Rated T for mentions of child abuse

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Chapter 6: Cat and Mouse

Professor Snape hurried back downstairs, leaving a euphoric Harry soaking in the tub. The boy would be all right for a few minutes, he supposed, since he had felt the wards of the house alert him to a guest coming through the floo. He reached the bottom of the stairs before he heard her voice from his sitting room.

"Severus? Where are you?"

"I'm here Minerva," he sighed, striding into the room. The woman had changed out of her teaching robes and she was wearing a simple pale blue pantsuit that went well with her graying blond hair. He rarely saw the severe woman wearing something so casual, and it was a bit surprising.

"Severus?" she blinked at him from behind her spectacles. She looked … amused.

"Oh," he blinked, dragging his eyes from her outfit. "I apologize," he said a bit stiffly. "I just … haven't seen you in … pants, before. I think. You look nice," he quickly amended, feeling dreadfully awkward. He could feel his face flushing like a schoolboy's, and he abruptly retreated, striding toward the kitchen. "Just, don't mind me, Minerva," he called gruffly over his shoulder. "Come in and make yourself at home."

"Why thank you, Severus," the stern woman actually giggled. "Your reaction wasn't quite what I was expecting, though."

"I do apologize," Snape muttered, fussing in the kitchen with the tea things. "Tea? Or would you like something stronger?"

"Tea is fine," the older woman said easily. She glanced around the kitchen and nodded approvingly. "You have a fine home, Severus."

"Don't patronize me," Snape huffed. "It's a dreadful old house and it's held together with scraps of magic and duct tape."

The Transfiguration Professor sat at the table with a confused expression. "Duck tape?"

"Duct tape," Severus smirked at her as he put the kettle on and cast a heating charm at it. "It's a muggle invention about as good, or maybe betterthan, spell-o-tape. At any rate, half the pipes in this house are held together with –"

They were interrupted by a piercing scream from upstairs. Snape, who had been setting out cups, dropped them and practically flew out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Minerva was not far behind him, (though she stopped to reparo the two teacups first) and stopped in the doorway to a relatively small bathroom while Snape went in.

In the bathroom, Harry was standing hunched over in the tub, eyes shut tight, his arms stiffly curled around his torso. His body was shaking and he was keening as if in agony. Snape immediately threw a towel around him and jerked him out of the water, pulling him tightly against his chest while trying to see if the boy had an adverse reaction to the potions, or was hurting even after the pain potion he had given him. The boy seemed alright, but he was still screaming, and now he was squirming and trying to escape.

"Harry? Harry!" he shouted, struggling to get the child to calm down and come out of whatever horror was in his own mind.

"Bad!" the boy sobbed, pounding his fists into the man's chest. "Bad boy!" he gasped. "Bad freak! Use all the hot water! Too expensive for freaks!"

"Harry, stop," Professor Snape said firmly. He sat on the toilet seat with the boy in his lap. He caught the boy's fists and rested his forehead against the child's damp hair. "You're safe. I'm here. It's the Professor. I'm here with you. You are not a bad boy. You are not a freak. I have you now. No one is going to hurt you. I promise, Harry; I promise." His words descended into soft whispers, repeating the same things over and over, rubbing the boy's back gently as the sobs stopped. He glanced up, realizing that his eyes were blurry with tears, and jerked with surprise when he saw Minerva standing in the doorway. Her wand was out, but her hand was hanging loosely at her side. She looked horror-stricken, and her eyes were full of tears at what she had just witnessed.

"This is what those muggles did to him," Severus whispered thickly. He rubbed the boy's back in gentle circles, more to soothe himself than the child, and took a deep breath. "They called him a … a freak, and forced him to take cold baths because hot water was 'too expensive'. He was … he told me about it before I put him in. But he was happy. Euphoric, even. However …" His face twisted in disgust, or pain."I suppose his … his orders were too deeply ingrained."

"Oh Severus," Minerva whispered compassionately. The boy in Snape's arms jerked in alarm and he looked over his shoulder at the woman in the doorway.

"Shh, it's alright, Harry," Severus said soothingly, feeling a spike of alarm as the boy started shaking again. "This is my … friend." He had been about to say colleague, but he wasn't sure the little boy would know what that meant."She's a Professor too," he explained."Her name is Minerva McGonegall. Do you want to say hello?"

The boy shook his head violently and buried his face in Professor Snape's chest, trembling and clutching him tightly. "He won't want me to leave," he murmured apologetically. "I'll get him into bed and feed him a little something, but I'm afraid our talk will have to wait."

"Of course," Minerva nodded and pocketed her wand. "I'm terribly sorry it wasn't a good time for you or the lad."

Severus nodded absently and stood up with the boy in his arms. As he slipped past Minerva in the hallway, Harry whispered something into his shirt, but it was muffled.

"What was that, Harry?" he asked as they stepped into his bedroom next door.

"'M sorry, Pr'fessor," the boy whispered faintly, turning his face to get his mouth away from the man's shirt. "I dunno wha'happened …"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Professor Snape said firmly. "I'm here. You need me. That's all that matters."

"'M r-really hungry," the boy whispered very softly, sounding on the edge of tears again. "Wanna go downstairs."

Severus put the boy down on the bed and gazed earnestly into the child's emerald eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "I could bring you food up here, if you'd prefer."

"No sir, I'll be good," the boy whispered, more tears slipping from his eyes.

"Oh child," Severus murmured, pulling the boy into a gentle hug. He was normally terribly awkward at giving hugs, but it felt right, and natural, when he wrapped his arms around this waifish little one who needed him so. "Please don't worry about being good or bad right now, alright?" he whispered into Harry's ear. "Just worry about being Harry for now. Can you do that for me, little one?"

To the Professor's relief, the boy nodded into his shoulder and then relaxed.

"Right," Severus sighed. "Let's get you dressed and then we can go downstairs, alright? I'm not sure what we're having for supper, but I'm sure I can whip something up."

He felt the wards around the house flare as the floo activated and he winced. Hopefully Minerva would not be stupid enough to go ranting to Dumbledore. He forgot to impress upon her the need for secrecy until he could tell the old meddler himself, but only when the time was right. Preferably when Harry wasn't quite so fragile. Maybe this Saturday.

After he dressed the boy in shrunken clothes and gave him a calming draught, he picked Harry up in his arms and made his way down the stairs. He was mentally reviewing what food he had in the house and trying to figure out what he could whip up that would be easy on the child's stomach and quick to make so that Harry wouldn't have to wait too long. He flinched as he felt the floo activate yet again, but he couldn't be certain who it was this time. It was best to be cautious. He swiftly turned and placed Harry down on the steps.

"Stay here," he hissed to the startled child. "I need to see who just came into the house."

Leaving the boy huddled against the wall, Severus drew his wand and stepped off the staircase. He tilted his head to the side to listen, and then jerked in shock when none other than Minerva McGonegall suddenly stepped out of the sitting room with a basket in her arms.

He stifled a curse and leveled his wand at her. "You were supposed to have left!" he accused sharply.

She jumped, startled, and flashed him a glare of annoyance. "You nearly gave this old witch a heart attack, Severus!" she snapped.

"What about the heart attack you nearly gave me?" Snape threw back in an angry hiss. "I hear you leave, and then I'm coming down the stairs with a vulnerable child in my arms and hear the floo activate again! What am I supposed to think, Minerva?! Didn't you know that Werewolves can track their victims?!"

The Transfiguration Professor looked taken aback and her eyes widened. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Severus," she said meekly. "I ought to have told you I was heading back to Hogwarts to pick up some food for you two. I didn't think you would mind, and Iwas quick. I do apologize for frightening you."

"You didn't frighten me so much as make me a bit uneasy," Snape sighed, putting his wand back in his sleeve. "I … suppose I shouldn't have been so short with you." He turned abruptly back to the stairs to fetch Harry before the boy panicked again. Minerva hurried into the kitchen with her basket.

"Harry?" he called out softly.

"Professor?" the child's soft whisper echoed back from the stairwell.

Snape was relieved that Harry seemed calm, and it was a strange, but not unpleasant surprise, when the boy reached up for him. Snape gently picked him up and carried him to the kitchen. Professor McGonegall was fetching bowls, spoons, and cups and she flashed the boy a kindly smile. Harry burrowed uneasily into Snape's arms, watching her with wary green eyes.

"Minerva brought us supper, Harry," Severus said softly into the boy's ear. "Do you want to say thank you?"

"Th-thank you, ma'am," the boy whispered, still watching her like a mouse watched a cat. The mental image was too much for Snape and he snorted with laughter. The boy jumped in his arms, tilting his head back to look at him curiously. Snape smiled at him and shook his head at his little internal joke.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Snape?" Professor McGonegall asked with a teasing lilt.

Severus chuckled again as he sat down on the chair and gently repositioned Harry so he could sit more comfortably. The boy was thin and light and he was not a burden on the Professor's lap at all. The child's green eyes had the glassy look of someone on too many painkillers, and he rested back against the Professor without protest.

"Well?" Minerva demanded, still teasingly, filling both glasses with water and setting out a covered dish and a bread bowl taken from the basket.

"Only that Mr. Potter is looking at you like he's a mouse about to be eaten by a cat," Snape smirked.

"Land's sakes!" the Scottish Professor exclaimed, her mouth twitching with repressed laughter. "Have you never grown up?"

"Maybe the boy has de-aged me," Severus' smirk changed to a fond smile and he rubbed the boy's thin arm.

Her gaze turned calculating. "Do you think he'd warm up to me if I …"

"No!" Snape suddenly said in a fierce tone, he wrapped his arms a bit tighter around the boy, who jumped at his tone. "I'm sorry, but no, Minerva. Any obvious sign of magic sends him into a panic attack."

"Oh," she replied, looking puzzled. "Well then," she huffed, and changed the subject, opening her dishes. "I fetched this little feast from the house elves at Hogwarts. We have barley soup and bread, with some treacle pudding to finish it off. It isn't much, but I thought it would be easy on his stomach."

"Thank you, Minerva," Severus said. He really did appreciate the fact that he wouldn't have to cook tonight. It felt like all of the exhaustion of the last several days was all catching up with him at once.

"So …" the woman said slowly as she ladled out the steaming soup. "When are you planning to tell Albus?"

Severus sighed. Here it was. He handed Harry a spoon and held him closer to the table so he could eat. Casting a wary glance up at the stern woman still serving food, the boy slowly dipped his spoon into the savoury broth.

"Go ahead and eat, Harry," the man said softly. He turned to Minerva. "I really don't know when I should talk to Dumbledore," he answered her question. "I had planned to tell him tonight, but you know how that turned out …"

"The detention, got it," Minerva answered impatiently. "But he's got a right to know, Severus. He's stirred up the Order , called in old favours, and has all of us checking up on the Dursleys. I think he is truly worried about the boy."

"Of course he is," Severus sneered. "I just wish he had been worried about him five years ago and stopped those vile people from treating him like … like an animal, or worse."

"What's done is done," Minerva snapped. "I can assure you that Albus would be appalled to learn of their treatment of the lad, and he has in no way condoned child abuse of any kind!"

Harry jerked at her raised voice and spilled soup on the table. He immediately dropped his spoon and lunged off Snape's lap, whimpering and hiding under the table. Severus threw Minerva a disgusted look, which she returned with a contrite wince.

"Harry?" Snape called gently. He got off his chair and down on his hands and knees, peering under the table. The boy was hunched in a tiny ball, arms wrapped around his knees and body rocking minutely back and forth. His gazewas fixed on one of the table legs and his eyes were dilated with fear.

"Harry, it's alright," Severus said in as gentle a tone as he could manage. "Minerva is not angry with you, and you've done nothing wrong. Can you come out now so you can finish your soup?"

"Blood …" the boy whispered hoarsely, his eyes still fastened on the table leg. His nostrils flared with sudden terror. "There's b-blood … You … you're gonna kill me. You're just pretending to be nice!"

"What?" Snape frowned. He followed the child's wild-eyed gaze and sighed when he spotted it. Apparently, he had not cleaned the table as thoroughly as he should have last night. At least one of the table legs still had dark streaks where the child's blood had dripped down from the table.

"Harry …" Severus tried again, but the boy screamed suddenly and crawled out from under the table faster than he thought possible. "Harry, stop!" Severus lunged forthe boy's foot, but he ended up grasping empty air. Minerva tried to catch him as well, but the boy was too quick. Harry rolled away from her hands, got to his feet, and ran. Snape tried to get up, but he banged his head on the tabletop.

"Blast!" he growled, rubbing the knot on his head.

"Was it something I said?" The Transfiguration Professor sounded bewildered.

"No; he saw blood on the table leg there and thinks I'm a serial killer or something," he snarled in reply. Snape drew his wand. "Point me Harry Potter," he snapped. The wand twisted in his palm like the needle of a compass and realized that the boy had run upstairs. In his condition, the child was likely to have a relapse or tear open his wounds. He shook his head in disgust at himself, mostly. He ought to have cleaned up the mess a little better; but how was he to know that Harry would go hiding under the table anyway?

"He thinks you're a what?" McGonegall asked.

"A muggle version of a ritual murderer," Severus explained impatiently. "Now stay down here while I go try to talk him down."

The Potions Professor followed his wand upstairs and found the boy hiding under the bed in his room. He sighed and sat down on the floor just inside the bedroom, attempting to stay non-threatening.

"You know," he remarked drily. "Hiding under the bed is rather obvious, don't you think?" A sniffle was his only answer. "I can show you some much better hiding spots in this old house." He got two sniffles that time, and a muffled sob. He sighed in annoyance. "Harry, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have just left you in the street where I found you. The blood you saw is your own. I put you on the table to heal you and I tried to clean up the blood afterwards. But I see that I missed a spot. I swear that I mean you no harm."

There was silence from under the bed. Severus toyed with his wand and cast a silent diagnostic spell. The boy was curled up under the bed, his heartbeat was rapid and his body temperature was rising steadily, and rather quickly. One of his wounds had broken and he was bleeding slightly. That was it. The Professor got to his feet, muttered 'lumos', and took the four steps to the bed before he dropped on his hands and knees, throwing up the bed skirt and peering at the terrified child, using his wand as a light.

"You can't stay there forever, you know," he said gently. "I'm sure you've hurt yourself, running up all this way. Come out and I'll have a look at it."

"You're gonna punish me," the boy whispered, his eyes glassy with fear. "I spilled your soup … and I ran away … and I'm not answering you." The child shivered and closed his eyes, fighting his tears. "It's gonna be a bad one, I know. I know, I know I'm bad … I just … I can't come out. You're gonna punish me and I already hurt so much."

"Harry," Severus sighed. He set his wand down on the floor and stretched out his hand to the child. "I am not going to punish you for any of those things. You're not in trouble. I'm worried about you and I want to help you." The man faltered. "But … I don't know how. I don't … I don't have any children, and I'm not … good, with children."

Harry's green eyes blinked open and he stared incredulously at the Professor. "You're good," the boy whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "But I'm not a good boy, I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop it," Snape said wearily. "I don't care right now whether you're a good boy or not, I just want you to get out of there so I can examine your wounds. You broke one open and you're bleeding. Now you can get out on your own, or I can pull you out: which one do you prefer?"

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Harry stared at the Professor. He was scared. His heart was thumping hard against his ribs and every shuddering beat made his entire body throb with pain. He knew he was a bad little freak and deserved to be punished. He was always punished when he ran from Uncle Vernon. But this man made such an effort to be nice. It was embarrassing. He stared at the Professor, straight into his obsidian eyes, struggling to read something there. The man was concerned and worried, not angry, and Harry began to sob. He felt like an idiot, and now he was feeling guilty too. How could he have doubted the Professor after all he did for him? The boy stretched out his arms to the man, and the Professor's pale face looked relieved when he grabbed his arms and gently pulled him out from under the bed. Harry felt a bit dizzy, and his body was hurting again, but he sank gratefully into the man's strong arms.

The bath had helped a little. It had helped so much that he must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare. The Professor helped him then too, holding him and talking to him until he could remember where he was and what had happened.

"I'm sorry," Harry whimpered, crying harder. "I'm sorry."

"Hush, child; it's over now," the Professor said softly. "I'm going to sit you on the bed and take your shirt off, alright? I need to see where you hurt yourself."

Harry pulled a hand free and gestured at his back, wincing when he strained his aching shoulder. "My back," he whispered.

The Professor paused for a second, and then nodded. He gently turned Harry around and set him down on the bed before he tugged the shirt off. Harry shivered. The man's fingers were warm as they gently examined the cut on his back that had torn open. It had started bleeding when he rolled away from the lady Professor.

"Wait here," the Professor muttered. He left the room and Harry heard him clattering downstairs. He heard raised voices, but they quickly faded. Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. He was going to be in trouble, he just knew it. He had misbehaved in front of the Professor's guest and after his cut was taken care of, the man was probably going to thrash him. Even nice people sometimes thrashed their kids, he knew that from school. There was a boy at primary school last year who said his father spanked him for mouthing off to the vicar when he was over for dinner. Harry straightened up. The man said he wasn't going to hurt him, but that might just mean he wouldn't leave bleeding black and blue marks like Uncle Vernon did. He could take a little thrashing and he wouldn't even cry much. Or maybe the man would make him scrub the toilet with a toothbrush. That wouldn't be too bad of a punishment.

He jumped when the Professor came back, his arms full of bottles and bandages, and the stern-looking lady Professor in blue was with him.

"Harry, I'm going to need Minerva's help, alright?" the man looked anxious for some reason. His face was pinched and tight-looking. He held up a bottle with a little bit of green liquid in it. "This medicine will close your wound, but it will be painful. She is going to make sure you don't hurt yourself more, alright?"

Harry shivered and tried to wrap his skinny arms around himself, ducking from the stern woman's gaze. He hadn't minded the nasty gashes before, but the thought of the lady seeing them and looking at him with pity or something worse made him blush with shame. He was a tough boy, and he didn't need anybody feeling sorry for him. The last time a lady felt sorry for him, his Uncle beat him and broke his bones and threw him in the cupboard for 'telling lies to nice ladies'. He hadn't said a thing. The nice lady at school just asked him if his relatives hurt him and he nodded. He didn't say a word. But Uncle Vernon didn't care. Harry didn't want this woman pitying him too and getting him in trouble.

"I'll be good," Harry whispered, throwing her a nervous glance. She looked so very stern and severe, but she did give him a little smile. He stared suspiciously at her, wondering where that awful pitying look was. He couldn't see it on her face. "She doesn't need to hold me down," Harry pleaded, turning his eyes to the Professor, who was setting his potions and bandages down on the side table. "I'll stay still, I promise."

"It will hurt badly," the Professor warned him. "But if you don't want her touching you, she won't; unless she needs to. That was my plan anyway."

Harry nodded and tried to straighten his back, but pain lanced through him and he flinched, blinking at the fresh tears that burned his eyes.

The Professor noticed and gazed into his eyes for a second. "Do you think you can lie down on your stomach, Harry? Or would you like me to help you?"

"I can do it," Harry whispered faintly. He carefully turned and lay down on his stomach, with his legs still dangling off the bed. The angle wrenched the wounds on his leg and he whimpered at the pain. The Professor caught hold of him, gently repositioned him and then laid a gentle hand on his lower back.

"I'm here, I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered firmly. "Trust me and try to relax."

"Yes sir," Harry whispered. He screwed his eyes shut and obediently willed his tense and trembling body to relax. Slowly, his muscles uncoiled and he heaved a deep breath, which made him a bit limper. He felt that he was as relaxed as he could be, and now his cuts were burning again. It wasn't bad, because the other potion was still humming in his blood and blocking a lot of the pain.

"This will sting," the Professor murmured. "Minerva, hold the bowl steady!" he suddenly snapped. Harry flinched slightly, but the Professor wasn't talking to him so he relaxed again. The man had a quicker temper than Uncle Vernon, but he hadn't hit Harry yet, no matter how many stupid things he did. Harry winced as a cool wet cloth started to clean the gash on his shoulder that had torn open. He bit his lip and kept his eyes closed tightly as he focused on breathing.

"More blood here, Severus," the lady suddenly murmured.

The man cursed softly under his breath and gently nudged Harry's hip. "You've torn the gashes on your thigh too, stupid child," the Professor murmured. He sounded sad, not angry, even though he said 'stupid child'.

"… 'M sorry," Harry whimpered.

"No need to apologize, it happens," the Professor sighed. "But I'm going to need to completely undress you to get to it."

Harry shivered. He didn't want them take all of his clothes off. He thought of the bruises still throbbing on his bottom and was overwhelmed with shame. Even though the Professor had already seen them, he didn't want the lady teacher to see.

"I'll go," the lady professor suddenly said. "Poor lad doesn't want a woman in the room when he'll be exposed like that. I'll just make sure the soup stays hot for when you're finished."

"Thank you, Minerva," the Professor said in an absent tone. Harry heard the door close and the Professor suddenly laid a hand on his back again. "Harry? I'm going to use some magic to take the rest of your clothes off. Don't panic, alright? Your pants will just disappear so I don't have to move you."

Harry shuddered hard, his vision clouding as he heard his Uncle bellowing 'there's no such thing as magic, you freak!' while fiery pain lanced through his body. He heard his Aunt hissing, 'If I ever hear that word again, boy, you'll regret it. Do you want another punishment like last time?' He shoved it all away into the cupboard in his mind where he threw bad stuff when they got to be too much. He focused on the Professor, the warm hand resting on his back, the soft, deep voice calming him down, and he took a deep gulp of air, struggling not to panic. When he could focus on reality again, he noticed that his body felt warm. He didn't sense the cool air that had chilled him before. In fact, he hardly noticed that he was now naked and that the cool cloth was cleaning his other cuts, the deep ones on the side of his stung, but it wasn't too bad. His mind drifted drowsily until he heard the Professor's voice change from the soft comforting murmurs of before.

"This will hurt, Harry, but try to stay still."

Harry took a deep breath. Focusing on breathing helped when he was in his cupboard, nursing his hurts and trying not to bother Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon with his whining. He felt something cool drip onto his cuts and he flinched in surprise, but the burning started almost at once, and Harry gasped. He felt like his wounds were being burned with the fire poker. His eyes watered and he clenched his fists in the quilt until he shook, but he didn't scream. He didn't dare move. It burned so badly, but he could still notice that he smelled something weird. It reminded him a little of the time when his Aunt burned his hand on the stove, but it also had another medicine-like smell that made him want to sneeze. Harry took another deep breath, but this one choked into a sob. He clenched his jaw against the scream that wanted to come out, but he knew the rules. When freaks were being punished, they didn't need to let the whole world know could take it. When Uncle Vernon had burned him that one time with the fire poker, he hadn't just stopped at one spot. He kept going until Harry could shut up and take it. He could handle this.

Suddenly, he felt something cool and slimy cover the cuts and they didn't hurt as much. The stiffness went out of Harry's body and he let out a breathless sob, hardly able to believe that his punishment had been done so quickly.

"Breathe, Harry, just breathe; go ahead and cry now, it's over," the Professor was saying, brushing his head and dragging a blanket over him. "You were very brave. You did well." The Professor paused. "I'm proud of you, Harry. You did very well."

Harry cried quietly while the slimy stuff worked, taking all the burning pain with it wasn't fast enough. "Hur-hurts," the boy whimpered.

"I know it hurts," the Professor said softly, still stroking his hair. "Can you turn this way so I can see you?"Wincing at the pain still lancing through his shoulder, the boy lifted his head and turned to face the Professor. The manquickly cleaned Harry's face with a handkerchief. "Good boy," the Professormurmured, peering into his eyes. "It should stop burning in a few moments, Harry. In the future, you must try to avoid tearing your wounds open again. You need to rest to let them heal. It will take a couple of weeks at least, do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said in a croaky voice. "I won't do it again."

"Good," the Professor sighed. He ran his hand through his lank black hair and rubbed his eyes. "What am I going to do with you, boy?" he huffed, looking like he was about to smirk. "You're going to make me go gray early. Don't frighten me like that again, right?"

Harry was not sure why the man had gotten scared, but he nodded anyway, waiting for the assignment of extra chores or other punishment.

"Now, you still have food downstairs, but I don't think you should go down again until tomorrow at least," the Professor said slowly. "Are you still hungry?"

Harry's stomach answered for him, growling loudly. The boy blushed, but the Professor smirked with amusement.

"I'll get your soup," he said, dropping the quilt over Harry's back. "Rest there until I get back. Once I do, your cuts will be sealed enough for me to dress you again, alright?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied. His voice was still croaky, but he was already feeling better. The pain was not quite so awful anymore, and he actually smiled once the Professor left the room. The bed was comfortable and the quilt covering him was warm, and he felt sleepy. He heard voices in the hallway and he strained his ears to hear better.

"… done already?" That was the lady Professor.

"The boy … make a sound … worrisome …" Harry's Professor replied, his voice urgent and the words running together so that Harry couldn't understand the whole thing.

"Is he alright?" the stern lady teacher asked, loudly and clearly enough that Harry could hear. The Professor's reply was grumbled and he couldn't hear very much.

" … fine, but he … be hungry after that … eathis soup … if he hasn't already fallen asleep."

"I'll get it, go on back with him," the lady answered briskly. Harry heard the lady's quick clicking footsteps fade down the stairs and the Professor's heavier, but quieter, tread came back into the room. Harry opened his eyes and tracked the man's movements. He watched silently as the man opened a bureau drawer and pulled out a shirt and another pair of pajama pants. He was scowling as he laid them out on the dresser and then poked them with his stick. The Professor closed his eyes in concentration. To Harry's astonishment, the shirt and pants began to shrink until they were small enough to fit a small boy. Was that what he had been wearing lately? The Professor was changing his own clothes so they would fit Harry? The child's eyes filled with tears again; this time, he was simply overwhelmed. This man was so good and kind. In his heart, Harry fervently swore that he would make up for all the trouble he was causing when he got all better. He would be a very good boy, and he would forget all of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's weird rules if that's what the Professor wanted. He would stop jumping and flinching at everything, and he would certainly stop apologizing for everything, unless he did something really wrong, of course.

"I think your wounds should be good enough for me to bandage them now," the Professor announced. He came over to the bed and tossed the shrunk clothes over the footboard. "Can I help you sit up?"

Harry nodded and meekly allowed the man to bandage and dress him. He obediently drank two more disgusting potions. The one for his fever made him gag a little. Magically, (he shivered involuntarily at the thought) a glass of water appeared in the Professor's hand and he drank the whole thing.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said weakly. He felt pretty lame when that was all he could say. The man just nodded, but he seemed distracted. The Professor plumped up the pillows and helped Harry sit back before he draped the quilt over his lap. Harry couldn't resist the tears this time. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed quietly. He didn't really know why he was crying now. He just felt exhausted and warm, just the tiniest bit achy, and he still felt guilty about what a stupid little baby he was being. He hadn't hid under a bed in years, nor had he cried so much in one day.

"Harry, drink this," the Professor said gently.

The boy blindly took his hands from his face and obediently tipped his head back. He recognized the flowery taste of the slimy liquid being poured through his lips and he gulped it all down. It was the same thing the Professor gave him after the bandages unwrapped by themselves. His heart stopped pounding on the bars of his ribcage and his head stopped spinning. He sighed and leaned back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut. He wondered what he had been so worked up about. It hardly seemed to matter now.

"Don't sleep yet," the man's voice drifted to him through the cloud of his drowsiness. "You must eat something."

"Not hungry no more," Harry mumbled, feeling peaceful and comfortable and wanting to drift away. Before he knew it, he had fallen into the soft embrace of sleep.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

A rather short chapter, I know. This is because I posted Friday's chapter almost by accident last Tuesday. So anyway, here is another chapter just in time for the weekend!