The next morning proved to be just as uncomfortable as the evening before. Minerva rose early, seemingly unable to stay asleep after being so shaken, and made her way to the small kitchen area to her freshly brewed pot of coffee and a copy of the Prophet. She sat in her chair at the square, empty table, sitting straight-laced and stiff and trying all the same not to squirm. The utter quietness of the house was beginning to disturb her, which she had never experienced in her own home before, and the intense morning sunlight just starting to creep in through the yellow-curtained window above the sink did nothing to sooth the disquiet. She ate a piece of fruit and a muffin- usually all that she was able to manage in the morning- and decided with a stern Accio to continue scratching through some of the student papers she had been wrestling with into the night.

She was halfway through, intently scribbling and hopelessly absorbed, when she realized that the solemn messy haired boy had joined her, rousing from his sleep like-death and taking a seat across from her without her noticing. Severus's hair was hopelessly disheveled- wasn't it always?- and she resisted the very real temptation to order him to go to the back room and comb it before she pursed her lips and summoned a plate of warm French toast that had been waiting in the oven, fresh from the Hogwarts kitchen. Severus looked at his as if trying to inhale it with his eyes, and when Minerva noticed it made her gulp again. Just what that ridiculous Muggle had done, she didn't know, but she was determined to get to the bottom of it, as it reminded her of a certain discussion that needed to be had. Before allowing him to scarf down the indulgent breakfast, however, she held up a single finger, and added blueberries and Whipped cream to the already sweet dish. The boy's eyes, if possible, went even wider, and she was pleased to find that she didn't have to admonish him to get him to eat this time. The sight of her charge enjoying the food was enough to bring the corners of her lips up, but she knew that wouldn't last long; better now than later, when he was occupied with pouring the syrup more than her words.

"I was sorry to note that you didn't sleep well," she tried.

Severus shrugged, flicking some black strands out of his plate and not looking up at her. "I'm used to it," was all he said, before he went back to his meal.

As if that should have been satisfactory.

Sighing, Minerva tried once again. "Perhaps… perhaps if the cause of your nighttime distresses were made known, then it would be possible for Madam Pomfrey or myself to aid you in some way."

Aid him in some way? Severus paused, pondering the meaning of such an apparently ambiguous statement. Was she talking about a Potion that could stop the dreams? He could make that himself. Or was she talking about- something else? He shuddered. Whatever it was, he certainly had no intentions to divulge such private information about himself to satisfy his nosy teacher's whims and was about to tell her so when he was taken aback by a rather intense sigh on his Professor's part.

"Really, Severus. I have no delusions that talking about such things is an easy thing to do. But everyone gets nightmares, dear, and it is best you put a stop to them now, before they do you real damage."

"I don't think they're doing me real damage." The black eyes were wide again; they seemed to be moving further and further away.

"I noticed before, silly boy. You walk into my classroom with bags under your eyes as long as my arm. You help no one by pretending the problem doesn't exist when it so clearly does."

"And what the hell would you know about my problems?" He had not meant to come off so… snappy. He hadn't, really, but she had no right to be prying like that, no right at all! He never got to enjoy a good meal in peace- certainly not at Hogwarts, always looking over his shoulder with shifting eyes for the Fantastic Four, and never at home, where a homecooked meal meant eat before your old man decided you'd already had too much because the day at the mill had left him hungrier than usual. Was it too much to ask he be left in peace here?

"You will dispense with the tone or will find that I am perfectly capable of giving detention on Easter Holls," she said threateningly, apparently oblivious to his inner turmoil. He scowled and folded his arms across his chest but said nothing. Pleased with this, she managed to sit up a little straighter. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Severus, you should tell me what the dream was about. Perhaps it will- "

Minerva had expected more snapping. She had expected fuming, and glaring, and possibly a staring contest, until he gave in and broke down.

This was not what happened.

He snarled, that much was true. He snarled, and then-

"Thanks for the breakfast."

He pushed his plate away and hurried from the table.

She sighed again.


At least she didn't have to tell the boy twice to do his homework, she thought, watching from her armchair with knitting in her arms as he sat hunched over his own papers, writing as if his life depended on it and succeeding in getting ink all over his hands in the process. It was almost fascinating to watch: as if he did not think about the words before writing them, as if he knew the answers instinctively and she seemed to know without asking that he was working on a Potions assignment, an area in which he seemed- loyal as Minerva was to her dear but often bumbling colleague- to far excel his Professor. She'd known he was a smart boy- but seeing that in action was enough to engage all of her attention so that the stitching sat forgotten in her lap and she instantly regretted disparaging him all those times before for putting a "lack of effort" into his Transfiguration homework. Seeing him now, and knowing what she now knew, there was probably more to it than that.

Not that he would admit it, of course.


Albus came by that afternoon. His excuse was that he wanted to see how things were progressing, but Minerva knew better. It wasn't exactly that he was uninterested in the Snape boy, persay; but a distinct lack of action on said boy's behalf over the last four years seemed to indicate that there was some sort of underlying motive to the Headmaster's visit, and the dropping feeling Minerva got in the pit of her stomach was only accentuated when she realized why she had not noticed this before.

Of course. It was so obvious.

To Severus's credit- for it seemed he was Severus now- he did not outright snap at the Headmaster the way he had done with her that morning. He sat quietly and stiffly on the couch across from the man and gave one-word answers to the questions quipped at him. Finally, after realizing the utter lack of headway he was making, Albus dismissed the boy with a sigh and turned to address his Deputy Head.

"His first night was acceptable, I presume."

"It was hardly anything to rave over, Albus," Minerva sniffed. "Severus had a nightmare, and a rather severe one at that! But this morning he was acting all clammish- which is predictable, but still."

"That is hardly surprising, given what I have discovered about his homelife."

Minerva seemed to sit up a little straighter.

"You went to the Snape's?"

"I did."

"And?" It hardly seemed that she could be so interested; a student in a rival house, a student she had been saddled with, a student she'd never paid much mind too…

"The home is not fit for a rabid dog to inhabit, much less a child. There is no electricity; even the most basic and bare of Muggle technology. His bedroom reeks of flies. There is not a scrap of food to be found in the place, not to mention the dirt. Don't mention it to him- you know that would not go over well- but I do believe that I found evidence that his father is an alcoholic, which is a Muggle term for someone with a chemical addiction to alcohol."

Minerva's hand flew to her forehead, which was suddenly sweaty. She found that her palm was clammy.

"Certainly… certainly you have informed this- Mr. Snape that his son will not be returning to him?"

"I told him that the child is being adequately cared for, yes."

Adequately cared for? Was that all? she thought. Good god!

She had the sudden urge to go to- well, to wherever it was and correct Mr. Snape's assumptions herself. For a moment she thought that Dumbledore could tell this, but she quickly schooled her expression and tried to calm herself to continue the conversation. Getting worked up never got you anywhere where Albus Dumbledore was concerned.

"I suggest that you allow him to stay with you for the time being, Minerva. Unless you wish him to have far worse problems than broken ribs."

He stood, clearly intending to leave, and so she stood too, mouth agape, unable to respond as everything she had imagined was confirmed.

God lord, she wondered a second time as he swept from the room. What had she gotten herself into?