I am not sure if this story is worth continuing as the reviews, although not the only reason I write this story, have dropped considerably and I am not sure that many people are gaining anything from the effort I am putting into keeping this storyline going. I have been considering whether re-uploading it from the beginning might help, but I am unsure. Obviously, as someone who is not very confident in their writing, it was re-reading all my original reviews that persuaded me to try finishing this story, but things seem to have changed in the years since I uploaded Chapter 10. Anyway, here is the latest chapter and I shall be putting serious thought into whether to continue this or re-upload it or just move on to something else.

Once more, Severus found himself poised in a position of restraint, his hands firmly gripping those of a struggling teen who was deceptively strong considering his diminutive size. Whatever the nightmares Potter was experiencing, they were beyond anything the Potions Master had ever witnessed before, both in their violence and in their frequency. They were also not condusive to the rest the boy would be needing if he were to have any hope of recovering fully from his recent infection, not to mention his state of mind. To say that Potter's frantic cries were grating on his already frazzled nerves, was an understatement, and finally having had enough, he leant over, close to the boy's ear and spoke in his most authoritative voice.

'Wake up, Potter, or so help me I will seal shut that overactive mouth of yours'

To further make his point, he squeezed tightly on the hands he held, hoping the pressure might break past the barriers of sleep. Unfortunately, these actions seemed to only aggravate the situation further, and before Severus could react, Harry had kicked out with such force that his hands were ripped free as he scrambled across the bed. Severus tried to grab the boy's arm but could only watch as the teen slipped off the other side, landing on the floor with a painfully loud thud. Cursing under his breath, he swiftly strode over to where the boy was now sprawled on his back, green eyes wide and afraid as his breath came in rapid, panicked gasps. Summoning Minky, he uttered a few words to her then turned back to his charge, who had dragged himself back to lean against the wall. The boy was looking increasingly pale and his body trembled visibly as he clutched at his throat, trying desperately to catch his breath. His eyes were glazed over and if he was aware of the other presence nearby, he was doing a rather stellar job at concealing it. Resisting the urge to spit out a sarcastic insult and gathering all of the patience he could muster, Severus knelt down a short distance away and spoke in a voice, that for him, was unusually lacking in vitriol.

'Potter, you need to slow your breathing down'

He watched the teen's face closely, seeking any sign of recognition, his frustration growing as the boy continued to panic. As surprising as it might have been to any who knew him, Severus Snape was not entirely unfamiliar with the crippling nature of panic attacks. The fight or flight mechanism had shown it's ugly face to him on more than one occasion, mostly during his own teenage years, but he had learnt to deal with such issues alone. Actually, he had not had much choice other than to deal with them alone, not that he would have wished for witnesses to such losses of control. Faced with another commonality between himself and the wretched Boy Who Lived, he ground his teeth together and sought to remember how he had bought himself out of such attacks. Counting. That had been his own solution. Counting out loud had forced his breathing into a more regular pattern. With renewed determination, he shifted himself closer to Harry who was still clutching at his throat with desperate hands, as if the act could somehow magically open up his airways. With a heavy sigh, Severus once more removed the hands and placed them in Harry's lap, pressing down hard before leaning forwards and gripping the boy's face, forcing him to look at him. He swallowed as terrified green eyes, shadowed by sleeplessness, finally acknowledged his presence. There was no escaping, in that moment, that this was Lily's child and it was disconcerting to see her so clearly reflected in the fearful gaze of her son.

'You are hyperventilating, Potter. So Unless you have a desire to pass out on the floor, I suggest you do as I say. I want you to count up to four as you breathe in, and then repeat the process when you breathe out'. He tightened his grip on the gaunt face as Harry tried to pull away, resisting the urge to slap the stubborn boy. Taking a deep breath to gather his self control, he started counting out loud, his dark eyes locked on green, ignoring the quiet pop as his House Elf returned, several vials held in her strangely elongated fingers.

'one...two...three...four...one...two...three...four...', his voice enunciated the numbers softly, and finally, after a few repetitions, Harry followed suit, his voice a barely audible whisper as he struggled to get his breathing under control. As the minutes passed, the boy's breathing finally began to slow down and slight colour returned to his cheeks, although he remained far too pale to be considered remotely healthy. Finally, feeling the attack had passed, for now, Severus released Harry's face and after another quick look at the boy, rose to his feet and took a step back. The teen remained motionless as his gaze fell to study the hands still resting in his lap, no doubt uncomfortable to find himself in such a vulnerable position. Severus found his patience diminishing rapidly again, uncomfortable with the role of care he had been impelled to take and uneasy at some of the emotions that had been slipping in, against his better wishes.

'Get up, Potter and get back into bed. I have better things to do than play babysitter to an angst ridden teenager such as yourself', he bit out in his usual cold tone.

For the briefest of moments, a feeling very much like disappointment rose in Harry as he sat on the floor, trying hard to conceal his sense of confusion and humiliation. The last thing he could remember was feeling more sick than he could ever recall, and the great effort it had taken him simply to try and reach the bathroom in time. What had happened after that point was a complete mystery to him beyond finding himself entrapped in some of the worst nightmares he had ever experience. He had vague recollections of warm water and hands pulling at him, but those memories blurred into the fabric of his dreams and outside of the dreams, they made no sense at all. What made even less sense, had been the sight of his usually hostile Potions Professor, kneeling down and physically making Harry look at him as he spoke in a voice so foreign to the dark man. For the shortest of moments, he had seen something akin to concern flash across the dark eyes and had foolishly basked in the notion that maybe someone did care for him afterall, in spite of who that someone was. The thought had calmed him more than the numbers he forced out between laboured breaths but the idea dissolved rapidly as the man's usual tones darkened the room.

Feeling utterly stupid for having entertained such a ridiculous idea, Harry pulled the shutters across his emotions as best he could and climbed unsteadily to his feet, stumbling slightly as he struggled to regain his balance. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, he clenched his fists a few times, his eyes fixed to the wall in front of him before finally gathering the courage to speak.

'I remember feeling ill...', his voice sounded strange to his ears, as if he had not used it in some weeks and for all the questions he had, he found himself unable to enunciate even one of them. He felt frustration blossom as he clenched his fists tighter and continued to stare at the wall.

For a few minutes, there was silence, and Harry started to wonder if the other man was going to respond at all. He was about to lay himself back on the bed, when his Professor finally chose to speak, the voice as cold and harsh as it ever had been.

'Yes, Potter, evidently your stupidity knows no bounds. I found you laying in a pool of your own vomit, riddled with a fever of entirely your own making'

A short moment later, Harry found his view of the wall blocked, as Snape moved to stand directly in front of him, his tall form intimidating and menacing. Harry dared a glance up at the man's face, but quickly averted his eyes as he saw the dark eyes glinting with what could only be described as a combination of anger and something he could not yet identify. His thoughts tangled together in a confused mass as he tried desperately to remember what had made him ill in the first place and how it could be his own fault. His eyes drifted downwards and with sudden alarm, he finally took note of the fact he was now dressed in pajamas rather than his usual ragged clothing. Oh God. Did Snape know? His breathing sped up slightly as he considered the possibility and he tried to comfort himself with the thought that there were spells to dress someone without the need to manually strip them. He was clenching his fists so tightly he could feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms and his stomach started to knot as the silence stretched on.

'What were you thinking, you foolish boy?', Snape spat out furiously into the silence as Harry shrank back on himself.

'But of course, the Potter spawn never thinks. He just decides to carve himself up like a joint of meat without even considering cleaning the tool beforehand. And as per usual, someone else has to waste their time and their effort keeping the Golden Child alive.'

Harry's insides seemed to freeze at the realisation that the worst person possible now knew his secret; knew of his weakness. Had it been term time, he could easily have concealed the evidence with a few carefully cast Glamours, which was how he had thus far managed to evade the notice of the school nurse during his many trips to the infirmary. It had become a part of his daily routine once he had realised there was no way to explain away the welts and bruises he usually carried back with him following Summers with the Dursleys. He had become rather good at them actually, through necessity, and would spend a few minutes after his morning shower, ensuring that there was no evidence of his miserable existence away from Hogwarts. He had no doubt that Snape, being the kind of man he was, would take every opportunity to insult and demean Harry with this new knowledge, if not in classes, in other situations in which they were forced to endure one another's company. This thought, coupled with the idea of having been undressed by the man he hated so much, caused intense anger to flare up inside him and he shot to his feet, ignoring the ominous trembling as his legs struggled to support his weight.

'You had no right! How dare you invade my privacy like that! Does it make you feel good to have something else you can throw in my face whenever you want?', he took in a few shallow breaths as he finally raised his eyes, green fire boring into his teacher's furious face, 'You had no right! I never asked anyone to keep me alive and I don't even want to be here! You can't keep me here!'

Without a thought as to where he was going, or the fact that it would take little effort to stop him, given his current physical weakness, Harry made for the door, furiously trying to ignore the fact his legs were trembling from the effort. He had barely made it into the narrow corridor beyond when a large hand closed round his upper arm, pulling him to a sudden halt before spinning him round sharply. For a moment, a strange greyness clouded Harry's vision and he felt himself sway slightly, but with determination, he shook his head free of the dizziness and glared up into the furious face above him.

Severus had, of course, anticipated that the boy would not be too happy that his secret had been discovered and admittedly, he had not made any effort to broach the subject with any kindness. In all honesty, his anger did not seem to originate from the inconvenience of the situation, but rather from the uncomfortable and unfamiliar emotions that had risen to the surface over the previous days. He had been quite comfortable in his loathing of the boy, feeling justified as much by his view that the teen was spoilt as by the certainty he had inherited all of his father's most obnoxious traits. Now, he found himself in the uneasy position of having to question not only his beliefs, but whether he could justify continuing to treat the boy as he had in the past. He also had to consider that under the circumstances, knowing now what he did of the brat's home life and mental state, insulting and demeaning him would be counterproductive to the task entrusted to him. All of this bought with it a large problem, that being that Severus no longer knew how to deal with the boy in front of him. It was not in his nature to be kind and what little capacity he had once possessed for warmth had vanished on that dark Halloween night, so many years ago.

Pulled from his thoughts by a sudden movement in front of him, Severus narrowed his eyes as the boy in question stood from the bed, his face flushed with anger, eyes burning with hatred. He vaguely considered that perhaps he should have retrieved the calming draught that Minky had left on the desk and forced it down Potter's throat before responding to the boy's veiled question, but it was too late for that now. It was all he could do to not reach out and slap the boy for his ungrateful impudence as he shouted at the man who had, against his own wishes, taken him into his own home. At the same time, he could not fault the teen for believing that his secrets would used as a weapon against him at the earliest opportunity. There was no denying that Severus had, on many occasions over the years, publicly taunted the boy in the most painful ways conceivable.

Before he could examine these uncomfortable thoughts in more detail, he found himself once again impelled to act as Harry, with surprising speed, ran for the door in a move so typically impulsive that under other circumstances, Severus would have rolled his eyes. As it was, it took little effort to catch up to the boy and he soon had a scrawny arm encased in his firm grip as he roughly swung the teen about to face him. He was not, by nature, a patient man at the best of times, and after several sleepless nights spent dealing with the boy's violent nightmares and fluctuating temperature, Severus was not in the mood to be chasing him through the manor.

'I am warning you now, Potter, and I will give you only one warning', he spat out, as he battled to restrain the urge to shake the child in his grip, 'the next time you indulge in some childish notion of escape, I will not only lock you in this room, but I will also ensure you do not leave that bed for the remainder of your time here. Do I make myself clear?'

To emphasise his point, he squeezed tightly on the arm in his grip but found the action only served to remind him of how unpleasantly underweight the boy was; something that would have to be rectified, and soon. As he loosened his fingers, Harry swayed ominously on his feet and it was only then that Severus noticed what he had totally missed through the haze of his anger. The boy was now trembling in a very pronounced way and his eyes had the clouded look of someone who was about to pass out, which really shouldn't have been surprising given his recent illness. Berating himself inwardly for allowing his emotions to get the better of him, he reached out a hand towards the boy's shoulder, intending on guiding him back to bed, only to pull it back abruptly.

Harry flinched violently as the hand came towards him, ducking his head instinctively, as if fully expecting to be struck. He tried to take a step back to distance himself physically, but Severus maintained a firm hold, fairly sure that were he to let go, the boy would simply end up on the floor given his current state. Concealing his shock at the reaction, he schooled his features as best he could, wondering why exactly he was so surprised given Potter's past. What reason, after all,had he given the boy to not place him in the same category as his loathsome relatives? He suddenly felt unpleasantly sick as he recalled that he had struck the child only days after taking charge of him. It was true, that Potter could be intensely aggravating, but that didn't justify hitting the boy, and knowing what he did now, made even less forgivable. As much as he embraced his reputation as a terrifying and formidable teacher, that reputation had served to ensure students were more diligent during his potentially explosive and dangerous classes. The thought that any child might actually fear him in a more physical sense, anticipating violence as he had once anticipated from his own father, was untenable. In that moment, he knew that he was going to have to work on restraining his temper if he was ever going to achieve what the Headmaster wished of him.

Harry had not meant to react the way he did, but it had been so instinctive in the face of the man's fury and all he had seen was the hand coming towards him. It was far from the first time he had found himself restrained by someone larger and stronger than himself, and in the past, such instances had always ended with broken bones or at the very least, a bloody nose. It was true that Snape had never physically attacked him before, prior to the incident a few days ago, but that single incident had made a great impression. It had shown Harry that the man was infinitely stronger than he appeared and that he was not afraid to use that advantage in the same way that Vernon Dursley had used it. Surprisingly, however, on this occasion, nothing happened. For long moments, Harry stood there, bracing himself for some form of punishment, some form of pain, but was met only with silence. Unfortunately, that silence served only to increase Harry's anxiety. Once again he found himself struggling to breathe as he broke out in a cold sweat, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, and for a moment, he thought he was going to be sick when his stomach twisted uncomfortably. As he braced himself, pulling slightly against the hand still wrapped around his arm, his vision started to swim and he realised he was going to pass out.

It was the slight shift of the boy's arm that bought Severus back to the present moment and out of his thoughts, but unfortunately, awareness came too late and before he could react, the teen was slipping from his grasp towards the floor. With lightening speed, he grabbed the boy's arm again, catching him just in time and supporting his weight long enough to wrap his other arm around the teen's waist. Once he was sure he had a solid grip, he carefully lifted the underweight boy into his arms and made his way back into the room and placed him on the bed. For a few moments, he simply stood looking down at the pale face, acutely aware that once again he had failed miserably in his duty of care. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had forgotten his original intention of getting the boy safely back to bed before he passed out, and now he had indeed passed out.

With careful movements, he positioned Harry more comfortably on the bed, pulling the blankets up to cover his shoulders before moving to take his usual chair on the other side. Unbidden, the image of the boy flinching, cowering away from him, filled his mind, and a heavy sense of guilt fell upon him as he slumped under the weight of it. Lifting his gaze to the face on the bed once more, he thought back to the letter and to the final wishes of the only person he had ever loved. It was almost more than he could bear to consider what she would think were she still alive to see the way he had treated her son, but it had been so easy to forget that he was hers. It was still too easy to forget that he was hers, but he knew that for her sake, he had to at least try to see beyond the boy's resemblance to his father. In the end, regardless of any perceived arrogance, any perceived defiance, Harry Potter, he reminded himself, was just a child and if he didn't act soon, that child would be lost to the world.