"Potter!"
The boy jumps awake and I have to suppress my grin as he falls off the sofa bed and onto the floor.
"Hurt yourself?" I ask as he pushes himself up with a glare, cradling his left arm against his body.
"No," he replies, almost in an embarrassed tone. In a highly annoying tone, that is, which forces me to approach him to see if the short fall actually damaged his delicate body.
He turns to the side so his arm is away from me.
I am by far not in the mood for this and nor do I have the time to deal with his antics. Breakfast is in only a half hour from now. But as I grab his arm, he cries out in pain and I immediately let go, grabbing his shirt collar instead and pulling him towards the kitchen where I can see under better light what he did to himself.
"I'm fine," he mutters, looking down at the floor.
"You are lying," I reply, frowning as I see no other way to examine him but to take his shirt off. He refuses to meet my eyes as I unbutton his top and carefully let it drop off his shoulders.
I gasp at what I see before me.
There are several large bruises on his torso. The source of his pain is obvious to me at once as I look down at his arm; a large bruise in the shape of a hand. I quickly turn him around, making him lose his footing, but I don't care. His back may be worse than his front.
Maybe it's because he's so small right now. Maybe it's because he looks like me. Maybe it's because, now more than ever, I see myself in someone else. Whatever the cause, I am bloody pissed off.
With a deep breath, I turn him back around to face me. "How long," I say slowly, "had this been happening to you?"
"It's not important," Potter quickly replies and I watch as he places his right hand over the bruise, which almost instantly disappears. "See?" he asks me quickly, probably afraid that my anger will be directed towards him. "All better."
I continue to stare at him. Under a normal circumstance, what he just did shouldn't be possible. Under a normal circumstance a five year old should not have that great a control over his magic yet. But Potter is not a normal child and he's obviously been abused for years if he knows to heal his own wounds at such a young age.
"I asked you a question Potter."
He flinches at my anger, another clear sign of child abuse. Working at Hogwarts for fourteen years, I have seen my fair share of abused children. Potter, however, I never picked up on. I could kick myself.
Keeping his eyes on the ground, he shrugs at me. "I don't remember it not happening."
Bloody Muggles. They were supposed to keep him safe. Lily's son was not supposed to have been subjected to this. By his healed scars it looks as if he'd been abused for years already at five. My own father wasn't that bad.
I don't need this.
With a glare, I raise my wand at him which causes him to immediately flinch. Ignoring his reaction, I change his clothes to a clean set of fitting children's robes.
"Slytherin colors?" he asks me in annoyance.
I smirk in return. "You are my son, Tobias. Now hurry and use the bathroom before we're late for breakfast."
"Breakfast?" he says in shock. "I have to eat with everyone like this?"
"Act like a five year old."
He mutters what I take as a sarcastic "wonderful," before walking into the bathroom and nearly slamming the door. I suppose I can let it go this once.
"I don't have to hold your hand do I?" he asks when he finishes.
Insufferable prat.
I grab the back of his robes and push him through the doorway, casting several locking charms and barriers before leaving the dungeons. I can't help but smile as he begins to struggle in my grip, attempting to throw me off him.
"Stop it," I mutter, seeing the strange looks that students were giving us as we walked towards the Great Hall. "You're supposed to be my son. If you want to convince Umbridge you'll have to be well behaved. By all means, if you wish to go back to Azkaban…"
He immediately stops struggling and allows me to lead him through the school.
"So what am I supposed to call you?" he asks quietly so that only I can hear him.
"I expect 'dad,'"
His body tenses. I bet I can guess why. I wasn't expecting to feel sorry for the kid. Nor will I admit to anyone other than myself that I might be.
With a slight pause at the door of the Great Hall, I push Potter inside before me, walking him to the Head table where the Headmaster has already set up another seat to the right of my usual, in between me and Minerva.
Ignoring the sudden silence of the Hall, I direct him to his seat, wordlessly pouring myself a cup of tea before the more than likely barrage of questions by colleagues- and Umbridge.