*Revised 2/18/18

Harry stayed sitting on the floor for quite a while. He was still shivering. What was he supposed to be doing again? He was... classes. Right. It must be about time for them to start. Right.

He lifted his head out of his hands and blinked a few times, waiting for the room to come into focus... or as much focus as his lack of glasses would allow.

Wait, he was supposed to be doing something. Right. Classes. Get up, Harry. Get up and go to classes and everything will be fine.

He blinked a few more times, trying to remember how to work his limbs. What was wrong with him now? He could hardly think at all. Was the sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Had the adrenaline high from being discovered worn off? What was he doing again?

Classes, Harry, you have classes to go to. Get up. Yes, that's it, knees first, then grab the door handle and hoist yourself up. Good. Don't fall – grab the wall for support. Wash your face. Walk. Yes, that's it. One foot in front of another, Harry. Out the door, everything's fine. Up the stairs. No! No resting, Harry. No falling asleep. No falling at all. Up. Up the stairs. Pretend not to notice Malfoy. Ignore him. You know the way. Let your feet take you to your dormitory. What are you doing? That's the wrong way, idiot! Turn around. Hallway on the right. Up. Good, you're here. Give the portrait the password. What's the password, Harry? Remember it, you've got to remember it. That's last week's password. This week. Good. Up to the dormitory. Books. Get them, Harry. No! No laying down. Do you want to be sick? I said no! Get your books. Look at the schedule to see what classes are today. Good. Put them in your bag. Remember your wand, Harry. Don't fall asleep on me now. You're almost there. Got everything? Quills, ink, parchment? Get them. Now get back up. UP. Good. Charms, Harry, get to Charms. You know where it is. No, don't stumble. Walk normally. You're fine. Everything is fine. It's just one more day. Just a few more hours, Harry, then you can sleep. One step at a time. Talk to your friends Harry. No, that's not good enough. I'm fine, guys. I just lost track of time this morning. Don't worry, I'm eating enough. You should relax a little, Hermione, you look tired. I hope Charms class is good today. No, I don't know how all those points were lost last night. Small talk. Keep it up. You can do it, Harry. Just get through your classes and everything will be fine. Everything will be fine, I promise. I promise.

Sooner than he would've liked, it came time for Potter's second detention. The boy was at his office door precisely fourteen seconds before seven o'clock, though he would've expected the boy earlier after his threats the night before. Trust Potter to toe the line whenever possible. He opened the door swiftly, startling Potter, who flinched rather dramatically. Foolish boy.

"On time for once, I see," he sneered, slightly surprised when the boy showed no response at all, simply staring at the floor like it was a masterpiece.

"Come, Potter, you wasted enough time last night," Severus said, striding down the hall. "You are to finish cleaning the cauldrons you failed to last night due to your laziness, though I doubt you are capable of working for more than ten minutes at a time without distraction."

"Yes, sir," Potter said, emotionless.

Such submissive behavior was odd, especially by Potter's standards. He seemed to be indulging in quite a lot of strange behaviors lately. He threw open the door to the Potions Classroom, sending it banging off the stone wall. Potter flinched again, but otherwise had no response. He didn't even look up, just kept staring into the ground.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation? Hand over your wand and get to work," Severus snapped, and the boy did just that after one long, mournful glance at his wand, trudging over to the gargoyle-spouted sink and turning on the tap. Severus was taken aback once again; he had expected much more resistance from the boy. He didn't like being flummoxed, especially by Potter.

Severus watched the boy's gait closely, unsurprised when he saw the brat's ankle wobbling slightly with each step, dangerously close to giving out under his weight. If the boy was capable of withstanding what must be a considerable amount of pain, what else was he hiding? What was the boy scheming?

Severus took a seat at his desk and watched Potter work. It soon became obvious that he was in no better state than last night. The imbecile was even struggling to hold on to the scrub brush, his hands were shaking so badly. His shivering was not much better. It was plain there was something wrong with the boy, but why try to hide it? Severus knew of more than a few people who would love nothing more than to dote upon the boy at the slightest hint of injury. But of course it was he who, once again, was stuck looking after the boy's wellbeing.

He watched the lethargic boy for a few minutes more, taking note of each minute action that, otherwise insignificant, might lend a clue to this mystery. When he saw Potter begin to list dangerously to the side, however, he knew it was time to act. This idiocy simply could not go on.

"Sit down Potter!" Severus said brusquely, motioning to a table at the front of the room, where the torchlight was brightest.

Fortunately, the boy complied, after a vague glance his way.

Severus strode over, looking down at Potter expectantly. The boy was breathing shallowly, blinking as he struggled to focus, face turned down in an absentminded frown. Even he was having trouble fathoming the depths of Potter's idiocy.

"Tell me, Potter. Why do you insist on deliberately damaging your health by refusing to seek adequate medical care? Are you simply too vacuous to understand the necessity? Has someone cast a charm of befuddlement upon you?" Severus sneered.

The boy seemed surprised, then confused. "I'm no' sure wha' you mean, sir," he mumbled. Severus decided to let his lackluster elocution go in favor of pursuing the more pertinent issue at hand.

"It is obvious that your leg is injured, Potter, and you are not well. Even you had to have noticed," Severus scoffed.

The boy's eyes grew wide, afraid. Afraid? Afraid of being found out, no doubt. Pity that the boy was incapable of keeping secrets; Severus would've liked nothing more than to keep well away from the brat's problems.

"I'm fine, sir," he quickly said.

So, Potter wanted to play ignorant, hm? He had been waiting for this opportunity –the perfect excuse. Finally, to reveal what Potter was hiding behind his little charm.

"Potter," he said warningly, "I am not fooled by your pathetic act. You have two options. Either agree to see Madame Pomfrey and resolve whatever problems you might have, or I will appropriate you of your foolish glamour charm."

The boy began shaking his head rapidly back and forth, biting his lip and seeming on the verge of hyperventilating. Merlin knew what he was trying to accomplish by acting like a two-year-old.

"Very well, Potter, you leave me no choice," Severus stated coldly, withholding a smirk. "Finite Incantatem," he intoned confidently.

The black-haired boy's eyes grew wide for the split-second the spell was cast before he leapt from the stool and threw up his arms in front of his face, cowering.

"Lower your hands," Severus commanded, impatient to uncover this mystery once and for all and send the boy off to Poppy to address his leg. That would allow him to grant the boy appropriate punishments for the inconvenience of having his current detention interrupted halfway and Potter's increasingly childish acts.

The boy's shoulders slumped, obviously upset, but still he kept his hands up. His very small, thin, trembling hands, connected to his very small, trembling body. Was he always so small?

"Potter…" he warned. "I do not play games. Lower your hands, now."

The boy began to shake like a leaf, but did as Severus asked. His hands crept down from his face centimeters at a time until he dropped them to his sides, staring down at the floor.

"Look at me, Potter," Severus demanded, a dangerous lilt in his voice.

Potter locked eyes with him and Severus blinked once in confusion, then flicked his wand at the torches to raise the lighting. He had to be sure of what he was seeing –perhaps his eyes were playing a trick on him. Though, as he saw all revealed in the now well-lit room, he found the sight before him even more disturbing than before.

"Have a seat," he said, barely repressing the incredulity in his voice, but of course Severus Snape would never allow himself to be seen caught off guard.

The boy complied, gaze once again averted, leaving Severus to perch himself on a nearby stool as well, staring at his student's face, quite unable to believe what he was seeing. The boy was gaunt, painfully so, cheeks sunken, skin taut and pale. His glassy green eyes, dim and lifeless, enveloped in dark rings, stared out of a hollow human shell, hopeless, lost. The normally wild, thick black hair was thin and dull. As the silence stretched the boy began fiddling with his too-small hands, clasped nervously in his lap. He would've believed his appearance sort of trick, had he not just negated the charm altering it himself.

"What is this, Potter?" was the only question Severus could ask, staggered.

"I'm sorry," the boy replied in a small voice. "I didn't mean to."

Whatever Severus had been expecting, it hadn't been this. Merlin knew what damage he had been doing to his body, walking around in such a state. The boy looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, and, judging by the worry his friends showed for him at nearly every meal, that was likely the case.

"Potter-" Severus began, stopping when the boy flinched, nearly falling off his stool, again.

"Potter," he tried again, "I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

The boy's glazed eyes shot up to Severus' face, filled with unfathomable fear.

"Please, sir," the boy begged, "you can't! I'll do anything!"

Why did the boy choose now of all times to garner the mind of a child? "Don't be foolish, Potter: even you must see that you're sick!"

The boy shook his head side to side, eyes wide. "No no no! I won't go! You can't make me!"

"Potter-" he began, rising, but said pupil dashed across the room and hid behind a table, leaving Severus smoldering. He hadn't expected the brat to run from him, for Merlin's sake.

"Come out this instant!" he called, annoyed and in no mood for stupid games.

Unfortunately for him, Potter didn't comply, leaving Severus to stalk over to the workspace. His brow furrowed, however, as he saw the boy curled up in a fetal position, pressed against the inner edge of the large stone table, cowering in the shadows. What on Earth was the boy up to now?

"Potter," he snarled, "I suggest you remove yourself from under the table in the next three seconds, before you lose twenty points each further second you delay."

The boy didn't respond, just mumbled something to himself. He was acting like an infant, Merlin's beard! This was a new low, even for Potter.

"Three," Severus growled, with no response whatsoever from the boy.

"Two," he enunciated clearly, warning ringing through his tone.

The boy didn't move. Severus' anger faltered: what if the boy had fainted? He drew closer, reaching out a hand, only to draw back with a curse as a shock ran through him. A ward? The boy didn't even have his wand, yet somehow had enveloped himself in a protective ward, and a strong one at that. It couldn't be intentional – even without wandless magic the spell was far too advanced for the boy to have performed. But accidental magic of this magnitude… the boy must truly be terrified. But why? He'd spent countless days in the infirmary, surrounded by his loving friends and supportive teachers.

"Potter," he called softly, trying to coax the boy out of his makeshift cave. "Potter, look at me."

The boy shivered, but didn't look up.

"Potter," he called again, worry coloring his tone. "Potter, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy began to shake. "I didn't mean to," he whined.

"Didn't mean to what? – Never mind, don't answer that. Just- just come out from under there." Potter shook his head. "I'm trying to help you, foolish boy," he said in exasperation.

Potter curled up tighter. Severus sighed, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. He wasn't cut out to deal with this idiocy.

"You can't stay under there forever. Now come out, before I call Madame Pomfrey to extract you." He would do no such thing, not while the boy was still projecting a ward, at least, but Potter didn't need to know that.

Potter shivered pathetically, but, seeing his petulance was futile, uncurled himself and (agonizingly slowly) extracted himself from under the table, clutching his wrist in a white-knuckled grip. Severus was pleased to find that the boy's ward disintegrated as well. Yet the boy avoided his gaze, shoulders hunched and posture defensive to a fault, perched on the very edge of another stool.

"Potter, I want to help you," he spoke softly, not wanting to spook the boy back into a fit, "but I need to take you to the hospital wing."

The boy shook his head again, pressing his hands into his eyes as if to block out the world.

"At least tell me why you refuse to go," he said irritably.

Potter's face scrunched up and he saw the boy begin to hyperventilate. In order to avoid a repeat meltdown he knew he'd have to drop the subject.

"Fine, but if you won't let Pomfrey tend to you, I will have to do so," he griped, not looking forward to it in the slightest.

"I- I'm fine, sir."

"I can see that," he said dryly. "Tell me what injuries you have and save us both the trouble of examining you."

"I'm really fine," Potter squeaked, his incessant stubbornness returning. "You don't need to worry. -Sir."

He wasn't getting anywhere with the boy. It would have helped to know what injuries he had from his own mouth, as conducting the tests would take longer, but it would have to do. He was a trained mediwizard himself: his expertise in potions, one of the most dangerous professions, required it. Truth be told, he probably knew more than Poppy did in the field. She was simply a school nurse after all, more suited to mending broken arms and reversing jinxes than tackling complex cases, which Potter doubtlessly was. Normally he would give the boy a calming drought and insist on procuring answers, but he couldn't risk giving the boy potions until he knew exactly what was wrong, and another burst of accidental magic could end up with either, or both, of them injured.

"Pot-" The boy flinched again. "Potter, calm down. Breathe. You are safe here," he reassured the boy, who at least attempted to compose himself. "I need you to stay still. I am going to cast some spells on you so I know what is wrong. Do you understand?"

The boy lowered his head and Severus took that as consent. He began casting several diagnostic spells. First for his vitals, which were terribly off: temperature of 38 celsius, blood pressure 85 over 52, heart rate 108 bpm, though the last could be accounted by the boy's irrational fear. The fever was worrisome, but the addition of such low blood pressure was more so. He cast a few diagnostic spells on the boy's ankle, then more once he identified the signs of extensive damage. He was shocked to find that the boy's fibula had been fractured, one ligament, his posterior talofibular, sporting a tear and the others severely strained. The bones were now halfway through the healing process: the injury had been present before the boy returned to school. The tear seemed to have been aggravated recently, however, judging by the swelling. Severus hadn't the slightest idea how Potter had kept walking on it until now. At the severity of this injury, though, he doubted it could be the only one the boy sported. He quickly cast a basic full-body scan, then a few more in-depth ones, hardly able to believe what his spells told him. But alas, Severus' spells were foolproof, leaving him no choice but to trust the results.

Two of the boy's left ribs had recently been cracked, one broken. They were now healing, much the same as the fibula, though the broken one was out of place. There were evidences of other rib fractures and breaks in the past, healed improperly as well, far too many to account for by sheer clumsiness. Severus grimaced; surely the boy must've felt the injuries! So why, then, had none of them received medical care? He found lacerations on the boy's back and right forearm, the ones on his back severely infected, while, curiously, the boy's arm wasn't infected at all. Potter was moderately dehydrated and extremely malnourished. His liver, kidneys, and heart were strained, his lymph system overloaded, his adrenals barely functioning, and that was only to name the organs in most pressing need of intervention. The boy showed signs of a recent concussion, with parts of his brain still inflamed. There was so much wrong with the boy he hardly knew where to start. Any other student would've been screaming in pain. No, any other student would never have sustained these injuries in the first place. He cast another spell, making sure the boy hadn't been dosing himself with potions. Fortunately his system was clean for now, though he suspected abuse of pain relievers. How else would the boy have endured this?

Bloody hell, Potter, Severus thought, what have you done to yourself?

Severus told the boy to stay where he was, that he was going to get some things to help him. He placed a quick monitoring charm on the boy to make sure he didn't sneak off before retreating to his stores, though Potter's relapse into nonresponsive stupor made him find the notion unlikely. Severus had always prided himself on his ability to think under pressure, but this was a shock, even for him. It would be bad enough if it was any student, but to think that Potter had been suffering all this time, right under the noses of every teacher in the school... it was inconceivable. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, his own spells, he would not have believed it. But there it was, right in front of him. Why had the boy been hiding it? Where had he gotten those injuries –many of them much older than the beginning of term? Severus gathered up several potions, making sure to choose those that wouldn't interact badly with a weakened body nor each other. He then hurried back to the boy, his mind running over a list of healing spells he never expected to use.

The boy flinched as he approached, though remained obediently sitting on his stool. He would have preferred to have the boy lay down, but the injuries on his back must be excruciating with the inflammation.

"Here," Severus said, holding out a small, child dose vial of pain reliever, "take this. It will help." He doubted it would give more than a little relief, but with the boy's malnourished, disheveled state it would be easy to upset his magical core and trigger an overdose.

The boy eyed it suspiciously for a moment, but at the agitation he could see in Severus' eyes grabbed the vial and downed it, grimacing slightly at the taste. Severus wanted to bury his head in his hands – the boy was sensitive to a little bad taste, but the immense amounts of pain he must be under were nothing. Why Potter, of all students?

He took the vial back, setting it on the tabletop before handing over a fever- and swelling-reducer. As the boy drank reluctantly, he considered his options. The infected lacerations were the most pressing, but how to make the boy remove his robes without sending him into a panic, Severus was unsure. At least he seemed a little more relaxed with the pain reliever in him.

Perhaps a brusque approach would be best: there would be little time to complain or rebel. Severus flourished his wand at the boy who, predictably, flinched, sending his robe and shirt into a neat pile on the floor. The small boy immediately drew his legs up to his chest, giving Severus a horrified look before burying his face in his knees. His tiny, knobbly knees, reminiscent of a boy half his age. The boy's appearance once more gave him pause, bones visible beneath the boy's pallid skin. White scars of varying sizes and shapes crossed the boy's abdomen, though stopped just below the neck and before the shoulders, tapering down to just a few scattered blemishes.

"Potter," Severus spoke gently, moving around to stand behind the boy while trying not to show his horror at the inflamed, weeping wounds crossing the boy's back, wounds Severus knew only too well the cause of. "I am going to heal your back, but at first it might hurt. Do you understand?"

The boy sniffled slightly, but nodded. Whatever possessed Potter to suddenly become obedient, Severus hoped it lasted.

The wounds were many, though the infection seemed to have spread from the deepest, leaving the boy's skin mottled and bruised. Lashes and welts crisscrossed each other in the unmistakable pattern of one who had been whipped or belted. They stood out in stark red relief against the pale skin of the boy's back, one of them having caught a protruding vertebra just so that it sliced to the bone. Who would do this to a child? And, more importantly, who would do this to Potter? He set aside the question for further reflection, knowing that dwelling on it wouldn't help the boy in the here and now.

Jaw set, Severus reflected that he was glad it was him and not Poppy to see this. She would likely be causing a ruckus, setting the boy into a panic with her overprotective nature. He doubted she had seen a case of abuse as severe as this. The occasional heavy-handed bruising or malnourishment, sure, but not… this. Not Potter. With that thought in mind he cast the most vigorous spell he knew to cleanse the bits of dying tissue, hoping to get it over with in one try. Fortunately it worked, and though the boy flinched terribly he seemed to be doing reasonably well, considering the circumstances. It always hurt to rip out the infected matter, so there was no use for gentleness. But now for what would really hurt –the antiseptic potion. Severus had used it more than a few times on himself; it always stung like a wasp. He could only imagine what it would feel like on the raw, virulent mess of the boy's back. But there was nothing to be done; the boy had gotten himself into this mess, and he was the one who had to get him out of it. He cleansed his hands and placed one lightly on the boy's bony shoulder, ignoring his flinch, letting him know he was there. The child's skin was still clammy, despite the fever reducer –no wonder he was shivering.

"This will hurt, but you must stay still," he said firmly.

The boy didn't reply, only hunching into himself further.

Bracing himself for the inevitable outburst, Severus transfigured his handkerchief into a dense cloth, saturated it with the potion, and began slathering it on the boy's back. However, nothing came. No whinging, no running, not even a flinch. Only a tightening of the boy's knotted muscles betrayed his pain. Severus made sure to use a light hand on the boy's back as he applied the potion –no need to cause more pain than necessary. The purple liquid smoked as he applied it to the boy's back, immediately reducing the swollen, infected appearance of the wounds. It would take more work for them to heal, but that would have to wait until he was sure the wounds were fully decontaminated. If he were to seal in the infection it could become septic, if it wasn't already. He transfigured his handkerchief again (after cleansing it), this time into a large bandage, affixing it to the boy's back to keep his wounds clean. It would have to do for now. He needed to take a sample of the boy's blood in order to see if the infection had become septic; the last thing he needed was the boy going into septic shock. There were, of course, other spells which did not require the use of blood, but they were less accurate and complicated to decipher. Severus knew a great deal of mediwizardry, but he was no healer.

"Potter, I need to take a blood sample," he said seriously, moving back in front of the boy. "It is possible that you might have contracted a blood infection, in which case you must be treated immediately." He chose to leave out that the boy could die –no need for panic.

The boy's lip quivered, but he held out his left arm. Ah, he was used to the muggle way. Wizards had little use for drawing blood aside from use in dark magic rituals, but of course the boy didn't know this. Severus took the boy's hand, frowning as he felt bumps on the bones in places where they assuredly should not be. Had he missed the boy's hand being broken? He cast a quick diagnostic on the bones, but as it showed the bones intact he cast another, allowing him to detect flaws in the bone structure itself. It seemed that the boy had broken his fingers numerous times, the bones becoming more and more deformed with each, healing on top of other injuries. That would explain the boy's abysmal penmanship. What it didn't explain was how the boy had broken his hand so many times, allowing it to heal without care, the most recent of which within the last year. Or how he had received any of his ungodly injuries! He set his mind back on the task at hand, enunciating the spell to bring a single droplet of blood to the tip of the boy's finger. The boy had no idea how much some wizards would pay to procure even this single drop of blood, to have such a power over the precious Boy Who Lived. The boy seemed confused at the seeming lack of action, though Severus had everything he needed, along with a mental note to do a much more thorough check on the boy once his immediate injuries were tended to and he had some time to reflect. He separated the droplet into two vials, setting one aside in case he needed to perform another test, before testing it for infection. He gave a sigh of relief as the test came up negative. Severus had to ask himself, once again, just what Potter was playing at with his utter disregard for his own life.

Yet there was no time for pondering Potter's foolhardiness. Severus withheld a sigh, instead deciding to get the boy's upper body done with before beginning the arduous task of repairing his ankle.

"Give me your arm," Severus commanded, less sternly than usual.

The boy held out his left arm, avoiding the gaze of the dark man sitting across from him.

"Your other arm, Potter," he drawled.

At this command a sudden change came over the black-haired boy's countenance. He slowly uncurled himself from his fetal position, raising his head to look into Severus' eyes, who was surprised to see a spark of defiance resting within those jaded emerald orbs. The boy's arm remained firmly attached to his stomach.

Severus narrowed his eyes. So the boy was going to throw a fuss over the least significant of his injuries? He opened his mouth to reprimand the brat when he was cut off.

"I don't see what concern this is to you, sir," the boy slurred impetuously, jaw clenched and squinting.

"It is my concern, Potter, because you fell ill in my classroom, under my supervision. Your right to decide for yourself ended there, regardless of my personal feelings," Severus spat.

The boy's fists clenched and Severus could practically see his mind whirring, trying to find any way out of this situation. He could see resignation on the boy's face as he came to, for once, the right conclusion. A tremor ran down the boy's spine before he locked eyes with his teacher once more, thrusting out his arm in anger.

Severus broke eye contact, examining the arm. He took hold of the boy's wrist to prevent him from drawing his hand back, furrowing his brow as he took in the menagerie of scars and new wounds there. They were all recent, certainly more recent than the rest on his body. The boy tried to tug his arm back, but Severus' grip was unshakable. He gave the boy a harsh glare, which was immediately returned to him. Sneering, he ignored the disrespect and looked closer. Severus saw that there were larger underlying scars, some that ran perpendicular to the smaller, newer ones. They seemed to be forming letters, spelling out a word... There were many scars covering the first two letters, closest to the wrist, but the others were readable: EAK. The first one seemed to be an E... no, an F. And, if the second were an R, which it seemed to be, the letters would spell out one devilish word upon the boy's skin: freak. Severus lifted his impassive gaze to the defiant boy's, keeping his true emotions hidden.

"Who did this to you, Potter?" he asked firmly.

The boy's eyes flicked to the door before he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He swallowed, taking a breath.

"I did," he stated, looking directly into Severus' eyes, determined.