House. Slytherin.

Category. Theme.

Prompt. [First Line] He was older than she'd thought he would be.

Word Count. 3040.

A/N. This is an AU piece. Also, warning for child-abuse. Certain characters may seem OOC because, as I said, this is an AU.

oO0Oo

He was older than she thought he'd be. Harry Potter was only a first year, yet the way he looked at her with those weary eyes made it abundantly clear that this boy had seen much more of the world than any eleven year old had right to see. If she were being brutally honest, he looked more tired than many adults she knew.

"Are you okay?" she asked, running her eyes over his skinny frame. He was far too thin for a child his age, and his left forearm didn't seem quite straight.

"I'm fine, ma'am," he answered quietly, shifting a little under her gaze. He was obviously uncomfortable at her close scrutiny. "May I go now?"

"I suppose you may," she sighed, handing him back his robes. "Here you are, Mister Potter. Please take better care of yourself in the future."

He smiled wanly, accepting his robes in silence. Poppy turned away and busied herself tidying up the Hospital Wing to give the boy the semblance of privacy, and when the curtain around his bed finally pulled away and he began to leave, she called after him, "Mister Potter, please wait."

The boy turned, and Poppy thought she was fear in his emerald green eyes.

"Don't worry," she said. "I won't hurt you."

He nodded slowly, but his movements were hesitant.

Poppy took a deep breath. Earlier, she had dismissed it as Quidditch injuries, but now she was having second thoughts, and she could not allow any student under her care to come to harm, whether at school or at home. "Mister Potter," she began, "the bruises on your stomach. How did you get them?"

He swallowed hard, shock flitting across his face for a split-second. Then he answered calmly, "I fell on one of the trick staircases."

"I see." Poppy took another deep breath. "Have a good day, Mister Potter."

"You too, Madam Pomfrey." With that, he left, silently shutting the door to the Hospital Wing behind him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What are you saying?" Albus looked at Poppy, unwilling to believe what she was telling him. Harry had been… abused? He had known there existed enmity between Petunia and Lily, but he could not believe Petunia Dursley would stoop this low… "I'm sorry Poppy, I can't believe this."

"Albus," Poppy said, her expression entirely serious. "Something is wrong with Harry Potter. I can feel it in my bones. I am going to be running tests on the boy tomorrow evening, and as his magical guardian, I want you to be there."

"Poppy—"

"No. Don't say 'Poppy' and just expect me to back down. Albus, something is very wrong, and I will find out what."

Albus sighed. "Tomorrow night it is, then. We shall do it at eight o'clock."

"I'll see you then," Poppy replied. "As his Head of House, Minerva will be there as well. Good night, Albus."

"Good night, Poppy." Albus watched her leave, hoping that for once, the Mediwitch's instincts were wrong. But, when had they ever been?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Harry walked into the Hospital Wing, following the instructions he had received from Professor McGonagall after Transfiguration. Apparently Madam Pomfrey wanted to talk to him again. However, when he stepped in and saw his Headmaster, his Head of House, and the Mediwitch standing in a rough semi-circle and talking in low tones, he realized this 'check-up' was far more than he'd suspected.

He was just about to turn around and sneak away when Dumbledore spotted him and said, his blue eyes twinkling, "Ah, Harry. Please have a seat."

Caught, Harry grudgingly sat down on a nearby cot.

"Now, Mister Potter." It was Professor McGonagall speaking, and Harry looked up at her. "Madam Pomfrey is going to run a few tests, then ask you a couple of questions. Understood?"

Harry looked from her to Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey. All three of them wore grave expressions. "I— I guess," he answered, looking down to stare at his hands.

"Good." The Mediwitch bustled over, taking out her wand as well as a few strange silvery objects which Harry only saw out of the corner of his vision. "This will only take a second, Mister Potter."

Harry nodded mutely. She pointed her wand at him, muttered a few words, then passed the silvery objects around his body before scribbling something down on a clipboard. He watched her carefully as she did so, and so he saw how her lips pursed as she read the results, and how, when she finished, she looked at him with worry in her eyes.

"Mister Potter… do you feel safe at home?"

Panic bubbled up within Harry. She— they— they couldn't know. "I am safe," he answered carefully. "I'm safe when I'm at home." When I'm at home, I can't hurt anyone. When I'm locked away in my cupboard, I'm safe. The world is safe from me.

Professor McGonagall peered over Madam Pomfrey's shoulder, and Harry watched her face go white as a sheet. She swallowed hard. "I think what Madam Pomfrey means to say, Harry," her Scottish burr all but vanished, "is do your aunt and uncle treat you well."

"They do," Harry answered, fidgeting on the hospital cot as he answered, unable to meet either of the women's gazes. "They treat me better than I deserve."

"How do they treat you?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Well…" Harry twisted the hem of his robes. "They make me do a lot of chores."

"What do you do?"

"Just some stuff around the house," he answered with a shrug.

"Like what?"

"I mow the lawn. I also weed garden, cook breakfast, wash dishes, dust, and vacuum."

Professor McGonagall blinked. "That is a lot, Mister Potter."

"They took me in. No one else wanted me. I don't do that much, Professor."

"I beg differ." For the first time since the entire ordeal had begun, Dumbledore spoke. "What you describe, Mister Potter… that is the work of a House Elf, not a child. Does your cousin work so much?"

For a second, Harry let his feigned indifference slip. "No, he doesn't," he said with a scowl. "Dudley doesn't do anything and he gets everything."

Dumbledore's eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter. "What do you mean, Dudley gets everything?"

"Dudley gets everything," Harry spat, no longer caring if they found out. The sheer injustice of it all still cut deep, still festered deep within him — he might be a freak, but that did not mean that Dudley deserved it all. "Dudley gets everything, and I get nothing."

"You get… nothing?"

"I get whatever Dudley doesn't want." Tears were beginning to well now in the corner of Harry's eyes, but he was beyond caring. "Which is almost nothing, because Dudley is a fat pig who takes everything just so I can't have it. If I want bacon, then Dudley will eat the entire pan. If I want a piece of bread, he'll pitch a fit until Aunt Petunia promises to save him two entire loaves. And if he wants to go 'Harry-hunting', Uncle Vernon gives him a cane and tells me not to run too hard, or I'll be locked in my cupboard. I'm a freak!"

Harry finished his rant panting, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath. When he finally took a deep breath and wiped his eyes with his sleeves, silence met him. The room was entirely silent, and Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey only stared at him.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "It seems you were correct, Poppy," he said, his voice sorrowful.

"And how I wish I were not," Madam Pomfrey replied. She sighed. "His family did a lot of damage. I'm going to need Severus's help for the potions, and I think mental support will be necessary as well. Mister Potter, are you free on Wednesday evenings?"

But Harry sat frozen, uncertain what had just happened. Had he— had he— he had. Jumping to his feet, he raced to the door. It was locked, but when he glared at it, angry that it dared stand in his way, it shuddered, then crumpled. Harry jumped over its remains, then sprinted away from the Hospital Wing.

What had he done?

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Poppy, you want me to brew these potions?" Severus looked down at the list again, just in case his eyes were deceiving him. "These are only for the most serious cases."

"I know," she answered. "Severus, you know I wouldn't ask this of you unless it were absolutely necessary."

"Yes, I know." Poppy Pomfrey had only helped him. When he came back from summer vacations, he always made a point to visit her, and she would erase the marks his Father had carved into his skin. When James Potter and his gang attacked him, she would cast the counter charms and teach him healing spells. Even when he injured himself trying to earn the Dark Lord's favor, she would silently mend his wounds. "Poppy, who is it? I hope it is none of my Slytherins."

"It's not," she said. "Now, I can't tell you more than that."

Severus sighed. "I understand. I'll have the potions finished by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Severus."

"Anything for you." Then Severus turned to his cauldron and began chopping the sprigs of fluxweed the first potion required. "Good night, Poppy."

"Good night, Severus."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Harry received a note from Madam Pomfrey telling him to come to the Hospital Wing that evening, he considered not going. He knew it would be futile to resist, yet some part of him wanted to avoid the mediwitch, McGonagall, and Dumbledore for the rest of his life. And so he instead of going up to the Hospital Wing like the note asked, he spent that evening sitting hidden in the one-eyed witch's alcove.

The next day, he received another note from Madam Pomfrey. This time, he didn't even read it before crumpling it into a ball and shoving it into the bottom of his bookbag. When some Ravenclaw came into Charms and asked for a 'Harry Potter' for Madam Pomfrey, he trudged after her, trying his best to delay the inevitable.

"Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey said when he walked in. "Please, take a seat." She gestured to a large, comfortable-looking armchair that sat by the window. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Harry took a seat, casting a surreptitious look around him as he did so. When Madam Pomfrey returned and sat down in an identical chair across from him, he said, "Why am I here?"

"I think you know why," she answered. "You've had a terrible childhood, Harry, and you are a very brave boy to have survived it." She placed one hand on Harry's wrist. "If you ever feel the need to talk with someone, I'm here for you."

Harry frowned, pointedly pulling away from her. "I don't need to talk to anyone," he said. "And I'm not brave."

"Harry, you are very brave."

"No, I'm not."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "We'll talk more about this later. Here are the potions Professor Snape brewed for you. They're to help with your nutrition. You didn't get at all enough to eat. You're to drink one when you wake up every morning."

Harry looked suspiciously at the various bottles she placed in front of him. "How do I know they're not poisoned?" he asked.

"Professor Snape would never do that. Your aunt and uncle may have, but try to forget them, Harry. These potions will make you grow tall and strong." She conjured a bag for the vials, then passed it to Harry. "Remember, drink one of these every morning right after you wake up. Also, don't ignore the notes I send you. These meetings are for your own good, Harry. You have to learn that your childhood wasn't normal, and that you aren't a freak. I'll see you next week?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, slinging the bag over his shoulder and hurrying away from the Hospital Wing without even saying goodbye.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Honestly Minerva, I don't understand," Poppy said. "He just doesn't want to talk, and it feels like everything I'm telling him is going in one ear and out the other! It's been nearly two months, and I haven't made any progress whatsoever."

"In classes, he is as withdrawn as always," Minerva replied. "Poppy, he also doesn't seem to be gaining any weight."

"I know. I've tried talking to him about it, asking him if he's been drinking those potions Severus has been so good to brew for him, but he never gives me a straight answer, or worse, he smiles at me and says, 'what do you think?'" Poppy sighed. "I know he's not drinking those potions, but I just don't know how to convince him that he needs to. Doesn't he want to get better?"

"I would not be too certain." Out of the shadows stepped Severus Snape. "I am sorry for eavesdropping Poppy, Minerva, but I could not help but overhear your dilemma. Perhaps it would be best if I spoke with the boy? I know you mean well, Poppy, but there is something to be said for first-hand experience."

"I'm not certain if that would be wise…" Poppy began.

"Nonsense," Minerva interrupted. "He is right, Poppy. I trust you can act like an adult, Severus?"

"Of course I can."

"Then come along. I believe Poppy's next session with the boy is in twenty minutes. We must get to the Hospital Wing."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Harry entered the Hospital Wing with his customary scowl. He hated these sessions with Madam Pomfrey. She meant well, but she treated him as though he were a child, or a pet, incapable of thinking for himself. She treated him like a fragile glass vase, one which might shatter at any moment if she said the wrong word. It irritated him, and he couldn't wait to finally finish these unbearable sessions.

"Well well well, Mister Potter. What a pleasant surprise."

Harry started, his eyes going wide when he saw Professor Snape sitting in Madam Pomfrey's chair. "Why are you here?" he snapped.

"I shall ignore your atrocious manners for now, Potter, but do remember that I am your Professor." He sighed. "Madam Pomfrey felt she wasn't getting through to you, so she asked me to help."

Harry eyed Snape warily. "Sir, why would she ask you?" Professor Snape hated him, and he lacked Madam Pomfrey's Mediwitch credentials. "Why would she tell you?"

"I've been brewing your potions since this whole fiasco began, Potter. And now I am here to talk with you."

"Really?" Harry looked at Snape, unsure whether or not to believe the man. "But why, sir?"

"Let us simply say that I understand your situation, and I understand why Madam Pomfrey's attempts to help you, no matter how well-meaning, are not working." Snape tented his fingers, peering over them to look at Harry. "She treats you like a confused child, but you are no child."

"Sir?"

"Potter, I knew your aunt when she was young. I grew up in Spinner's end, and I was friends with your mother once."

"My mother?"

"Yes, Lily Evans. She helped me when I was hurting and filled with self-loathing. My father was not a kind man; in fact, he acted like your uncle. My mother tried to protect me in what little ways she could, but once I got my Hogwarts letter, it was impossible. Tobias Snape was a muggle, and he loathed Wizards."

Harry sat forward in his seat, a strange feeling fluttering in his chest. Snape knew what it felt like to be cast aside for being magical. "My aunt and uncle say I'm a freak," he admitted. "They say I don't deserve anything, that I should sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and that if I act freakish, they'll beat it out of me. For years, I just wanted to be… normal. Even now I'm not! Even now I'm the 'Chosen One', and I just want to stop. I want to stop being a freak."

Snape put one hand on Harry's shoulder. At first, Harry flinched at the sudden contact, then he slowly began to relax. It felt like the support of a comrade-in-arms. It felt like the support of someone who understood, not someone who told him he was "so brave" and heaped pity upon him.

"You're not a freak, Harry. Your mother would be proud of you, and if she knew how your aunt and uncle have treated you, she would track them down and make them pay. She loved you very, very much. You are not a freak."

"Maybe," Harry said, giving Snape a wan smile.

Snape returned the gesture with a small smile of his own, although it looked very strange coming from the dour Potions Professor. "I shall see you next week, then, Potter? Or would you prefer Madam Pomfrey?"

"I'd like to see you," Harry answered.

"Good. In the meantime, be sure to drink your potions, because I put a lot of work into them, and I'll look into a summer home for you."

Harry's mouth fell open. "A summer home?"

"Yes, your situation at the Dursleys cannot continue. I shall talk with the Headmaster and find you a willing foster-family for the summers."

"Thank you, sir. Did— did you ever have a summer home?"

"No," Snape said shortly. "But I would have liked one, and I know it would have been better for me than staying in Spinner's End every summer."

Harry nodded. "Thank you again."

"Don't mention it, Potter." Then Snape swept from the room, leaving Harry still sitting in the comfortable armchair and marvelling at what had just occurred.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Years later, Poppy was tending to Harry Potter after he had just barely escaped an encounter with a dragon, for Merlin's sake. The boy still seemed older than his years, but he was also laughing and smiling with his friends, acting for all the world like a typical teenager, so she knew he would be alright. If after everything he had gone through he could still make jokes about school and chatter about Quidditch with his friends, he was going to be okay.