midsection so tightly he could feel his ribs creaking, and the blankets across the bed had been tucked into the sides in a way that left his legs and feet immobile—but at least he was covered, because Severus knew from unfortunate experience that Poppy liked to hide his clothes from him in an attempt to stop him from sneaking out before she'd had her way with him. Only his arms were left free, but with a severely limited range of movement. It was probably on purpose; Poppy always had hated having him for a patient. Severus, at least, was better than James Potter had been. He simply slipped out and made a break for it instead of making the entire castle wait on him hand and foot.

The rest of him simply felt bruised. His knees were throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat and there was a steady, painful pulse in his head, like his brain was too large for his skull. His chest ached, there was snot clogging up one of his nostrils, and he could taste acid in the back of his throat, burning all the way down to his stomach—ironically, the only part of him he couldn't feel.

There came the sound of harsh whispering off to his left, at the doorway of what was sure to be one of the private rooms off the side of the main Hospital Wing, and he resisted the urge to open his eyes. Was it Albus? Poppy? Who had brought him here? Had any of the other professors or—god forbid—any students seen him in such a state?

You're an idiot, he told himself savagely, curling his hands into fists at his sides. His fingernails bit deep into the dough of his palms. What were you thinking, you stupid—

Then someone was shouting. And his own thoughts were no longer enough to drown out the riot happening next to him.

"I told you," they were ranting, to somebody he couldn't yet convince himself to open his eyes to. "I told you this would happen. Did I not come to see you this afternoon? Did I not tell you my concerns?"

"I heard your concerns," the Headmaster said, softly enough that Severus almost couldn't make out the words. He felt himself go very still, and forced himself to sigh and relax, like he'd only shifted in his sleep. "I was well-aware of the matter."

"Then why wasn't anything done on the matter? This man is not a piece of meat to be thrown to the wolves, Albus." It was Minerva. Motherfucker — "If Potter hadn't had the good sense to come to me, who knows what might have happened."

Potter?

"Quiet now," Poppy snapped from somewhere to his left, "else you'll wake him. He needs rest, not a parade blathering about his bedside."

There was a sullen pause, but it didn't last long, because from one instant to the next, there were hands on his shoulders, lifting his back off the mattress. Severus lashed out without thinking. Digging his nails into their wrists, he shoved hard—and then fell back as the motion wrenched a gasp from his lungs. Fire lanced through his stomach, sharp enough to have him curling in on himself and wheezing.

"He's already awake," Minerva said flatly from somewhere off to his left.

"That Dreamless Sleep I gave you," Poppy said severely, though the gentleness with which she forced him out of the ball he'd squeezed himself into more than belied her tone, "was meant to have you sleeping until morning."

Even if he'd been able to speak, Severus would not have told her about the regularity of which he'd abused Dreamless Sleep when he'd first started teaching, enough that normal doses were wasted on him—or of his multiple accidental overdoses during the year after. Or the overdoses that hadn't been entirely accidental.

"Off," he managed to rasp, when his stomach stopped trying to yank itself up his throat. He was let down without argument, because Poppy knew him too well to even try it.

Severus's satisfaction was short-lived, because as soon as he was immobile once more, Minerva loomed over him. "Not you," he groaned.

"You abominably foolish man," she said thunderously, wild-eyed. Her hair was trailing steadily out of the bun atop her head, and there were strands curling round her cheekbones to frame her pale face. Her lips were pursed so tightly together they were almost invisible. "You dunderhead. Have you any idea how severe that wound was? You could have died. And you might have at least had the dignity to do it somewhere where Potter hadn't been witness to your utter stupidity, you dunce."

It was a shame he was such a surly, antisocial cunt, else he'd be interrogating her now—but he rarely displayed interest in a student, and to do so now would no doubt raise some sort of suspicion. Potter? he wondered, swatting Poppy's hand away from his chest and trying not to think about his current state of undress being put on display. What about the boy?

But he didn't have to wonder for long, because Minerva was still speaking. "He came to me believing you were set to die at any moment—and seeing you now, I can't say I blame him. What were you thinking?" she demanded, as Poppy, grim-faced, fluttered about his bedside administering potions and tugging at his bandages, and Albus stood silent in the doorway. "Were you thinking?"

I am going to kill that little pustule, was what Severus was thinking.

"What time is it?" he asked, ignoring all else.

Minerva scoffed but said, "Just past midnight. You've been out for three hours."

Already dreading the fight ahead, Severus kicked his way free of his blankets and swung one leg out of bed. "Don't," he snarled at Poppy, who was staring at him in abject fury. "Headmaster, there is something urgent I wish to speak to you—"

"Absolutely not!" Poppy snapped, storming towards him with her wand raised. "Into bed, now!"

Dumbledore had seemed content to linger idly in the background, but they all seemed to become keenly aware of his presence as he stepped fully into the room and said, "Let him up, Poppy."

"Headmaster, this man has been gadding about with his innards threatening to—"

"Let him up," Albus repeated quietly.

Poppy threw her hands in the air. "And I suppose I should allow all my patients to do as they please. As baffling as his ability is to remain alive in such a state, Severus Snape is no more privileged in these rooms than any other person—student or staff—during his stay here."

"I'm not inviting anarchy into your damn halls by getting out of bed," Severus said through gritted teeth. "You heard Albus. Sod off."

Without another word, she turned her back and began to roughly rearrange the potions in the cabinet on the far end of the room, near visibly fuming.

Severus elected to ignore her for the time being. Clutching his blankets close to his chest, he swiped a hand at the curtains round his bed, which sprang closed to shield him from view. He finished swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and stood slowly. The first touch of the cold stones against his bare feet was a shock to his system, raising gooseflesh up his arms and legs; the first full step he took to grab for his clothes was even more so. He felt a full-body shudder quake through him, like his limbs were about to fly apart, and for a moment he wasn't sure if his legs would hold. He used the bed to keep his balance as he tugged on his jumper and trousers, forgoing the robes, which were sure to be beyond his shaking fingers right now. His jumper was caked in blood—salvageable, perhaps, if he treated it within the day. It was a good thing he knew multiple methods of removing blood from clothes, because this was the warmest jumper he had on stock, and it often kept him warm beneath his robes during the colder months.

When he was positive he wouldn't look entirely like a fool in front of them all, he pulled the curtains aside and went to Albus. It was slow going, because his feet weren't quite cooperating, and no one seemed to be in a hurry to steady him. Good, he thought, grimly satisfied. When he'd reached the wall, Severus allowed himself a moment to lean against it. The coolness of the stone against his fevered skin was like an ice pack on a bruise, and he relished in the sensation. Blinking away a sudden wave of exhaustion, he bent his head towards Dumbledore and said in an undertone, "Potter cannot attend another detention with Umbridge. I will not allow it."

His entire body was shaking with minute tremors and fever chills were rumbling their way through him, but his voice was clear and as firm as ever. Still in control.

Albus sighed and said, "Severus, you know we must tread carefully—"

"No,"Severus snarled, "I won't. Not about this. Do you know what she's making the boy do during his detentions, Headmaster? Has he told you?"

"I find it very touching that you have grown to care for Harry, Severus, but do not allow this to cloud your judgement."

He isn't listening to me.

Severus knew as well as anyone that they did have to tread carefully now. The Dark Lord was back, and the Ministry was trying to stamp them all down before they could build up the proper resources to stop him. Severus knew Umbridge's presence was a bad omen of worse fates to come. He knew the power she had over them now, all wrapped up neatly with a pink bow and cardigan. That she could do damn near anything in the name of the Ministry, and there would be no consequences to her actions—and that she, most importantly, knew it. But Severus didn't care. Not about this. Never about this.

And because he knew Albus would not punish him so obviously in front of witnesses, Severus took his chance. "A blood quill," he said loudly, and Minerva's head snapped up. Poppy's hands stilled in the middle of polishing a bottle of Skele Gro. "Dolores Umbridge is using a blood quill on students during her detentions."

Albus looked taken aback, but the momentary shock flitted away like it had never been, to be replaced by something hard and stoic. "Where did you come by this information?"

"Potter told me," Severus said, bracing his forearm against the wall to lean more heavily against it. There was no point in hiding his weakness any longer. "After the lesson let out. I saw the words on his hand. I fear the scarring may be permanent at this point. If he had come to me sooner…"

"Do you have evidence of his confession to you, Severus?" Albus said softly.

"You can't mean to imply you don't trust me," Severus shot back, just as quietly, and then said, "I wrote down the needed information. The confession wasn't coerced from him."

And then he Occluded intently, because that wasn't entirely true, was it?

"You cannot allow Potter to attend another detention with that woman," Minerva chimed in, and for a time she and Albus squabbled with each other, leaving Severus to rest and think.

There was no conceivable way they could convince Umbridge to drop the remaining detentions. Though he'd only known her for a week, Severus was quite certain he knew everything there was to know about Dolores Umbridge—and her inability to back down was one of them. She was too prideful. She was arrogant and conceited, with an ego larger than even James Potter's, something he'd never thought possible. She was twisted enough to give Severus a run for his own money; and though her sickness showed in a different form, he could recognize the same lustings for Dark magic in her, that came from himself. This was not a woman who would back down easily.

"I can make her ill," Severus said, cutting off Minerva, and when Albus looked to him with clear reproach, he continued quickly, "Not fatally. A stomach flu. Something to lay her down for a week, perhaps two. She can't very well oversee his detention when she's unable to get out of bed."

There was a pause while his idea sunk in. "You've been looking poorly since this morning," Minerva said slowly, "and the students have been gabbing about it to no end. Perhaps there's something making its rounds about the school."

"Filch has already made an ally in her, Albus," he went on. "He accosted me in the corridor yesterday, raving like a madman. Umbridge knows he's, shall we say, inspired by her. She'll no doubt delegate the remaining detentions to him if she's unable to supervise. Potter will be miserable, but he won't be in immediate danger of physical harm."

"You understand I cannot condone this," Dumbledore said quietly, looking between the three of them with eyes like steel. "To conspire against a fellow professor—"

"She's not a fellow professor," Minerva said impatiently. "She's a Ministry plant. And besides that, Albus, you cannot possibly mean to tell me you don't spend an ever-increasing amount of your day conspiring."

"She's a conniving toad masquerading as a human," Severus agreed.

"I cannot condone this," Albus repeated, looking weary, "but if what you say is true, Severus—"

"It is true."

"—then I agree. Harry cannot return to her office. I will not allow it."

"You…agree," Severus said flatly, disbelieving, but he shook it off before Albus could retract his support. "I will do it tomorrow morning at breakfast. Send word to the elves, Headmaster, that they are not to replace her food once it's been tampered with. The potion will set in by midday. Poppy?"

Pomfrey had continued to dust the potions cabinet, shaking her head in silence. At the sound of his voice, she turned and said, "I believe I'm overdue for a visit to Saint Mungoes at, oh, midday…Healer Goorsemoor has been desperate to speak to me about a new treatment for dragon pox, and in the light of the latest outbreak among the students of Durmstrang last year, it would be foolhardy for me not to learn of this new treatment myself. I will unfortunately be absent from the school during that time. Headmaster, if that is all right with you…"

"Of course," Dumbledore said, with the slightest trace of irony. "The students come first, Madame Pomfrey. I will gladly excuse you at that time."

"Then it's settled," Minerva said. "Tomorrow morning."

"Albus?" Severus said eventually, when the room had fallen back into a pensive silence.

"Yes, Severus?" the Headmaster said heavily.

"I think I'm about to fall over again."

"Hey, Harry?"

The three of them had gone to bed late, because besides the interjection of the day's lessons, Harry had found that once he'd begun talking, it was nearly impossible to stop. Hermione had rejoined them for Care of Magical Creatures, and by then Harry had managed to overcome most of the initial discomfort and awkwardness that had permeated the beginning of his explanation to Ron. And though the two hadn't interrupted more than a handful of times, Harry knew they were listening. They nodded silently during their walks down the corridors. They hummed and gasped in the right places during dinner, when Fred and George had joined them. Ron had let his shepherd's pie go cold in his lack of hurry to eat. They'd retired to the common room that evening to sit in a secluded corner by the hearth, and until the fire had gone low and the rest of the room had emptied out, Harry had told them as many stories as he could remember from his time with the Dursleys. None of them had asked many questions; and for that he was grateful, because he wasn't sure he had any answers.

The bed next to his creaked, and then the drapes across his four poster were being pulled aside to reveal Ron. In the moonlight, his hair was oddly grey, leached of its usual vibrance. His skin looked luminous and his freckles stood out more starkly than ever. Harry fumbled for his glasses and looked at him blearily, pushing himself up on one elbow. "Yeah?"

Ron sat at the edge of his bed and pulled the drapes closed. They'd shared a bed before, back in their first and second years, during times where they'd just gotten away from Voldemort and were too afraid to sleep by themselves. In their third year it had become less common and by the time they'd reached their fourth, the bedsharing had petered out entirely. Even now, Ron looked supremely uncomfortable in his own skin as he settled himself next to Harry, who hurriedly scooted to one side to accommodate for Ron's longer frame. For a moment they didn't speak, staring in different directions, until finally Harry laughed a little and Ron relaxed.

"Sorry," he muttered, and in the darkness Harry could only faintly see him gesture to the drapes. "Didn't want Dean to wake up, light sleeper and all."

Or Seamus, Harry thought bitterly, because Seamus was still avoiding him—at least, as best as one could when they shared a bedroom with the object of their frustration.

"It's fine," he whispered, taking his glasses off again and settling back against his corner of pillow, which had been shoved to one side to give Ron a share. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really," Ron said, voice low. "Well…maybe. I dunno, Harry. I just—why'd you never tell us what was going on with the Dursleys? I could have done something, or Hermione. I could have told Mum and Dad. They would've let you stay with us. You know they love having you. And…and that they, I dunno, they love you."

Harry's eyes felt a little wet, at that, but he passed it off as a sneeze and took the precious few seconds he had to wipe his eyes and nose to avoid answering. "Yeah, I know that," he said awkwardly, when he no longer had an excuse not to. "I suppose I just didn't think it mattered."

"Of course it matters," Ron said, a little too loudly. Neville snored thunderously and Dean turned over in his bed. Harry and Ron were quiet, waiting, until finally the room settled back down and Ron whispered, "Of course it matters. You matter, Harry. Not just to me, but to Hermione, and Fred and George—bloody hell, even Percy doesn't mind you, or at least he didn't. Dunno anymore. Fred says his head is too far up his arse to mind anyone besides himself and Fudge, so don't take it personally."

"Yeah, but Fred has always said that," Harry murmured.

"Maybe he's a Seer, and he'll apprentice under Trelawney," Ron said, and they both had to put their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing too loudly. "Harry…Harry…look into my great, silver balls…"

Harry couldn't stop the snort that escaped him, and craned his neck to look around at Dean's bed. "Shut up, Ron," he hissed, though he knew his grin was telling. "You'll wake them up."

"Maybe Seamus wants to hear about Fred's giant balls too, Harry, don't leave him out of this."

"We'll have to send him to Snape to get a potion, if Fred's balls are that big," Harry whispered, and because the image of Snape's face if he were to be confronted by a student who needed his bits shrunk was too much to bear, he finally laughed hard enough to have Neville jolting awake and Dean to say, "Wuzwrong?" as Ron mashed his face into Harry's pillow to keep quiet.

"Fred's balls, apparently," Harry chortled, and pushed Ron's head in further.

OOOO

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So, hi. Yes, it's me. The man who forgot ffnet existed for months on end while he's ever-so-cheerfully been updating this fic on ao3. Yes. I am that man. I'm also terribly, terribly sorry this is so late. I'm going to be catching you all up to ch 9 with the rest of the class on a nice little schedule. so hi sorry