Chapter 2

Severus Snape cast a glance at the Headmaster and saw shock written in his face and stance, his blue eyes fading towards grey, his entire demeanor speaking of silent horror.

If he was honest with himself, Snape wasn't handling the news much better. Harry Potter, the bloody Gryffindor Golden Boy, was not supposed to be anything short of pampered in his home-life. Like his father.

It didn't make sense—the abused children never ended up in Gryffindor. The mindset of someone subjected to abuse was not the mindset of a Gryffindor. Most of the few wizard children who had been abused were placed in Slytherin, the intent to survive against the odds by whatever means necessary often translated into ambition, the ability to hide any signs of a troubled home-life marked cunning, or at least acting ability. There was the occasional Ravenclaw—the smarter ones pushed aside their misery with learning, using books to hide from the realities in their lives. Even—twice in the past three hundred years or so—the rare Hufflepuff, when a child's loyalty and heart was great enough to stand the torment for the sake of another, both times a younger sibling.

But never, never, had a Gryffindor been the victim of abuse. Of course McGonagall wouldn't have recognized the signs—even Flintwick wouldn't, certainly Sprout had never had to deal with such things. Severus' Snakes were good enough actors to keep any but their head of house noticing, but Snape had his own untoward experiences to call upon for reference, and, even so, there was only one presently at Hogwarts in such straits, a Slytherin. A seventh year who had been removed to better housing.

So how was it that a Gryffindor—and not just any Gryffindor, but the Golden Boy, the very personification of the Lion's traits—managed to not only be abused but hide the signs of it well enough that no one noticed?

There had to be some other explanation. No one could be abused and remain so firmly set in the Light. Not even Harry Potter.

There had to be another explanation.

xxxx

The first thing that Harry noticed upon waking was that he was in considerably less pain than he had been in the last time he'd been aware. His migraine had settled to 'excruciating but livable' instead of 'crucio to the head'. Not that he was planning on moving any time soon—that was a bit too daring. Especially because his entire body ached, though, again, it was better than the last waking memory he had.

The second thing he noticed was that he was in a bed, presumably in the hospital wing, if the brightness against his eyelids had anything to say about it—he wasn't quite up to opening them yet.

"Potter?"

Harry struggled to place the voice without having to open his eyes for a face—the light was bad enough with them closed. He idly wondered how the voice's owner had known he was awake, as he hadn't moved yet.

"I know you're awake, Potter. Your breathing shifted."

Oh. Well, that answered that, at any rate. Now, what adult male in the castle called him 'Potter'?

Merlin. Who else would it be? Why on earth did he have to wake up and have Snape, of all people, waiting at his bedside? Well, best to get this over with.

"Professor?" the intended query came out as a raspy croak, and he had to fight the urge to cough. He had the feeling that it would be a very unpleasant experience if he did.

He heard a soft release of breath, almost a sigh of relief, "Thank Merlin. Can you open your eyes?"

Thank Merlin? Snape couldn't really be that relieved that Harry was waking up, could he? Still, he cracked his eyes open, just a little, before wincing them back shut again. The blazing lights of the hospital wing sent shafts of pain through his already throbbing skull. Without realizing it, Harry let out a slight whimper.

There was a pause, then a rustle of cloth and the sound of something small and hard—probably glass—being lifted from wood. An arm slid beneath Harry's shoulders and eased him up into a sitting position, a slight shift and his head was being supported on what he presumed was Snape's shoulder, but he was too tired and achy to care. He heard the pop of a cork and felt a small vial against his lips.

"Drink, Potter. It should help with the pain."

Harry obeyed, nearly gagging as the thick, vicious liquid clung bitterly to the back of his throat. Oddly enough, it was the bitterness that helped him stave off the reflex and swallow. The pain dulled to something tolerable and Harry braved opening his eyes as the Potions Master helped him lie back down.

"Rest awhile, Potter. I'm going to inform the Headmaster that you've awoken."

Severus did not expect the boy to be coherent enough to realize what had happened, yet, but the Headmaster needed to be told that the boy was awake and… sane, at least. How much damage had been done by the extensive exposure to the curse was yet to be seen.

He moved away from the bed and was nearly at the fireplace when a weak voice made him pause.

"Thanks, Professor."

He hesitated, then shook his head and continued on. What did it matter that the whelp was grateful?

xxxx

"Albus?" Severus asked, stopping the man as he was on his way to the Great Hall.

Dumbledore blinked amiably, though he looked tired, "Ah, Severus. Is there any change?"

Snape gave a curt nod, "He is sleeping now, but he was coherent when he woke perhaps ten minutes ago."

Dumbledore's expression visibly brightened, the twinkle coming back to his eyes for the first time since Potter had ended up in the infirmary a week ago. "If you could find Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley and bring them up to the hospital wing?"

If it had come from anyone but the Headmaster, it could have passed as a suggestion, but Snape knew better. He decided he didn't have the energy to protest and merely inclined his head before making his way to the Great Hall.

xxxx

Harry was feeling slightly muzzy the next time he woke up, this time with Dumbledore sitting next to him, apparently reading. He blinked at the Professor, trying to think clearly, but eventually decided that there was nothing in particular to think about and settled for tilting his now only slightly aching head.

Dumbledore noticed the movement and looked up, a beaming smile spreading across his face, "Harry, my dear boy! How are you feeling this afternoon?"

Harry's muddled brain latched onto that word. Last he knew, it was night. "Afternoon, sir?" he asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

Dumbledore managed one of those creepy grandfatherly smiles as he conjured a glass of water. "Yes, Harry. Afternoon. You've been asleep for nearly a week."

Harry supposed this news should bother him, but couldn't bring himself to care. He felt vaguely dizzy, but started to sit up and reach for the glass of water that Dumbledore held out for him. He took several sips before deciding it was a good idea to lie back down when the spinney feeling in his head grew worse. "A week, sir?" He asked more because he felt it expected than anything else.

"Yes, Harry. What do you remember?"

He thought about it, he really did. Finally, he settled on shaking his head. "I don't know, sir. Everything's kind of hazy."

The Headmaster sighed softly, tugging lightly at his beard. "Professor Snape found you in the hallway, about halfway to the hospital wing…"

Harry couldn't focus on the continued explanation and found himself dozing lightly, only to snap back awake when Dumbledore called his name. "Sorry, Professor," he mumbled.

Dumbledore gave an indulging smile, "Quite all right, my boy. Perhaps I should let you get back to sleep."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, this time on purpose, and soon was back asleep.

xxxx

"He has only remained awake for a few minutes at a time," Albus observed, seeming concerned.

"And you are telling me this, why?" Snape asked, his tone something between a sneer and honest wondering.

"You have been checking in on him rather often," the Headmaster pointed out, those damnadable twinkles back in his eyes.

Severus opened his mouth to refute that and found he couldn't. He scowled instead. "The boy will get himself killed if someone doesn't keep an eye on him."

It was a weak excuse and Dumbledore's chuckles didn't make him feel any better. Damn it! He was supposed to hate the brat! He was also supposed to ensure said brat's survival. Merlin, was he actually starting to care about the boy?

If it wouldn't have been completely out of character, Severus Snape would have dropped his head into his hands and groaned. As it was, he gave an entirely unconvincing glare and stalked out of Dumbledore's office, not pleased with the insistent chuckling behind him.

xxxx

Well, I updated. Hope everyone likes.