AN: So, my dear readers, I'm actually starting this directly after chapter three. The muse that seems to vacation for weeks on end and only visits once a month has decided to sit next to me for a few days, so I've decided to work her to the bone :D (And my fingers while I'm at it lol) I hope you all love me as much as I love you!

I hope you are all pleased with what I've written so far, and if you think it could have been written differently, PM me with a prompt! (I'm in between jobs right now and might as well write as much as I can!)

Also, I would like to say that Brodus has been an immense help and I appreciate every comment you've made :D

This is in fact only my third fanfiction ever, and it's nice that you are being so nice about your comments, yet still getting the point across.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling and co. I have no money, thus I'm making none from this fanfic :D

Warning: Nothing too descriptive, but mentions of child abuse.

-Chapter Four-

=Spark of Hope=

Harry sat in the first detention, right after class, like he'd promised.

Snape sat at his desk for awhile, leaving Harry to sit in silence and wait.

Dumbledore had approved of Snape occupying Harry's time. Though it seemed harsh, it was the best way to keep a close eye on the boy. Snape had left out the two puzzling sentences that Harry had said; he wasn't sure what was happening, but he wanted to have all the information before reporting something like that to Dumbledore. Perhaps some part of him hoped that the conclusion he continued to come to over and over again was wrong, or maybe even put the inevitable off for awhile, of which Snape wasn't sure. McGonagall offered immediately to oversee Snape's routine throughout the corridors and watch the hallways for him, so thankfully it all worked out in the end.

"Care to explain what you were doing sleeping in the boys restroom, Potter?" He finally said.

Harry shrugged, his eyes not leaving his stack of books.

"You don't know?" He said sharply.

"No," Harry replied after a few moments. He scratched at the cover of his charms book, digging into the hard cover.

For awhile Snape glared at the boy, watching him play with his books. He sighed, rubbing his temples as his eyes dropped. A good length of Harry's socks peered out from underneath his pantlegs, which were at least a hand's width above his ankles. Snape frowned for a moment. "Come here," He ordered, standing.

Harry obeyed without a word, pushing the chair back and walking up to the potion's teacher to stand in front of his desk, all the while his eyes remained on the floor. As Snape walked from behind the desk, he found a very interesting spot on the stone floor and stared at it.

"When was the last time you went to get your dress robes fitted."

Harry frowned. Second year, was it, when the Weasley's had taken him to Diagon Alley? "Just this last summer. My family took me a bit early, and I've been growing fast."

Snape could tell a lie when he saw one, and though he was often prejudiced against the boy and blaming them when he had no proof, a plain lie was just that. Plain.

"I see." He said, turning to sit back down. "Go back to your seat." He ordered.

Again, the boy wordlessly obeyed and sat in front of his books.

"You will spend these hours doing your homework until it is all finished. After that I will assign you other things to do. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry opened his books and began to work.

Snape studied the youth for a moment, then set about his own business, though his mind remained occupied with the child before him. It would do no good to brow beat the boy into answering him about the earlier encounter, so he would have to devise another way.

The hours passed slowly, and finally Harry was released from the potions classroom. "I expect you not to forget to come here tomorrow. Should it slip your mind, I will add another week for each day. Now go to dinner."

Harry stood and gathered his things, walking from the room, and made his way to the Great Hall. He felt tired, for the most part, but aside from that there was little else. He didn't feel thirsty, and though he'd eaten little at lunch, he wasn't hungry. He found Ron and Hermione, and sat beside them. He plastered a fake smile on his face and joked about the detention.

He ate little at dinner. As much as he wanted to go to bed early, the students were informed that unless there was a teacher to supervise the halls, they had to remain in the Hall until the meal was over. Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindors to their wing. There was a headcount inside the dormitory, much to everyone's disdain, and they were informed that there would be staff checking on them throughout the night. The picture's that guarded the entrance were under no circumstances allowed to let a single student out until the morning, when a teacher would show up to escort the entire group out. They could move freely during the daytime, as long as it was within sight of a staff member.

The students skulked to their rooms, complaining to each other about it.

Harry found his bed hardly inviting, even though he was so tired. He changed quietly, his back to the wall where no one could see, and his bed stood in the way of anyone else seeing him.

He lay down, pulling the covers over his chin up to his nose, and faced the empty window. His back to the other boys in the room, Harry stared out at the starlit sky. He felt… numb, almost. How was it that every adult ignored him? He stood before Fudge, his face a mess of bruises, and the three wizards walked past him without a word. They hadn't so much as looked at his face. Lupin had noticed that his wrist was broken before the train, but simply shipped him off to Madam Pomfrey, who did little more than mend the bone and send him on his way. She didn't even ask how he'd done it, just simply stated that he was 'a magnate for disaster.' And today, he had said it almost as plainly as he could, and Snape just put him in detention.

How had his best friends not noticed the disgusting scars on his back and arms? When he bathed, why was it that not a single person saw his pain written on his skin, marking him for the rest of his life? Why was he invisible?

Harry broke then, tears spilling down his cheeks as he cried quietly. He had resigned himself to his fate. The boy his only family despised. The accident prone, attention seeking victim.

The scared child that no one really saw.

Harry ghosted through the next few days, there but not. He seemed to go on autopilot, going through the motions of any other teenage boy in school, laughing at jokes, learning the newest lesson, and sitting in detention silently doing his schoolwork. But he wasn't there.

McGonagall grew worried, the boisterous child who couldn't spend but a minute in silence before whispering to his friends again, only responded when others spoke to him. His eyes grew dull and lifeless.

Hagrid watched as the child who got into so much trouble, who disobeyed rules and spited himself over and over, walk around as though he was a puppet and someone else was controlling the strings.

Lupin noticed the bright and curious mind grow silent, and Snape witnessed the defiant nature die.

Snape could take it no longer. Each day he sat, waiting the child out and hoping that the faze would soon pass. Hoping that the boy would grow irritated from lack of attention, or even that he would retort sharply to some comment that Snape threw his way. More and more Snape grew sure of his assumption. And he had had enough.

"Potter," He snapped harshly, standing suddenly from his desk and walking to the table. The boy looked up slowly. "Yes, sir?"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Um… Nothing, sir." A spark of hope ignited in his stomach; but Harry dashed it out quickly. Snape was just upset he couldn't get to him. He didn't care about him.

"Nothing doesn't make a child stop eating and stop caring."

"I haven't stopped caring." Harry lied.

Snape slammed his fists on the table, glaring harshly. "STOP LYING TO ME!" He walked around the table and yanked the boy up by his tie. "What happened to you?"

Harry blinked, unsure. "Happened?" He asked softly. "I haven't been sleeping well…"

Snape grabbed Harry by his wrist and led him to his desk. "Stand there." He said quietly and began shuffling through the drawers of his desk.

He knew a boy like that once, who lost interest so much so that he didn't eat. He would sleep for days, and dark circles grew underneath his eyes. No one would ask him what was wrong with him, or wonder why he was the way he was. And for a moment that child had had someone to help, someone to trust, only to have it ripped away. Thrice he had become so ill at heart that he didn't want to continue, that he didn't care.

And now he stood before another boy, hopeless and scared. Maybe that was why he cared so much, why he hadn't just shrugged the child's behavior off. He knew the signs, and had seen it in a few students throughout the school in the years he had taught. The first time he'd seen it, he felt it wasn't his problem. The child died in the baths, their wrists split wide open. The second time he'd nearly been too late, and barely caught the poor soul about to jump from the bridge.

And he'd be damned if he would be too late again.

He found the vial he was looking for, a small glass that he kept in his desk. "Drink this," He ordered.

Harry eyed it warily. "What is it?"

"It's a simply draft for a sleeping potion." He said cooly. "It will take a few minutes to work, but you should be able to rest for the rest of detention."

Harry took the vial and pulled the stopper out; he sniffed it and grimaced slightly, but downed the glass vial.

Snape took it back and placed it on his desk, then pointed to the chair. "Go sit down." He ordered.

Harry obliged and sat down. His eyes grew drowsy, and finally he fell into a soft sleep.

Snape sighed, leaning against his desk. Whatever composure he'd managed to maintain fell then, and he struggled with himself. Dumbledore should be told, and perhaps McGonagall.

He waited patiently until dinner began, then hefted the child up. For thirteen the boy was lighter than he should be, but that didn't surprise him, and the fact that he had seen it coming only made the churning in his gut worse.

He carried Harry out of the classroom, and managed to bump into Lupin again.

"What's… is he ok?" Lupin asked, fear spread across his face.

"No." Snape replied. There was no point in lying. "I need you to tell Professor McGonagall and the headmaster that Potter has taken ill. It is very important that they come to my chambers to discuss this further."

Lupin hesitated, then nodded. "I just, have to finish the hall check."

Snape waved him off. Funny how an ill child eased animosity, if only for the moment.

The dark haired man sat the boy on the armchair in his quarters and grabbed a spare blanket. He covered him up, then stepped back and sighed.

The savior, the chosen one, the very hurt little boy sat in front of him. Harry sat in front of him.

Snape sank into a chair opposite the small room and rest his head on his hand, his elbow propped on the table. The cold man who berated students was long gone.

It was another hour or so before the headmaster and deputy headmistress knocked on his door. A very disheveled Snape answered, motioning for them to come in.

"What is wrong with him?" Dumbledore asked, his voice quiet.

"I… I can't be sure." Snape sighed, glancing to the sleeping form. "I mean, I have my suspicions, but…" he looked back to the pair. "I just hope that we're not too late."

Minerva moved to the child, her hand pressing softly to his forehead. "Should we call Poppy?"

"No, no." Dumbledore replied, rubbing his hands together as if they were suddenly cold in this warm room.

"We need to ask him… what happened I mean." Snape said after a long silence.

"Do you think that he would talk to any of us?" McGonagall replied. "He should have said something before…"

Snape laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You know as well as I, Minerva, that blurting these things out is impossible. To come up to a teacher and say it... he'd never do it."

"Do you think he'll be ok, that he'll get through this?" McGonagall said, almost whispering.

No one answered, and they stood still for awhile.

"Would you be able to take care of him for awhile, Severus?" Dumbledore finally said. "Just until Monday."

"I didn't have anything planned this weekend," Snape replied. "I do think I could look after him…"

The old man looked at his most trusted spy, at the man that claimed little emotion, and smiled. He may have been petty, letting little things get to him, but in a serious matter, when it was important, all those ugly emotions and habits that Severus possessed were pushed aside. If there were any doubts about the man before, they were washed away now.

"I'll leave it to you, then. Perhaps you could see eye to eye with him, let him know that he's not alone."

Snape didn't answer, only stared at the armchair.

"I think we should leave then, and let you set things up. Call if you need us." Dumbledore said, and led McGonagall out, no one saying another word.

Harry woke the next morning, his mind hazy and warm. He yawned and sat up, his neck cracked. He was sore from the awkward way he had slept. He looked around, confused. Hadn't he just been asleep in the classroom?

"Potter."

Harry slowly turned, blinking his eyes a few times to wash away the sleep.

Snape stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and studied the boy before him. They stared at each other for a few minutes in silence before Snape pushed from the wall and walked forward. He moved a tray from the small work table and handed it to Harry. "You need to eat. You skipped dinner last night."

Harry took it, staring at the silver platter that held a plate of eggs, a few sausages, some toast and a pat of butter. The cup looked to be filled with either orange juice or pumpkin juice. Yet none of this wet Harry's appetite.

"I don't care if you're not hungry, just eat." Snape took a seat at the table, a rather large book opened before him.

Harry obeyed and ate as best he could, a few bites of each thing and half the cup of orange juice. He finally set it down on the floor.

"My uncle burned my potions book." He said.

Snape, though startled, held his face impassive. "Why?"

"They hate magic. My family hates it." He replied slowly. Why was he even bothering to speak now? Hadn't everyone proved they didn't care? But still, a niggling of hope was present. What more could he lose now?

"I see." Snape replied. "Is that why you've been… off lately?"

Harry frowned, pondering the question. He decided on something, for he took a deep breath and started speaking again. "How loud does someone need to yell before people realize it's not alright?"

Snape saw the hurt now, and knew he was making progress. He didn't want to break the boy, but he needed Harry to open up. "Sometimes we mask our faces so people think we're only yelling for fun."

"But I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, his breath hitching. He looked on the verge of tears. "It wasn't… it was never for fun…"

Snape watched Harry's erratic breathing, but ventured, "And what were you trying to get us to notice?"

A few shaky breaths, then Harry said, "The minister of magic ignored me."

"How so?"

"My uncle had gotten mad and… well… he had to vent his anger somehow…"

Snape's insides curled in on themselves. "And how did he vent?"

"My face was covered in bruises and no one saw. How is that possible? I had a black eye, and he still looked right past me. Would they have noticed if I had pointed it out? Or would they have ignored that too?" Tears fell freely down the boy's cheeks. The numbness was wearing off, and all that was left was raw hurt. He felt torn inside, like someone had fed him glass or something, but he continued. "What does it take for them to see? Or… do they think… that I'm not worth it?"

He finally voiced his worst fear; he felt naked now, exposed for anyone to see. If Snape would have made a snide remark then, Harry would have lost all hope. But much to his surprise, and even Snape's, the potion's master stood from his chair and stepped forward. He hesitantly placed a hand on the sobbing boy's head.

"Sometimes adults can't see what they don't want to." Snape replied. "Sometimes we think ourselves the only ones capable of that type of hurt, and we forget that we once felt like that too. Maybe not to the same extent, but pain is still pain."

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He cried harder than he ever had. He cried for the child locked in the cupboard. He cried for the boy who was told that he was nothing compared to his cousin. He cried for the silent boy that accepted the lashes from the belt, and he cried for the boy who thought no one cared.

He stopped at last, tired from the intense feelings that were running through him now, from the sorrow that had fled.

"How do you feel now?" Snape asked, pushing the tray aside with his foot and kneeling in front of Harry.

Harry looked up, his eyes red and puffy from so much crying.

"I… didn't know you cared…"

-=Chapter End=-

Mwahahahah! OMG I can't believe that I just wrote two chapters in less than twelve hours! But omg am I exhausted now. (I've been up for 17 hours, and have been writing for 12)

Thank you for reading :D