Thank you to those who continue to read my story. I must admit, I am struggling with confidence in my writing which is part of the reason it is taking so long for me to update. I am, quite frankly, not sure if the story is good enough to continue. I wish to complete it, obviously, and have plenty of ideas, but it is challenging when you are riddled with doubts about your writing ability. That said, all characters are the property of J.K Rowling, and I am just taking them for my own little fictional foray.
Severus Snape felt himself to be in some kind of surreal nightmare as he carefully lowered Harry into the tepid bathwater,then knelt, one arm braced behind the boy's back, keeping him upright. The teen's skin burnt with a fiery heat against his own and he knew it was imperative he bought the boy's temperature down by any means possible. Truth told, he felt totally out of his depth and could not help but silently reprimand himself for having not checked on the boy sooner. What had he been thinking? One word came to mind. Lily. That was what, or rather, who, he had been thinking.
'Go to my lab and bring me three vials of fever reducer, healing salve and my non-magical healing kit and be quick about it', he snapped at Minky, who hovered anxiously behind him, wringing her hands and casting mournful gazes towards the scene before her.
It was a little known fact, that Severus Snape was quite well versed in muggle medicine as well as in magical healing. The latter was essential in his work as a Potions Master, of course, but the former... the former, he had chosen to study of his own volition during his teenaged years when he had discovered that magical means of healing were of little use on self inflicted wounds. Slytherins did not often come upon their cunning ways and their strong senses of self preservation naturally. More often, those skills were developed as a sense if necessity bought on by being raised in inhospitable environments; yes, it would be true to say that many a Slytherin had suffered abuse, and some, in response to the messy emotions brought up by such abuse, resorted to self injury as a means to cope. Severus himself was no stranger to such, and found it discomforting to find such a commonality between himself and the Potter progeny. Even more discomforting was the small crack that now distorted the armour he had so carestakingly erected around his heart over many years. He was not man at ease with emotion, either in himself or in others, but nor was he a man who was inpervious to emotion, as his younger years stood testament to. In fact, he was capable of feeling as much as any other but had chosen, at a certain point on his life, to slam the doors shut on what he came to believe was a weakness, rather than a strength.
Severus was bought back to the present by a pained groan as he opened eyes he had been unaware of closing in the first place. Looking down at the boy, he noted that he was shivering and seemed to be attempting to manoeuvre himself onto his side, legs pulled up into a foetal position. As Severus' braced arm lost contact with the child's scrawny back, he quickly grabbed at an armpit and pulled the boy back into a sitting position. It was unnaturally easy to shift the teenager's body, and were it not for the knowledge that he was due to enter his sixth year in less than two months, one might have been forgiven for believing him several years younger. As it stood, the likely reasons for the boy's below average stature and weight left an unpleasant taste in Severus' mouth. Narrowing his eyes, he reached over and yanked out the plug, watching the now cold water drain away. Shifting his grip to the boy's shoulder, he gently pushed him forwards, using his other arm to support Harry's chest. Dark eyes glittering with anger and some other undefinable emotion, he finally took the opportunity to get a closer look at the scar riddled back he had caught a glimpse of earlier.
It was perfectly clear that the boy had been struck with a belt, and judging by the varying shades of the marred skin, this had been, not only a fairly recent occurrence, but something that had been happening for years. Just how many years, he did not wish to consider in the present moment. He wondered how the boy had managed to keep such obvious abuse, hidden from those around him, sure that had it come to light, even his closest friends would not have remained silent on such an issue. He raised his head slightly, gazing sightlessly at the wall as shadowed ghosts crept into his mind and he remembered another boy with similar scars. An irritating voice broke him out of his memories and he shook his head slightly, turning his attention back to the task at hand
'Master, Minky has your potions, where do you want Minky to be putting them, master?', the tiny elf hovered at his heels, and it was all he could do not snarl at the creature for the intrusion, regardless of the fact she was only doing what he had asked of her.
'Put them down on the nightstand and then leave', he said, then thinking better of it, added 'I will call for you if I need anything further'.
With one last look at the boy's back, arm still braced supportively across his chest, Severus removed his hand from the boy's bony shoulder, turned slightly and snatched at one of the towels sitting on the floor behind him. Wrapping it around the now shivering body as best he could and keeping a tight grip, he rose to his feet and leaning over slightly, gathered Harry back into his arms. He noted, as he placed the boy back on the bed, that his skin was still giving off too much heat and considered the probability that he might need to call in assistance to deal with the situation. Trained as he was in the basics of both Mediwizardry and muggle healing methods, he was not in any way up to the diagnostic standards that would be required if the infection had spread too far into the boy's system. Be that as it may, he was also aware that since he supplied all of the potions at Hogwarts, Madame Pomfrey was no better equipped to actually treat the boy, than he himself was.
It was hours later, that Harry found himself trapped in a feverish nightmare, not so dissimilar to those he had suffered regularly since his fifth year at Hogwarts had ended. The difference was, that on this occasion, he was struggling to wake himself and his high temperature saw the nightmare take on a fearsome quality that none of his other nightmares had. He writhed and twisted in the bed, hands gripping the covers in white knuckled fists as sweat beaded across his forehead.
Screams echoed round the vast chamber as spells flashed over his head, casting the room with an eerie glow. He could hear Bellatrix cackling with insanity, the sound harsh and reeking of pure, unadulterated evil. His breath came in shallow rasps as his eyes came to rest on Sirius, who seemed to almost be fading in and out, as if slightly ethereal, as he cast an incessant stream of spells towards his cousin. In the dream, he turned towards Harry and suddenly, his eyes ran with blood even as a green light sped towards him and then he was falling and Harry was running and the look in the man's eyes was one of rank accusation and rage. Someone grabbed a hold of him from behind and he struggled against the hold, but they were too strong. He twisted his head around and saw not Remus, but Snape looming over him, black eyes glinting with malice as Harry fought to escape so he could respond to the taunting shrieks and laughter of his Godfather's killer. He struggled for long minutes and finally managed to break free by twisting round in the man's grip and kicking out with force at the man's kneecap.
Suddenly the scene around him changed. Stone walls morphed into brick and the chamber shrank in around him and with a jolt of shock, he realised he was in his bedroom at 4 Privet Drive. Hardly daring to look, he turned his gaze back to the man he had just felled, to find his uncle. The man's fat face was rapidly turning that unnerving purple shade and he was pulling himself to his feet, a look of sheer hatred and rage in his eyes as he lunged towards Harry. Harry turned and sped for the door, snatching desperately at the handle, but it was no use... the door was locked. Turning around, his eyes widened and his breath came in short pants as his uncle's hand grabbed him around the neck and yanked him forwards, 'How dare you, boy? Abusing me in my own home? This is how you repay me after all the years I've put up with your freakish ways?' Harry struggled violently as the hand tightened around his neck. He could barely snatch in a breath and his hands began to go numb as he was dragged across the floor and his head slammed against the wall. Everything went black for a few seconds, then his vision cleared and it was no longer his uncle who was gripping him tightly about the neck. The smell of stale potions filled his nostrils as he looked up into narrowed black eyes that glittered with fury, the thin lips twisted into a menacing snarl. The surprisingly strong man squeezed tighter, pushing Harry harder against the wall as he spoke in a deceptively soft voice, 'Your mother would be so proud to see what she died for, Potter. I imagine she would spit on you if she saw you now'. Squeezing his eyes tightly closed, Harry felt cold moisture pooling beneath his lids, as his breath came out in strangled gasps and he tried once more to struggle against the grip, using his last vestiges of energy to kick and somehow, cry out
Severus Snape sat, straight backed, in a chair at the side of the bed in which Harry Potter currently lay, dosed up on various potions. It had taken several fever reducers to bring the boy's temperature down to something that was less alarming, and this was swiftly followed by a calming potion to ensure the boy would remain still whilst the man tended to his various injuries. He was well aware that had the defiant teenager woken during his ministrations, it would have delayed healing and potentially aggravated his already infected cuts, not to mention made it more difficult for Severus to keep a grip on his tenuously controlled emotions. Oh, the anger that bubbled just beneath the surface was, for once, not aimed solely at the irritating brat but also at the relatives who had undoubtedly been the cause of the belt marks across the boy's back. His anger had only increased as he had rubbed muggle antiseptic creams into the semi-healed cuts that littered the teen's skinny thighs and the deeper wounds on his arm before covering them as best as he could with various sizes of dressing. The stupid boy had not even thought to clean whatever implement he had used to inflict such harm on himself. If he had, they would not have found themselves in this current situation. Severus did not wish to contemplate just how he would deal with such a topic when the boy emerged from his condition. His own pain riddled past was not a place he wished to visit anytime soon.
He had needed to pause for long moments whilst dealing with the variably aged scars and welts on the boy's back. It had taken that long to get his shaking hands back under his own control so as to administer the healing salve. He had lost count of the number of belt marks he had carefully rubbed with the dense cream and by the time he had finished, what had started as a vague throbbing in his temples had bloomed into a full migraine. For all that he appeared to barely tolerate, even dislike, the majority of the children under his tutelage, the idea of abuse towards any said child was not only abhorrent, but untenable in his eyes. Of course, some might have viewed his own verbal assaults as being borderline abusive, but he found it easy to validate his behaviour in his own mind. Afterall, he had an image to uphold, a role to conceal and smothering the students with platitudes and sentimental drivel would not be condusive to their future. Like it or not, the Wizarding World was at war, and loathe as he was to consider it, one day these students would potentially be playing a role in it. And like it or not, Potter, if the Prophecy was to be believed, would be the main playerin a game that the side of the Light could not afford to lose.
The Potions Master was roused from his troubling thoughts by the distinct sound of gasping breaths coming from the bed. Looking up sharply, he noted that Potter was gripping the blankets so tightly his knuckles stood out in sharp relief. The boy's face was covered in a light sheen of sweat and his face was contorted as if he was struggling against some unseen force. Putting the book he had been reading aside, Severus stood up and moved closer, dark eyes narrowed in confusion. The boy should have been asleep for hours yet, given the strength of the calming draught he had forced down the unresisting throat earlier. Reaching over, he pressed the back of his hand to the teen's forehead, wondering if another fever reducer might be in order. The damp skin was clammy and although not as heated as it had been, it was hot enough to be cause for concern. Quickly removing his hand, Severus turned from the bed and strode over to the desk across the room where several vials lined the surface. Snatching up a pale blue one, he turned and froze on the spot.
The boy on the bed was now writhing about, fists pushing at the blankets desperately until he lay uncovered and trembling. His legs kicked out as if he were under attack and his breath came in short, sharp pants. His hands came up to clutch desperately at his throat as if struggling for breath as he rolled precariously close to the edge of the mattress. Pocketing the vial, Severus quickly strode back to the bed and without thinking, attempted to grab the boy's hands to pull them away from his neck. A strangled cry escaped the boy's lips, shredding the silent air in the room. Gripping the boy's smaller hands in one of his own, he leant over, intending to shake the teen out of what was, quite obviously, a violent nightmare when a foot made solid contact with his stomach. Grunting with pain, but retaining his grip, he roughly grabbed a thin shoulder and shook it. The boy cried out again and struggled to free his hands.
'Potter', he said loudly, close to the boy's ear, his hand still clutching the boy's shoulder as his gaze swept over the teen's face.
Something inside him felt strange as he took in the child's pallor and the tears that now leaked freely from beneath the tightly shut eyes.
'Potter', he repeated, giving the boy another shake, trying to ignore the tendrils of foreign emotion that had crept in, unannounced.
Just as he was about to make another attempt at rousing the boy, the child's shoulder was suddenly wrenched violently from his grip as Harry made one more valiant effort to break free from his nightmare assailant. It was all Severus could do to maintain his hold on the boy's hands as he struggled to pull away, crying out once more, the sound painfully desperate and frightened. Then just as suddenly, Harry went still, as if all the fight had left him and Severus found himself staring into feverish green eyes. He was not sure if the boy was even fully aware as the eyes seemed to be gazing right through him as if not really seeing.
'Potter', he said again, looking for some reaction, some sign that the teen was aware of his presence.
The boy turned his head away and shuddered as he took in several shaky breaths. His hands trembled slightly in Severus' grip and the man carefully released them.
The silence was suddenly deafening as Severus stared down at the shivering form of his charge. Turning slightly, he reached over and pulled the discarded blankets back up over the boy.
'You should have just killed me'.
The voice, when it came, was almost a whisper, the words hollow and lacking any emotion.
Severus froze for the second time as he tried to make sense of the utterance.
'What are you on about, Potter?' he snapped.
There was no response.
'Potter...'
