Harry was curled up in a window alcove on the fifth floor, his head buried in his knees, when he was found. He had surveyed his reflection in the light of the setting sun, using the window as his mirror. After an hour or so, it was easy to see the deep bruise Rogers' hand had left on his throat, and the bruising and swelling around his right eye. The man's hard knuckles had split his cheek open, but it had only bled a little. His temple was worse; he had a trail of blood down the left side of his face, his collar was fairly soaked (though he wasn't sure the back of his head hadn't bled some), and there was still fresh blood slowly oozing out of the wound.

Footsteps echoed down the dark, empty corridor behind him. Harry didn't even have to look around to see who it was. He knew the click of those heels and the swish of the billowing robe.

"It's a little early for your rounds, Professor."

"Potter, what are you doing here? I thought you were with Miss Granger." Snape answered, coming to a stop a few feet down the corridor.

"Why would you think that?"

"Neither of you were at dinner, I had assumed you were enjoying the holiday together," Snape explained. "Considering the day, and your age, I was willing to let your absence slide. Did you have a lovers tiff?"

Harry shook his head against his knees. "No, Hermione and I aren't…together. She wasn't at dinner because she and Ron had a date tonight. It's their first Valentine's as a couple, they wanted to make it special."

Snape took a couple steps forward, closer to Harry, and the Gryffindor turned away, shifting around to face the window. "Potter, what's the matter?" There was suspicion in his tone and Harry cringed, refusing to turn. The Potions Master took another step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." Harry murmured, pulling away from the touch.

The hand returned. "Potter, look at me." The Gryffindor didn't move. "Look at me." Snape repeated sternly.

Harry sighed. He had to tell someone. Lowering his knees, he turned and raised his face to look at the Potions Master. "Dobby was wrong."

Snape gasped as he took in Harry's face. He sat on the window ledge beside the Gryffindor's legs and started to examine his face closely, paying close attention to the still bleeding wound on the left side of his head. "What are you talking about, Potter, what happened?" The man demanded.

"Your gift," Harry said, diverting his eyes from Snape's as the man drew his wand. "Dobby was with me at Christmas. I wasn't sure when I would ever use the potion you gave me, and Dobby said I'd know when it was time." He looked back into the worried black gaze. "I should have used it today, maybe then this wouldn't have happened."

"What happened?" Snape demanded again. He started casting spells on Harry's temple to stem the blood flow.

"I should have listened to you," Harry sobbed. "Rogers asked me to come to his office before dinner, and when I showed up he-" He broke off, looking away.

The Potions Master pulled back. "He what?" The older wizard growled.

Harry swallowed another sob and took a deep breath to calm himself. When he was sure he wasn't going to start crying, he spoke in a laden monotone. "He said it was time to repay my debt to him, for all the time he's spent working with me. He-he wanted me to repay him…sexually. When I refused, he did this to me."

Snape stood violently. "Where is he?!"

Harry drew his knees back up to his chest. "I dunno. Last I saw, he was knocked out on his office floor. I sort of…blew up, or at least my magic did. He was thrown against the wall and I just…ran." He stared at his knees. "I just ran away like a coward."

"You're not a coward, Harry," Snape told him firmly. It was the first time he had ever used Harry's first name, and it made the younger wizard look up at him in surprise. "You did what anyone else would do. The only thing you should have done differently was tell someone what happened immediately."

Harry shook his head. "I…I didn't know what to say. I attacked a teacher."

"You defended yourself, no one will blame you for that," Snape insisted. He looked away, down the corridor. "Get yourself to the infirmary, Harry, and tell the Matron to expect another patient soon. Then tell her you need to speak with the Headmaster. I will join you there shortly."

"What are you gonna do?" Harry asked meekly.

Snape turned back to him with a dark, hard look in his eye that scared the Gryffindor. "It's called plausible deniability, Potter. Go. I will come to check on you once I have completed my business with Professor Rogers."

Without waiting for a response, the man started down the corridor at a fast, angry pace. Harry watched him go and felt a twinge of sympathy for Rogers. Snape was a former Death Eater, and, spy or not, there were certain expectations of Voldemort's followers; there were literally thousands of ways to hurt someone magically without leaving a mark, and Harry had no doubt that Snape knew them all. From the look in his eye, it wasn't a question of whether he would utilize that knowledge, it was a question of which methods he would use.

SSHP

It was an hour later when Snape showed up in the Hospital Wing with Rogers. The Defense Master was gagged, his wrists bound. The only visible damage was a head wound that mirrored Harry's own, most likely from being thrown against the wall, but he was clearly cowering away from Snape, who had a sadistic sneer. The Potions Master pushed the bastard into the Hospital Wing and forced him onto one of the beds by the door, binding him to it with magical ropes.

"Poppy, this man needs medical attention," Snape called. "And…give him something for his nerves."

Pomfrey looked over from where she was still examining Harry's freshly healed head. She frowned, but summoned several potions, including one Harry recognized as a cure for the after-effects of the Cruciatus. Harry feigned innocence when the hospital matron glanced at him before she bustled down the room to where Rogers was struggling to free himself from his bindings.

When she got there, she removed his gag. He immediately started screaming.

"Get that Death Eater away from me! Get him away! That bastard tor-" He stopped mid-sentence when a stupefying spell from Pomfrey's wand hit him, knocking him out.

The matron moved up to the man's bedside with her armful of potions and Snape moved away towards where Harry sat at the far end of the room. He came to a stop in front of the younger wizard sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Harry stared up at him.

"How do you feel?"

Harry chuffed a laugh. "Like an idiot."

"Potter…" Snape growled.

"Not what you meant," Harry said, nodding. He looked at his hands in his lap. "I've got a pretty bad concussion, apparently, but Madame Pomfrey says I'll live. She's keeping me overnight for observation. The bruises will take a few days to heal." He looked up with a hesitant smile. "I guess potions can't fix everything."

The Potions Master grimaced, reaching out to run his fingers along Harry's exposed throat, where the worst of the bruises lay. "No, unfortunately they cannot. Where is the Headmaster?"

Harry shivered at the warm touch of Snape's fingers gliding over his throat. He felt a tremor of desire course through his body, followed by a wave of disgust with himself. He pulled away from the touch, and Snape yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned.

"The Headmaster has gone to get some Aurors," Harry answered, looking away from the veiled hurt in Snape's eyes. "He'll probably be back in a few minutes." He looked up through his fringe. "How soon do you think until the whole school knows what happened?"

"We'll do everything we can to keep that from happening, Potter."

Harry scoffed. "I think the last seven years are proof enough that, no matter what you do, it'll be in the papers within the next few days." He raised his head proudly. "Don't worry, Professor, it doesn't bother me anymore…people talking. I've got my friends…and my work with you. I-I'll be okay." Snape looked at him doubtfully, and Harry forced a smile. "Promise."

"Potter, you don't-"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, walking up. "How are you feeling?"

The Gryffindor sighed. "No different than before you left, Professor Dumbledore." He answered, looking away from the Potions Master. "What'll happen to Rogers?"

Dumbledore looked back down the room to watch as two Aurors read the freshly revived Defense Master his rights. "Don't worry about that, Harry. He'll be locked away, that's what matters."

One of the Aurors broke off and moved their way. Harry realized it was Kingsley.

"We don't have to worry about whether or not he'll talk," The tall black wizard said softly, coming to a stop beside the Headmaster at the end of the bed. "He won't shut up. Keeps saying something about Severus, too."

Harry looked at the man in concern. "Professor Snape isn't in trouble, is he? He was just defending me."

Kingsley smirked, looking over his shoulder. "I can't see that it has anything to do with the investigation. As far as I'm concerned, Severus found that asshole unconscious on his office floor and brought him here for medical attention. Anything that happened in-between is heresay." He looked at Harry, who smiled. "Don't worry, Potter, we've got enough to use Veritaserum. You won't have to testify or anything."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thanks…that's really great." The Auror started to move away, but Harry stopped him when he remembered something. "Wait! I-I don't think I'm the first."

Kingsley frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's something he said…" Harry said softly, closing his eyes as images of what happened flashed across his mind. "He told me to relax, that I'd enjoy it. He-he said 'they always do'."

All three men standing over him looked sharply in the direction of the Defense Master. Both Kingsley and the Headmaster took off down the aisle between the beds, towards where Kingsley's partner was guiding a bound Rogers out of the Wing. Snape remained at Harry's side.

"Potter."

Harry looked at the Potions Master, putting his fake smile back on. "Yes, Sir?"

"Stop that."

Harry let his smile fall into an innocent frown. "Stop what, Professor?"

Snape sat on the bed beside him. "Stop pretending like you're all right." He commanded softly. "You don't have to act like this doesn't affect you. It does, and it is not a sign of strength to just bottle everything up."

"Right," Harry murmured, looking at his hands in his lap. "You're only supposed to bottle fame."

Sharp fingers on his chin gently urged him to look up and around at the Potions Master. He did, staring sadly into the sympathetic black gaze. The fingers slid across his cheek and into his hair.

"Potter, please, let me help you."

Harry only stared back defiantly, but that gaze remained steady and he could feel his resolve crumbling. Unwanted tears began to sting at Harry's eyes, but he blinked them away. He battled internally, his instinct to hide his weakness warring with the desire to collapse into the man's arms and weep like a child. Snape decided the battle for him by pulling him forward by the back of his head and holding him against his chest. Harry let his tears fall, clinging to the black robes as sobs silently forced their way out of his bruised throat. Snape just held him, his other arm wrapping comfortingly around Harry's back.