*Chapter rewritten 3/10/18

Please note, if you happen to have read the chapter 14 posted in 2014, that it has been entirely reworked and no longer follows the same plot.

Severus was taken aback, for Potter was speaking the truth: he could see it reflected in the small boy's eyes. The thought was quickly reworked, however. Severus wasn't a fool: while Potter may have gotten into the habit of injuring himself, the underlying scars –the word –didn't fit the mould. Too large, too old, too jagged. No, they were the precursor to this… problem. Looking into the boy's eyes, however, he could see that he'd received the extent of the information he could glean this night.

Potter's back would hold for now, but his leg still required careful attention. Adept as he was at healing physical wounds, it was still some time before he was bound it with a hushed, "Ferula." Bandages wound up the ankle and splints snapped into existence, bracing and immobilizing the injured limb. The bone was easy, but the tendon would still need rest. Dealing with the mishealed ribs would wait, as he didn't want to risk further traumatizing his student's already battered body, and truthfully he wasn't sure how best to treat them. Severus also chose to leave the boy's scarred and wounded arm alone. He had encountered a handful of students struggling with that particular problem before, and only once had he made the mistake of healing a child's wounds without consent. He had ended that night with many bruises from the student's fit. Knowing Potter as he did, Severus had no doubt that the boy would continue to balk at his assistance, even without that added incentive. No, it was best for them both to leave it be, for now. He did manage to get a bandage over it, however.

He attempted to broach the idea of the Infirmary once more to Potter, but the wild look that entered the boy's eyes had him calling off the idea immediately. He retrieved a couple more potions from his stores and doused the boy, wanting to do everything he could to start him on the path to healing. With the infirmary off-limits he escorted Potter back to his dormitory, with strict instructions to wait for Severus to retrieve him in the morning. Merlin knew the boy could use the sleep.

Potter safely deposited, the dark man could no longer deny that the boy was not what he had appeared to be. What could have driven him to hide, and neglect, so many severe injuries? And more importantly, what could have driven him to inflict wounds on himself? The worst injuries bore the telltale mark of a third party. Someone who, once Severus discovered who they were, would pay very dearly indeed. No student deserved such pain, not Lily's son, not even Potter. What the boy had been through was indubitably torturous.

The black-robed man swept out into the long, dark stone hallway, heading for the Headmaster's office. His garb fit his mirthless countenance: one watching might have even mistook him for one bereaved. He could've stopped by his office and flooed, but the walk would do him good –give him time to think about the options.

All too soon he found himself before the repulsive stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. It glared at him, to which he returned it tenfold.

"Move," he growled softly, venomously.

The gargoyle gulped, slowly stepping aside as it felt the Potion Master's wrath. A wise choice, or Severus may have just blasted it to dust.

He stepped up the spiral stairs, stopping once more before the rich wooden door to the Headmaster's office. He paused a moment, unsure of how to broach this sensitive and unexpected topic.

"Come in, Severus," a tired voice wafted through the wood, and Severus complied, stepping into the ornate, round office, spindly instruments whirring and puffing as always. He was unsurprised at the beckoning; the Headmaster always knew who was at his door.

"Headmaster," he greeted stiffly, stepping into the office.

The old, grey-haired man looked up from his papers, peacock quill in hand, blue eyes sparkling tiredly over his half-moon spectacles. As he caught sight of the grave look upon his Potions Professor's face, however, he set down the quill and cleared the papers away with a wave of his hand, eyes growing somber.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

Severus' jaw clenched, his frustration at the events of the evening welling up now that he needed to speak of them. "Potter," he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose and beginning to pace across the antique rug lavishing the floor. "It's always Potter."

The twinkle returned to the codger's eyes as he spoke, "Severus, if the boy has done something wrong, I'm sure-"

"No," Severus interrupted, "No." He shook his head, fingers still clamped across his nose. No doubt he would have a mark there once his appendages were relocated. He couldn't bring himself to care.

How was he supposed to break this news to Albus? Yes, Headmaster, Potter almost killed himself from neglecting injuries inflicted preterm and he's taken up lacerating his arm as a new hobby. Of course everything's fine. He closed his eyes for a moment, one hand resting on his brow, before he looked back at the Headmaster and stopped pacing. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind. It wasn't like him to be so flustered.

Severus gave a cursory glance at the portraits of past Headmasters surrounding the room, annoyed as they obviously feigned sleep. They really were terrible actors. He shook his head agitatedly before casting a muffliato charm at the door and the portraits, several of which 'woke up' indignantly. The portraits had played party to more confidential conversations than this, and of course the Headmaster already had ensured the complete privacy of his office, but Severus' every pore screamed caution at him this night. Who knew who, or what, was lurking in the castle.

Severus decided to start from the beginning, his tone kept carefully dispassionate. "Potter fell ill during his detention tonight. Normally I would have sent him to the Hospital Wing, but when I confronted him about his general lack of health he became irrational and refused to see Madame Pomfrey. I decided that the best course of action would be to remove the glamour charm that I had observed him using as to better understand the root of this idiocy. What I discovered was... shocking. After I had goaded him out from the table he'd crawled under." He paused at this point, interrupted by Albus' soft inquiry.

"Under a table?" the old man asked softly, as if this must be some sort of joke.

"Yes, under a table," Severus replied blandly before continuing. "After I retrieved him from his hiding place I found him to be... in poorer health than expected, though he refused to explain the origin of his injuries." At this Severus could no longer keep his voice in check, anger seeping into his velvety tones. "The boy is emaciated, Albus, covered in lacerations, leg broken, feverish, and if I had not discovered his state he may very well have ignored it until he dropped dead! Do explain how this could have happened!"

He leveled a glare at the old man's crooked nose, not in the mood to have his mind pried into by those damned twinkling eyes. The Headmaster's face was stunned, stuck somewhere between surprise and confusion, gray brows furrowed and mouth slightly open, as if about to speak a word of reproach. A convincing display of surprise. Severus cocked an eyebrow expectantly, at which the elderly wizard blinked, sighing deeply.

"Does anyone else know?" the old man asked, voice thin and hoarse, worried, but perhaps not for Potter's illness.

Severus was surprised. He had thought the Headmaster would continue to ignore the blatant threat Black posed, but perhaps the old man had finally come to his senses.

"Only myself and now you, unless the boy has told anyone, which I doubt," he replied quickly. …But what was even the point now? Potter would need care, both physical and psychological, for months, if not years. There was no hiding this. He looked to Dumbledore, hoping against hope the man would wave his wand and make sense of this catastrophe.

"Good," the Headmaster sighed, relieved. Severus could see the wheels spinning in his head. "Good," he repeated. "I must ask you to keep this to yourself, Severus. I trust that you can take care of the boy's medical needs?" he asked, looking at his Potion's Master inquisitively, face grave.

Severus grimaced. He and Poppy had worked together to treat possible abuse cases before. It didn't mean he wanted to, though. "But," he interjected, "surely Poppy-"

Albus held up his hand. "If Voldemort's" Severus hissed slightly at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, pain stabbing his arm. Albus ignored his response. "supporters found out about this, I shudder to think what might befall the boy. We both know that he is seeking an opportunity to strike, and despite our best efforts, Hogwarts may not be entirely safe. From what you've said, Severus, his injuries are severe. Too severe to continue classes regularly. This means that Harry must disappear for a little while." At this the powerful wizard paused, fingers steepled under his chin in thought, peering at Severus over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

Severus saw the light of genius flash in the old man's eyes, a plan clearly grinding into motion. One Severus most certainly wouldn't like, but would nevertheless be coerced into agreeing with. It didn't mean he wouldn't fight it tooth and nail.

However, for a strange moment, he realized that the Headmaster hadn't offered him a lemon drop for the first time in many years. Albus never failed to politely hold out a tin of the things upon his entrance to the round office, no matter how many times he refused or expressed his hatred for the vile muggle candies. The fact disturbed him more than it had any right to.

"Potter, come with me," Severus demanded, having finally tracked the boy down in the great hall, where he wasn't eating, again.

Potter had the gall to look surprised. Severus had explicitly instructed him to stay in his dormitory until he'd come to fetch him. Surely, even as sickly as the boy was, he had enough intellect to understand such a simple instruction. But no, Potter had run off to Merlin-knew-where, forcing Severus to spend several hours of his busy morning looking for the damned boy. He'd reapplied the damn glamour, too.

"What do you want him for, Snape?" the Weasley brat slurred, mouth stuffed to overflowing.

"That is none of your business, Mr. Weasley," Severus snapped, at which the boy glowered. "And that's Professor, to you." Irksome, the whole lot of them!

"Now, if you please, Mr. Potter." His tone stressed that this was no question: it was an order.

Potter looked around, rising reluctantly from the table. "I'll see you later, guys," he said morosely, exchanging cringes with his cohorts.

As much as Severus wanted to sweep from the room, leaving the boy to catch up, he slowed himself. It wouldn't do to aggravate the boy's injuries after they'd just been treated. Especially seeing as he was the one who would have to treat them again.

Potter trailed sullenly in his wake, hands shoved into his pockets. Once out of the entrance hall Severus stopped, sighing. He withdrew a Vitamix Potion from his robes, offering it to the boy, who looked at it as if it were poison.

"Take it, Potter," he drawled.

"What, so you can poison me?" the boy replied venomously. How original.

"It's a Vitamix Potion," he stated, not in the mood for Potter's gripes. As the boy made no move to take it, only looking suspicious, he added, "You haven't been eating, Potter. In case you didn't realize, it is an action necessary to sustaining one's life. The potion is no substitute, but it's a start."

Potter flushed angrily, but snatched the potion from him nevertheless. The boy's eyebrows shot up as it passed his lips. "It's not awful," he remarked, surprised.

"One of the few potions that's efficacy isn't diminished by flavorings," he droned, retrieving the vial from the boy and heading into the dungeons. He was pleased to find the boy was a little less sluggish for taking it. An unfortunate side effect of the boy's mild increase in energy soon surfaced, however.

"Where are we going?" Potter demanded, only tacking on an honorific after Severus levelled him a tired glare.

Severus resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands. "The dungeons, Potter."

"I can see that-!"

"If you would prefer to discuss your private matters out here, in the middle of the hallway, then by all means do so," Severus said, stopping and turning to face the brat. "If not, then your questions can wait."

The boy scowled fiercely, but said nothing. Fortunately for Severus, the rest of the trip to his office was completed in glowering silence.

"Have a seat," Snape said, gesturing to the chair before his desk. However, to Harry's surprise, he didn't seat himself behind the desk. Snape took the other chair, turning it to face him. His professor's piercing gaze, so close, made him very uncomfortable.

"How are you feeling?" Snape asked, face an impassive mask. Harry swallowed thickly. He'd figured someone had found out after finding his leg bandaged that morning, but he had hoped it'd been Pomfrey with a quick, in-and-out visit. As much as he hadn't wanted to get stuck in the Hospital Wing, Snape was a worse option. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't really remember why he hadn't wanted to go see Pomfrey in the first place. A busted ankle would've taken her a minute at most. And then he wouldn't have to be here, with Snape giving him this scrutinizing look.

"Fine, sir."

Snape's eyes closed, a hand rubbing his brow. He looked… exhausted. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it," he drawled. "Let me see your ankle."

Harry didn't move. "Why am I here? -Sir."

Snape looked annoyed, but sighed, then spoke. "Because, Potter, you managed to single-handedly ignore yourself into a serious condition." Okay, that didn't sound good. "Congratulations." The sarcasm was biting.

"I don't-"

"Do you remember nothing of last night, foolish boy? You practically collapsed in front of me!" Snape stopped, taking a deep breath as he seemed to compose himself. "The Headmaster, after being informed of your condition, saw fit to provide you a leave from school."

"What!" Harry cried, panicked. He was not going back to the Dursleys, not already! "You can't! That isn't- I'm fine here, at Hogwarts! I can just see Madame Pomfrey- there's no need to- to-" His eyes were welling up, fists clenched white.

"Merlin's beard, Potter. Calm yourself!" Snape barked. "You're not going anywhere."

Harry took a second to get his breathing under control, embarrassed at his sudden outburst. "But you said-"

"I know what I said," Snape interrupted, holding up a finger. "You won't be leaving Hogwarts. Relax." Snape waited, watching until he seemed to find Harry sufficiently calm. "You'll be under my care for until you are well enough to return to your classes."

Harry didn't think this was much better. "You can't be serious," he scoffed.

"I am, Potter. A week's leave from your studies has been approved with the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, and Madame Pomfrey. I have, unfortunately, been deemed the one most… suited to care for your needs." Snape didn't seem to be any happier than Harry was, which did nothing to improve the situation. Snape hated him! Why on earth would Dumbledore make him stay with the slimy git? This was stupid!

"There's no way-"

"Save your excuses, Potter. This will be no vacation. You will be residing in a room adjacent to my private quarters, but there will be no contact with the rest of the school until your condition is sufficiently improved." He made to interrupt –he would not be staying with Snape –but the man shot Harry a look so tested that even he held his tongue. "This is for your safety as much as to speed your recovery."

Harry couldn't hold back anymore. "What recovery? My leg's fixed!"

It was Snape's turn to be incredulous. "I suppose the lesions on your back and your broken ribs have disappeared, then? Or perhaps I'm wrong, and you've been eating properly all this time-"

"I get it!" he snapped, suddenly furious. What was Snape talking about? How much did he know that Harry didn't?

"Don't," Snape spat, "take that tone with me, boy."

Harry glared at the floor, incensed but cowed. "I want to talk to Dumbledore," he muttered.

Snape scoffed. "I don't know if you've ever been told, Potter, but the world does not revolve around you. The Headmaster is very busy and can't be bothered to assuage your every qualm. The decision is final, and your whinging will do you nothing." Snape tugged his sleeves back into place, looking even less pleased than usual. "Now, will you continue acting like a petulant child, or will you tell me how you're feeling?"

Harry bristled. Even if Snape had permission to torture him, it didn't mean he had to make it easy. There's no way he would confide in the git, only to have him run off and blab to the Slytherins. Harry's life was hell enough as it was.

"I'll take your silence as the former," the great bat drawled, drawing his wand.

Harry drew back. "What are you- Hey!" he yelled as Snape cast a spell on him. It seemed to do nothing, and Harry looked around in confusion.

"If you're wise, you'll refrain from replacing your glamour. Such an advanced spell is an unnecessary drain of magic in your state."

"What?" Harry asked, hopelessly confused. What was a glamour, and why did Snape think he had one?

Severus had expected Potter to be obstinate, but this was absurd, even for Gryffindor's golden boy. The cretin refused to do even the simplest of things without a ten-minute debate. Said boy was currently glaring at him stonily from across the small bedroom, expression much less impressive without his glamour applied. Severus paid him no heed, continuing to lay out a potion regimen for the next week. Once again he cursed Albus and his damned ideas for the "greater good." And even more he cursed himself for not petrifying Potter and levitating him to the Hospital Wing when he had the chance, out of his hair and his responsibility.

But such things were not to be, and here he was, stuck playing nursemaid for the precious Boy-Who-Lived… to almost die.

In the end it had been Minerva to demand answers from Albus, eyes blazing with righteous fire as she berated the man and his role in Potter's placement. Severus thought for a moment she might hex him right between his damnably twinkling eyes; to her credit she refrained, but only just. Severus sighed. It should've been he to get the truth from Albus, to challenge his blasé statements that all was well. He should've looked closer, been less observant of the boy's parentage and more of the boy himself. He hadn't even known the boy had been sent to live with Muggles, though he hadn't exactly kept tabs on his home life… It seemed they were all equally negligent in the endeavor to keep the boy safe, in trusting the one man they thought incorruptible. But even now Severus balked at what he knew was coming: the talk of the boy's relatives, his home, if they could be called such. For while there were many mysteries about Potter left unsolved, his abuse could have only one source. And Severus doubted highly that Potter would crack easily after keeping his secret for so long, hiding it so diligently: especially to him, his most hated Professor.

He still wasn't sure how Albus had talked him into this.

"I want my wand back."

"The answer is still no, Potter."

"It's boring."

"That is the principal definition of bedrest."

Potter groaned, frustrated, as he threw himself back onto the bed. He managed to still himself for a whole six seconds before pushing himself up again, giving Severus a calculating look. He opened his mouth.

"The answer is no."

"I haven't even asked anything!" the boy protested.

"Well," Severus said snidely, "please, inform me of your request, as you're so sure you'll have my agreement."

Potter scowled. "Never mind," he muttered, after a moment.

"Exactly." He continued leafing through his notes, continuing the arduous task calculating the best way to restore Potter to health. Poppy had given him some recommendations, but in the end he had to fit all the pieces together.

The boy looked away, then back at Severus, making as if to say something, then away again, swinging his feet anxiously. When this was repeated four times he'd had enough.

"For pity's sake, Potter, spit it out already," he growled, kneading his brow in annoyance. His persistent headache was only getting worse.

"Where's my stuff? I can't wear this for a whole week," he said, exasperated, gesturing to his robes.

Severus was starting to regret using his period before classes to observe Potter. The boy did nothing to aid his concentration, and his soft, warm bed was looking far preferable to this aggravation.

"Your things will be returned to you once they have been searched for contraband," he stated, matter-of-fact. He didn't mention he would truly be checking for sharp objects and pain-relieving potions: anything the boy could use to worsen his fragile state.

Potter turned away, lapsing into silence, thankfully choosing not to debate this one issue. Several minutes passed before he spoke, eyes glued to the floor, legs swinging morosely.

"I know you know," Potter said quietly, barely more than a whisper.

"What?"

"I'm not going to talk about it."

Ah. Potter was out of the denial phase sooner than he expected. "I understand I'm not your first choice for confidant, but I'm sure the Headmaster can find someone-"

"No," the boy interrupted him, shaking his head. "I'm not going to talk with anyone."

Severus paused. "That's hardly a viable option."

"Why, because now that you know things will change? Because it'll help me?" He laughed bitterly. "Fat chance."

"Why do you say that?" Severus asked, genuinely curious. Had the boy's caretakers truly failed him so utterly, that he'd lost all hope? He felt a twinge of guilt but brushed it away. It wouldn't help the boy now to be wallowing in self-flagellation.

Potter shot him an annoyed glare. "I've seen shrink shows on the telly," he stated. "You're not gonna trick me into talking." He sighed deeply. "The sooner this week is over, the better, and then you can just go back to hating me."

"I don't hate you," Severus said, regretful that the boy truly seemed to believe so.

Potter scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

"It's true, Potter. I know I haven't given you reason to believe otherwise, but-"

"But what, now you pity me? Spare me the drivel; I'm not interested."

Severus was taken aback. This was a side of Potter he'd never seen before. Thinking about it, he was certain the side of Potter he had seen was barely a nick in the surface of his being. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"I don't pity you, Potter, nor do I hate you. As your temporary caregiver I will do everything possible to help you."

Potter scoffed, but didn't grace him with a reply. The sooner the week was over, the better, indeed. For the sake Severus' sanity particularly.

"Come in," Severus called at the knock upon his office door.

Draco entered, looking anxious. Severus put his work to the side.

"How can I help you, Draco?" he asked warmly.

His young pupil sat before his desk, not meeting his eyes. Draco fiddled with his robes a moment, obviously reluctant to broach what seemed to be an important matter.

"It's about Potter," Draco quickly stated, as if rushing to purge the thought from his body.

Severus' eyes narrowed. What did Draco know of the boy? And what did he care?

"It's no bother to me what Potter does, but…" he trailed off.

"What is it, Draco? You wouldn't have come if you didn't think it important," Severus encouraged gently.

Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Potter's been sick; he doesn't eat and he keeps throwing up. He doesn't want anyone to know, but he wasn't at any classes today! Not even Weasley seemed to know where he went, and I saw you with him last, so…" He seemed embarrassed by the concern, face scrunched up in disgust.

Draco was more observant than he gave him credit for.

"You needn't worry about Potter, Draco. He was called away from Hogwarts to attend the funeral of a relative. I'll be sure to inform his guardians of his illness, so that it may be treated while he is away."

From the faint veil of relief that crossed Draco's face, he'd been sincerely worried about the boy. Strange –Severus wondered what had changed in their relationship, to be party to information even Potter's friends didn't know. For Minerva had, in fact, interviewed the boy's cohorts earlier and passed the (lack of) information on to him.

"Did Potter mention how he got sick? Or, perhaps, display any strange behavior: anything unusual at all?" Severus queried.

Draco raised a brow: a trait Severus knew arose from exposure to him. "When is Potter not acting unusual?" Severus had to concede to that point. Draco shrugged, reluctantly continuing. "He just about loses it every time he sees a dementor, and he must have a death wish, the way he got in the way of that monster of Hagrid's. So either he's mental, or whatever he's got is making him that way."

Severus nodded. Observant, indeed. He'd always known Draco had a strong rivalry with Potter, but it seemed to have grown deeper than that. An interesting development, and one he could use.

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Severus asked genially.

"Actually," Draco admitted, "I was having some trouble with the homework…"

*Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!

*Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!

*Down that path into darkness, deep as hell!