Severus did not go storming up to the Headmaster's office as soon as Potter left. He wanted to, on Potter's behalf. He wanted to walk up to the Headmaster's office and demand answers about what the old wizard could possibly have been thinking, making the Dark Lord human in the eyes of the young man that had killed him. He wanted to shatter the eternal, infuriating twinkle in those impossible blue eyes when he explained in no uncertain terms that the man was solely responsible for adding even more weight to the burdened shoulders of the Wizarding World's hero.

But he didn't do this. Something else was bothering him. It would have been impossible to miss the way Potter had buried his fears and sadness before he left, the way he had walked out of the classroom as if nothing had happened. It scared the Potions Master. This was not a skill learned in a short time, especially not when it was so quickly and easily engaged as Potter had done. It was, of course, always possible that Potter had learned this talent from years of fighting the Dark Lord in the shadows of the school, and Severus was tempted to accept this explanation without question. But he couldn't allow his mind to rest so easy. The thought had occurred to him when he'd first learned of Potter's troubles, that Potter might have long been hiding his pain, perhaps even since he first arrived, and he puzzled over it again now. How long had he ignored the signs? How long had they been there for him to ignore? And, a worse thought, what other signs might he have missed?

Unfortunately, there was nothing Severus could think to do. He could, of course, ask Potter about his suspicions, but they were only that, and he was not in the habit of doing things without being sure first. Not to mention, no matter how much trust the young man had put in him about his dreams, it was unlikely he would as quickly open up about his home life. There was still a world of dislike and distrust between them, and it would not be easily overcome. Especially if he was wrong about his suspicions…it could make things even worse between them.

With a sigh, Severus realized he could do nothing for the young man until he knew the truth. But he was unclear as to how to go about discovering said truth. For now, he would observe Potter and think over the issue. It was always possible that he was wrong, that Potter really had learned it since coming to the Wizarding World. Mortal terror was as good a teacher as anything, it could have easily taught the little boy Potter once was to feign cool in the face of overwhelming stress and strain. If Severus kept watch, he would probably see the mask slip. Unless the boy had been practicing since he was very young, there was no way he could keep his secrets so well-hidden for long. He had already proven that it could slip, but it had taken extreme exhaustion for that to happen. He was hiding it now, had practically said he was sleeping better since their discussion, but with the added stress of these new (and still slightly unexpected) Potions lessons, and the holiday coming at the end of the month that always spelled trouble, it would be difficult for anyone to keep up that sort of pretense.

-Break-

Halloween came and went (thankfully, without incident), and Potter showed no sign of breaking, no sign of even the slightest strain. He still spoke readily of his nightmares should Severus ask, but he now pretended almost flawlessly that there was nothing even slightly the matter otherwise. Severus still had his suspicions, but found he couldn't settle one way or the other on if they were correct. He was hounded daily in his observations by the one damning question: what if he was wrong? He remained in this purgatory of uncertainty until one night midway through November.

Severus was asleep in his bed, dreaming fitfully of Potter as a young child. At first, he would see the boy being knocked around (heart-wrenchingly, as Severus had never seen the boy's uncle, the abuser was Severus' own father, who had always been heavy-handed). But then the dream would change, and he would see Potter spoiled and beloved by the Petunia from Severus' own memory. After a few moments, he would recall the hatred Pet had held for all things magical in her jealousy, and the first dream would resume. Severus wavered like this in his dreams until the echo of a voice called angrily from his memory.

"Why the hell should you care now, when you never have before?!"

The Potions Master started awake, that last word echoing in his mind like a curse. He couldn't let this rest. Standing from his bed, he made his way into his living quarters. Albus had loaned him his pensieve a few weeks back, saying that he looked as if he were burdened by something. He, of course, had been, but hadn't at the time known what to do with the stone bowl.

He drew the artifact out of his cupboard now. Setting it on the low coffee table in his living space, he began to draw line after line of silvery memory from his temple, dropping each into the stone basin. When he thought he had enough, he dipped his wand into the gaseous liquid, vanishing into his memories.

Potter as a First Year, rejoicing in his House placement and the revelry of his fellow Gryffindors, but unconsciously flinching away from anyone who drew too close.

Potter sitting in his first ever Potions class, carefully sitting away from his peers, huddled in upon himself even as he eagerly took notes about Severus' opening speech.

Potter on the Quidditch Pitch, celebrating his first victory and grimacing anytime someone pounded his back.

Potter in the Hospital Wing, unconscious after his bout with Quirrel and the Dark Lord, while Poppy laboriously changed him out of torn robes into starched hospital pajamas. He hadn't looked then, not caring about what attention was being paid to the pampered brat, but Severus looked now, and what he saw confirmed his suspicions. Riddled across the tan back and chest were pale scars, some almost as old as the boy was.

Severus continued on through the memories, hoping to see some change that said the abuse had ended when Potter had received his letter.

Second Year, Potter favoring his wrist as Severus berated him and his friend. A glimpse before the boy unconsciously covered it again with his robe: the distinct outline of finger-shaped bruises, approximately a month old. The fracture definitely wasn't caused by the Whomping Willow.

Third Year, he saw a barely glimpsed old bruise on the back of Potter's shoulder as he leaned over his cauldron in concentration. He still remains at a distance from even his friends, flinching away from their touch if they get too close.

Fourth Year, Potter looks haggard and half-starved as he appears at the Welcoming Feast and sits at a respectable distance from his fellow Gryffindors. The message is clear, not even spending half his summers with the Weasley clan has erased the abuse from his relatives.

Severus pulled free of his memories and replaced them in his head as he allowed his rage to boil beneath the surface. When the Pensieve was once more empty he returned to his bedroom and dressed deliberately. It was still early, not even the most dedicated students or professors would be awake for another hour. Despite this, Severus left his quarters with the borrowed stone basin in his hands. It was time he returned it to its owner, now that it had served its purpose.

With quick, sure steps, Severus glided up the Grand Staircase to the Seventh Floor. He made his way through the dim, torch-lit corridors. The sun was only just turning the dark sky grey when he came to a stop in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's Office, and the quarters therein. He glared at the ferocious beast.

"Puking Pastille," He snarled. The stone monster leapt immediately out of his way, giving a low growl in response to his.

Severus ignored it in favor of getting onto the moving staircase beyond. He didn't bother riding the stairway up, it was too slow for his purposes. He walked up the steps, bringing him quickly to the door at the top. Without knocking, he pushed the door open. Sitting behind the desk was his long-time mentor, already busily working diligently on his duties as the Headmaster of a school. The old wizard looked up at the intrusion, and his face brightened upon seeing the Potions Master.

"Severus, what a pleasant-"

"How dare you!" Severus snarled, interrupting him. He stalked up to the desk and slammed the pensieve onto the pages that sat innocently atop the furniture piece. A quill snapped under the weight of it. "How dare you leave Potter to fend for himself against the abuse of his relatives! He was but a child, Albus! His body is riddled with scars that look as though they date back even into his infancy, and there is evidence for any who would look close enough that the abuse did not end even upon his enrollment at this school! How could you do it? How could you leave your would-be Savior to the hands of those monsters?!" He demanded.

Albus frowned. "How do you know he has scars-"

"But your neglect of his well-being doesn't even end there!" Severus interrupted again. He wasn't nearly finished. "You showed him memories that turned the Dark Lord into a human in Potter's eyes! Memories in which Potter saw his own abused background reflected! Because of you and your 'well-meaning' foolishness, your Savior is convinced that he is destined to become the thing he destroyed! What were you thinking, Albus?!"

The old wizard drew a deep breath as Severus heaved in anger across from him. When he spoke, his calm was unbroken. "Severus, I understand your concern, but I promise you that I only ever had Harry's best interests at heart. The blood protection-"

"Did not save him from his relatives!"

"Severus, you must calm down and let me speak," The Headmaster said firmly, his blue eyes narrowing in warning. The Potions Master pursed his thin lips angrily. "I understand your concern, but I have never had proof of Harry's abuse, and the boy refuses to talk about it. His friends know of it, to some extent, but I suspect he hides the full truth even from them. As for the memories, I had no idea what they would do to him. My hope was that I could show Harry that there was no saving Tom from himself, as I had begun to see the lines of guilt creasing his brow when he returned to the school last year. I couldn't have known that the memories would only increase his guilt, and add to it his fear of following that same path. I have explained this to him just this last week, and I am grateful that he has found someone to talk to about the issue. From what I understand, thanks to you he is no longer as plagued as he was when he returned in September."

"But what of his relatives?" Severus demanded. "Surely there is some punishment that can be levied against them! You wrote half of the charters protecting the Muggle-Born and raised, there has to be something you can do! They cannot simply escape unscathed for the hell they put that boy through! If Wizarding Britain found out, there would be an outcry for the heads of those beasts for daring to lay a hand on the Boy Who Lived."

"I understand you're angry, Severus, and I agree that justice needs to be served," Albus said softly. "However there is nothing neither the Ministry nor I can do unless Harry comes forward about the abuse. But, as I said, he refuses to speak of it when asked. I'm sorry, Severus, my hands are tied."

Severus scowled and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "So there is nothing to be done." He said distastefully. He scowled further as the twinkle returned to the blue eyes, blasting full force.

"Yes, Severus, my hands are tied," The Headmaster repeated. "I can see you're upset. I recommend you spend the weekend away from the castle."

"I have Potter's remedial Potions lesson this afternoon," Severus replied flatly. "I do not trust Granger to guide him appropriately without giving him the answers."

"Not a problem," Albus told him, waving him off. "It's been awhile since I've been in the role of professor, but I imagine it's like riding a broom. You never really forget how to do it. Go on, Severus. I don't want to see you anywhere near the castle until dinner tomorrow. Go…go do something I'd officially disapprove of, were I to know the details."

Severus smirked. He suddenly had an idea of exactly how to spend his weekend away. It was an activity he was quite skilled at, and one that would feed his dark side, which was gnashing at the end of its imaginary leash and begging for vengeance. It was, in fact, an activity that may very well take the entire weekend, and would absolutely be publicly denounced were the Headmaster to find out about it; an activity that the very same Headmaster was all-but encouraging him to pursue. His smirk grew vicious and he gave his mentor a stiff nod.

"As you wish, Headmaster. I shall return tomorrow evening, and I imagine I will feel all the better for it."

"That's m'boy," Albus said with a wink. "Have a little fun, Severus. I do believe you've more than earned the right."

Severus left the office and made his way back through the castle at an even faster pace than he had before. Rather than return to his dungeons, he crossed the Entrance Hall and made his way out onto the grounds. As he walked, he wandlessly transfigured his robes into a thick jacket, and pulled a black silk ribbon from the pocket of his trousers. It was habit to keep the thing for when he was working on school potions, but he tied his hair back now for an entirely different reason as he made for the gates of the school. He had to look respectable if he was going into Muggle England, his father had always 'warned' him that long-haired freaks had to look professional if they wanted to get anywhere in the world. As soon as the Potions Master passed beneath the arch of the gates, he vanished with a sharp 'pop', disapparating to Surrey, and a tiny neighborhood therein called Little Whinging.