Sick
Chapter Four:
"What were the results of the examination?" Albus asked, resting his chin on top of the steeple he had created with his fingers.
"Nothing." Poppy said, slamming the parchment down onto the table in front of him. "Apparently, there is nothing wrong with him."
"Well, that's good, surely?" Albus replied, "I must say, I am slightly perplexed as to—"
"Albus! There is nothing wrong with him. He has no bruises, no cuts, no scars, no signs of any of the damage we knew was there when he came to us as a child. The only thing my examination identified was his lack of weight." Poppy paced up and down anxiously. "Except, there is so much evidence that points to the fact he is not right. When I asked him if he would take his clothes off for the examination, he instantly assumed I meant all his clothes. Why would anyone of Severus' age think that? He put up so much resistance to the examination—why, when he knew that I would find nothing?" She pursed her lips and stopped pacing, "And of course, there is the small matter of his suicide attempt."
Albus frowned. "Do you think someone has healed him?"
"No. I think someone has covered up the damage that they have done to him. He should have scars from past wounds that would not heal. I truly believe that we are dealing with something deeper, here."
"How deep, Poppy?"
"I dread to think, Albus." Poppy shook her head, and Albus was concerned at the fear he saw in her eyes. "It could be anything. He mentioned disinfectant, he's clearly unstable—I need your permission to conduct further examinations."
Albus sat back in his chair, "You believe it that strongly?"
Poppy faced him. "I am. Severus is fighting inner demons that threaten to destroy him. If we do not find out what they are, we risk him breaking down further."
"What do you have in mind, Poppy, dear?" Albus pressed, "He will not go to St. Mungo's, you know that."
"I think he see someone who is trained in abusive pasts—whether it be from his time as a Death-Eater or before then." Poppy answered. "I know you do not want to consider the fact that his family may have been responsible—but it is something we can no longer ignore."
"I shall find someone who can help. Until then, he can stay in the Hospital Wing—tell him that it is my request, as I do not want him in the classroom, in case he suffers another relapse. Make sure he cannot repeat his attempt to kill himself." Albus stood. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Poppy. I will do everything in my power to make sure we get to the bottom of this." That was his dismissal of her—and when she had left, he turned his gaze to Minerva. "You agree, I assume?"
"He has always been a little peculiar, Albus, you know that—but this is almost a whole new level. I think Poppy and I are both reacting to the feeling that there is something not right. If we are wrong, we can pretend we are being overprotective. But if we turned out to be correct, and we did nothing about it—" She trailed off, leaving her thoughts unspoken.
"Very well, Minerva. I will get in contact with an old friend of mine—he may be able to help Severus. I ask you to stay close to Severus, as he is unwilling to speak to me—he may need someone he believes he can trust."
"He can trust me, and he knows that." Minerva stood from her chair and looked at Albus, "Do you know why he does not trust you, Albus? He does not have any reason—"
"I imagine it is due to my mistake of trusting James and Sirius over him when he was a child." Albus cut her off, somewhat abruptly. "In time, he will understand, I should think. Thank you, Minerva."
She nodded, smiled, and left him alone. Albus lowered himself back into his armchair and stared into the fire, preoccupied with the past, mind focused on one memory, one he had hoped never to have to experience again.
It was one he had considered placing in the Penseive so it would never haunt his darkest nightmares—but he worried about someone finding it by accident, and seeing just what he had done.
What he had done to one seventeen year old Severus Snape.
He had not meant it, and he truly meant that—he had simply lost control.
Staring at the boy with the cold and heartless eyes, robes stained with the blood of that third year student—he had become so angry, because he knew what he was seeing. He had never, ever, raised a hand to a student before—
He blinked and fidgeted with his beard. Severus had been so young, and yet already an adult, corrupted almost to the point of no return. Albus had pushed him over that line, treated him like dirt, shouted and had implied and had physically shattered the younger man who had stood before him. The way he had touched Severus had terrified the other—he had seen it in his eyes.
He had lost control—and the thought of that tortured him, every time he allowed himself to remember.
It had been that, that stupid second when he had seen only Tom Riddle and all his mistakes with that student, that had pushed Severus into the arms of said Voldemort and away from any real hope of return.
Whatever abuse Severus had suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death-Eaters, and he knew it had happened, because he too could feel it whenever he was in the boy's presence, Albus knew there was one terrible truth.
He was the one responsible.