Chapter Ten
It felt like only minutes later that he jolted awake, soaked with sweat and heaving for breath. The room was quiet around him however, and he could hear someone snoring lightly. It took several minutes for his breathing to calm down, but when he got himself under a little more control he grimaced at how sweaty he was.
Climbing quietly from his bed, he grabbed some dry clothes and his towel and moved quietly into the bathroom where he locked and silenced the outer door. He moved into a shower stall and pulled his sweat soaked pyjamas off and threw them on the floor in disgust before stepping under the spray.
In the silence of the night, he released his glamours and looked down at his body in disgust. With his uncle's abuse, and his own, there was hardly a spot left on his body that did not have scarring of some kind and he felt repulsed with himself. He hastily re-applied the glamour and turned the heat of the shower up.
The water scalded his skin, turning it bright red in seconds, but he grit his teeth and remained under the spray for several minutes. When that didn't chase away the lingering effects of the nightmare he just experienced, Harry stepped from the spray and tore a button from his pyjamas shirt.
Snatching up his wand, he transfigured the button into a small blade not unlike his usual one, and stepped back under the hot spray to slice at the flesh on his upper left arm. The rest of the scars remained hidden under the glamour, so the blood was bright against the pale skin of as seemingly smooth arm. Several cuts later, and he dropped the blade at his feet and turned the spray even hotter, resting his head on the cool tile of the shower wall and letting the water fall over his back.
Suddenly he heard the bathroom door open and close, despite his locking charm, and he braced himself to deal with a worried Blaise.
"You have thirty seconds to remove yourself from that cubicle Mr Potter, or I will be forced to come in there and remove you myself." Harry's heart stopped and for a moment he couldn't breathe. What the hell was Snape doing here?!
"Twenty seconds, Mr Potter," he heard Snape snarl out and Harry hurried to turn the water off then wasted several seconds debating whether to use his towel to cover his modesty, or his arm. There was no point casting a glamour, the blood would still drip down his arm, and he didn't have time to cast what little healing spells he knew.
"Ten seconds," Snape drawled and Harry panicked and just managed to wrap his towel around his waist before he started hyperventilating. He backed against the shower wall and slid down, bringing his knees to his chest and gasping for air.
The shower curtain was shoved aside and Harry looked up from where he sat to gaze at Snape through bleary eyes.
"Breathe Potter," he heard Snape say and he wanted to snark back that he was trying but couldn't find the air to speak.
"Ok, Potter, take a deep breath and hold it to the count of seven," Professor Snape told him and Harry was confused at being told to hold his breath when he could hardly breathe as it was, but figured it couldn't hurt to try.
"Very good, Potter, now count to five while you exhale." Harry did that, then did the whole thing over again when Snape told him to and after several minutes his breathing had calmed down and instead of feeling like he was suffocating, he was just feeling mortified at the whole situation.
"Now, that you have calmed down, I want you to dress in your pyjamas and then come out of this stall, I will be waiting." Professor Snape stood up from where he was kneeling by Harry and Harry blushed when he saw that the knees of Snape's pants were wet
"You have two minutes, Mr Potter." Snape said, as he moved out of the stall and pulled the curtain shut behind him.
Harry pulled on the clean underwear and pants he'd brought in with him, but hesitated to put his top on. His arm was still bleeding sluggishly and if he put the shirt on now he'd end up needing yet a new one. Instead, he held his shirt in his hand, wrapped his towel around his shoulders and pulled aside the curtain to step out from the stall.
Professor Snape was leaning by the counter, where he had placed a bandage and several vials from his pocket. When he saw Harry he conjured a chair with his wand and glanced at it meaningfully. Harry reluctantly moved forward and sat.
"How did you know I was in here?" he asked petulantly, "spy on us even in the bathrooms?" Snape bristled at the implication in the comment.
"I have several wards on the whole of the Slytherin rooms, so I may be alerted in my chambers if someone falls seriously ill or is dangerously hurt. One of those wards is an alarm to alert me of self-injurious behaviour such as this." Snape indicated the several cuts on Harrys arms and Harry flinched.
"You did not think you were the only one to engage in such behaviour did you Mr Potter?" Snape questioned snidely. "Although, I must admit it has been several years since those particular wards went off."
Snape leant forward to examine Harry's arm, then conjured a cloth before poring the contents of one of his vials over it and slapping it onto his arm.
Harry flinched at the sting but didn't say anything. When Snape offered him a blood replenishing potion he shook his head, and although Snape pursed his lips, he placed the vial back into his pocket, along with the empty one. He banished the cloth, then wound the bandage tightly.
"This will do until Madame Pomfrey can take a look, I am not confident enough in my healing spells to attempt them when there is a perfectly good medi-witch available."
Harry flinched and pulled his arm into his chest to grip it tightly. "Do we need to tell her?" he almost pleaded and for a second he thought he saw pity in Snape's eyes before he replaced it with a sneer.
"Of course, we must," he told Harry. "You have once again been caught causing harm to yourself, after claiming it was only an experiment, I might add. It would be remiss of me and my duties as your head of house if I did not get you seen to."
"But you're not my head of house!" Harry exclaimed and Snape looked at him, then around the bathroom.
"This appears to be the Slytherin sixth years bathroom, does it not? Where you came to mutilate yourself after sleeping in the sixth years dorm room?"
"But it's only for a week," Harry fought back and Snape smiled a grin so predatory that Harry was unable to fight the flinch this time.
"Very well, shall we go and wake Minerva then?" he asked and Harry paled.
"What? No!" he said. "Why do we even need to tell anyone? You've fixed my arm, its fine, and you've got these stupid wards on, so I can't do it again. Just leave me alone," Harry's voice cracked and he felt tears well up in his eyes, so he pushed down hard on his arm.
"Stop that!" Snape saw exactly what Harry was doing and reached out to snatch his hand away from his bandaged arm.
"You were given the benefit of the doubt the other night, Mr Potter, but that cannot be allowed this time. You will be taken to the hospital wing, where you will remove all glamours," at this Snape peered at Harry over his nose, "and then we will decide on the appropriate course of action."
Snape snatched Harry's shirt up from the sink where he had draped it before he sat and held it out the Harry.
"I placed a silencing charm on the room when I entered, thought I cannot know if your roommates are awake. If you wish for some privacy, finish getting dressed and we will head toward the hospital wing as quietly as we are able."
Harry snatched the shirt and pulled it on roughly, even now enjoying the sharp sting as his cuts were pulled taut at the movement. Thankfully, his dorm mates were all still asleep as they exited the bathroom, and the trek out of the dungeons was done in silence.
Knowing there was no way out of a check-up, Harry frantically thought of how to keep at least some of his secrets. Snape had snatched up his wand when he was pulling his shirt on, but he had cast and re-cast the glamour spell enough that he thought if he really tied hard enough he could do it wandless.
All he really needed to do was concentrate so the glamour dropped from his arms but remained up over the rest of his body. His arms showed quite a large amount of scarring, but most of it was fairly recent, so maybe he could still convince them that it was a pretty new thing that had just gotten out of control.
And if he showed them his arms, especially if he made enough of a fuss, maybe Madame Pomfrey wouldn't look too hard anywhere else.
By the time he'd figured all this out they had arrived at the infirmary and Snape was pushing Harry inside.
Once again, he was led over to a bed and forced to sit. His heart was still racing hard, but he continued breathing deeply. If he was going to pull this off he needed to be calm and in control. By the time Snape had conjured his patronus and sent a message off to Madame Pomfrey, he had gotten himself calmed down and was sitting placidly on the bed watching him.
If Snape noticed the change, he didn't comment on it, but rather pulled up a chair to take a seat beside the bed. A few minutes passed silently, both people in the room resolutely ignoring the other, and Madame Pomfrey came bustling into the hospital wing.
She had taken the time to dress this time around and was already clutching her wand in her hand. When she saw Harry on the bed with Professor Snape sitting close by, she pursed her lips and moved closer.
"Sorry to disturb your sleep once more, Poppy, but I felt it prudent to bring the boy in now rather than the morning, in the event that he has further injuries he has hidden on his person."
"I'm sorry, Severus, but you will need to explain." Madame Pomfrey responded and Harry fought not to shrink in on himself, and instead sat straighter and stared blankly at the wall behind the medi-witch.
"A short time ago, my sleep was interrupted by the ward alarm I have placed on the Slytherin quarters and a closer look informed me I was needed in the sixth-year boy's bathroom. I found Harry in the shower, arm dripping blood from several wounds he had inflicted on his upper arm."
"After an initial panic attack, in which I had to coach Potter on how to breathe, I cleaned the wounds to the best of my ability and brought him directly to you. I believe it is time to cast a finite incantatum on the boy to see how much damage he is hiding."
Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips further and regarded Harry for several long, embarrassing moments. Harry felt his heart rate increase and immediately bit his tongue hard enough to flood his mouth with blood, but it did what he intended and the panic receded.
"Okay, Mr Potter, we have done it one way and clearly, I was wrong to place such trust in your actions. Remove your shirt and trousers please, although you may keep your pants in place." Harry blushed but did not fight the suggestion which had Professor Snape narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
When he was sitting on the bed in nothing but his tatty second hand boxer shorts he shivered in the cool air and forced himself to watch the two professors, defiance and uncertainty showing on his face.
"Are you wearing a glamour, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey asked, taking in the bandage wrapped around his upper arm, but his otherwise unremarkable skin.
"No," Harry lied and forced himself to look away in a pretence of guilt. He needed to play his part properly to get away with this, and now was the perfect time to get in touch with his inner Slytherin.
"You're lying," Snape grit through his teeth and Harry shook his head emphatically.
"No," he shouted and reached down to pull the blanket folded at the end of the bed up over his skinny frame. Professor Snape reached out and tugged the blanket from his grasp and put it next to him over the arm of his chair.
"You may have the blanket back when we have finished." he told Harry.
"Fuck you," Harry told the man and then cowered when Snape stood to tower over him.
"One more outburst such as that and you will spend your week in Slytherin cleaning all the unused classrooms the dungeon has to offer." He told Harry, who shrugged his shoulders angrily.
"I don't fuckin care," Harry mumbled, but didn't dare say it too loudly.
"Gentlemen," Madame Pomfrey interrupted and they both looked at the medi-witch guiltily.
"Harry, I'm going to cast a few spells now. They should not hurt, but if you are wearing a glamour, they may tickle or cause slight discomfort." Harry didn't respond, instead only closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could the glamour spell, focussing mainly on his back and legs.
"Finite Incantatum," he heard the medi-witch intone and focussed even harder, forgetting to breathe for several seconds as he put all the magic he had in keeping what he could hidden.
He felt the tingle she said he would, mainly in his arms, but there was a discomfort in his chest too and at Madame Pomfrey's gasp and Snape's growl, he snapped his eyes open in panic. He forced himself to look down, and although he was grateful to see his legs remained unblemished, his arms and their scars were on show.
He also realised with some trepidation that the glamour spell had been hiding the weight he had lost over the last few weeks, and instead of a slightly skinny body, his ribs and hipbones stood stark and obvious against his white skin and he realised with dismay that it was probably this that had Professor Snape snarling.
"Oh Harry," Madame Pomfrey choked out and moved closer to the bed. Harry reached over as far as he could and snatched the blanket off the arm of the chair and throwing it around his shoulders, drew into the warmth and comfort it provided. Snape made no move to stop him.
Madame Pomfrey seemed to regather herself and stepped right up to Harry to pick up one of his arms and examine it closely, professionalism back in place. Snape stood to gather Harry's other arm and inspect the wounds for himself. They were numerous, in various stages of healing, and lined both his arms sporadically from wrist to shoulder. If Harry was honest with himself, he'd admit they were hideous, but they were his.
"How long?" Snape asked Harry, who shrugged his shoulders, unsure how honest he needed to be to be asked the minimal amount of questions.
"Few years, on and off," he finally admitted.
"Why?" Madame Pomfrey asked and Harry looked over at her, though she continued to be bent over his arms, examining it still.
"Because I was 'the boy who lived,'" he explained and when he heard her make a sound of confusion, continued.
"I knew nothing about magic, until Hagrid came to get me when I turned eleven. Then, I'm thrust into the limelight in a world that seemed to enjoy idolising AND villainising me and it was just fucking difficult sometimes, okay." to his embarrassment, his voice broke on the last word and sounded more like a sob and he drew his knees up to his chest, attempting to pull his arms back as well, but neither arms were released.
"These need to be cleaned and bandaged, Mr Potter," Madame Pomfrey told Harry and used her wand to accio several potions. Harry stared resolutely at the wall behind her and forced himself to ignore what the medi-witch was doing.
What felt like days later to his exhaustion, Madam Pomfrey finished bandaging his second arm and he was finally free to clutch the blanket to his chest. He stared wordlessly at the two adults, who seemed to be having a silent conversation of their own and finally Madame Pomfrey sighed and raised her wand.
"I'm going to cast a spell that will record your height, weight and blood pressure." she told him and before he could protest, several numbers appeared above his bed, two glowing an uneasy red colour.
"You are severely underweight for your age and height, Harry, and your blood pressure is concerning." The medi-witch told Harry and he once again shrugged his shoulders. She frowned and picked up one of the vials before handing it to Harry.
"It is a blood replenishing potion," she told him when he looked at her inquisitively.
"I don't need it," he grumbled out and tried to hand it back.
"The results of your blood pressure scan, as well as the numerous evidence of your self-indulged blood-letting speak otherwise, Mr Potter, now drink," Snape drawled from where he once again sat beside the bed.
Harry scowled but pulled the stopper out and drank the potion. Madame Pomfrey picked up another vial and offered that to Harry who once again accepted it but simply frowned at its unfamiliar contents.
"A nutrient potion" she explained and rather than argue, he pulled its stopper and drank it down as well.
"Before we address the obvious issue of your self-harm addiction, I would like to address your weight, Mr Potter," the medi-witch looked at Harry, "are you starving yourself as an additional form of self-harm, or is it a separate issue of its own?"
"What!" Harry startled. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean," he shouted.
"Detention, Mr Potter, for your continued use of unnecessary, uncouth language." Snape interrupted and Harry turned to frown at him before turning back to the medi-witch.
"I'm not starving myself!" he told her. "I just..." he stopped, unable to continue.
"Just what, Mr Potter?" Madame Pomfrey pushed and Harry searched for an answer that didn't begin with 'my relatives starve me all the time and now food is too much for me.'
"The nightmares..." he stopped again and swallowed deeply whilst Madame Pomfrey waited patiently. "The nightmares make me physically ill sometimes, and then I'm just not hungry the next day." he finally explained and both adults in the room frowned.
"I am sorry I cannot give you any dreamless sleep, Harry, but is the dream aid potion not working at all?" she questioned and Harry shook his head.
"In that case, I think it may be necessary to bring in some outside help." she told Harry and he sat up straighter to stare at her with wide eyes.
"What do you mean, outside help?" he asked
"I mean a mind healer, Mr Potter, someone in who you can confide your dreams and work through the issues you are experiencing."
"No," Harry shouted and tried to climb from the bed, but Professor Snape put out his arm and pushed him back down forcefully, so Harry tried another tactic.
"You can't bring in some quack!" he exclaimed, "do you have any idea how much crap I'll get from the assholes at this school If they find out I'm mental?"
"Mr Potter," Snape warned again and Harry bit down on his tongue again to keep the profanities from spewing out.
"I think it may be the best way to help you, Harry," Madame Pomfrey repeated, "but I will not make the decision without involving the headmaster."
Harry grimaced at the idea of once again having to face Dumbledore, but didn't say anything, completely done with the whole experience.
"Until then, you will be expected to report to either myself or Professor Snape for a visual confirmation that you have ceased these...activities...and you are on a strict recommendation to not miss any more meals. If you are experiencing nausea, you may request a stomach soother, or appetite stimulant again from myself or Professor Snape. However, if your weight does not improve, or worsens, we will have to come to some more drastic measures of ensuring you are getting the nutrients your body requires to function."
Harry just nodded his head and resisted the urge to pull the blanket up and over his face to block out everything.
"I think it best that you remain here for the night," Madame Pomfrey explained and then excused herself to her office, no doubt to set several wards to make sure Harry behaved himself.
"I can't stay here," Harry turned to Snape pleadingly. "All the boys in the dorm will wonder where I've gone. Gryffindor were used to me disappearing all the time!"
"You may tell those who ask why you were absent whatever you wish, but know they are in Slytherin for a reason and cunning and clever." Professor Snape told Harry and stood up, pushing his chair back to where he had gotten it.
"I expect to see you in the great hall for breakfast, Mr Potter, and although it is Sunday, I also expect you in my office at seven for your detention."
"Whatever," Harry mumbled and finally giving in to the urge, he lay down and pulled the blanket completely over his head. He was finally left in silence, although his thoughts raged loudly in his head. He had succeeded in hiding the abuse and many more cuts and scars littering his legs, but to what endgame? They still knew that he self-harmed and, although they didn't know the origins, his issues with food.
Finally exhausted he managed to slip into a light doze, that may not have contained nightmares but were still full of restless movement and mumbled words of discontent.