Severus sipped at his coffee, black and bitter the way he liked it, and watched the goings on at the house tables. His eyes fell on Malfoy, arm still bound in a ridiculous sling, and he suppressed a scowl. Poppy had personally assured both him and Lucius that there nothing wrong with Draco's arm mere minutes after she'd healed the cut with a wave of her wand. Yet here they were, two weeks later, and the ridiculous boy still had it wrapped in bandages every morning.

Severus rolled his eyes and continued to scan his house table, paying particular attention to the first years. He couldn't help but feel smug when he compared the polite and well-mannered students at his table to Minerva's house, where the ruffians were shouting and rough-housing as they wolfed down their food. His eyes fell on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who for some reason appeared to have decided to eat breakfast without even showering first and now sat covered in mud and dripping water onto the flagstone floor. The red-haired menaces were making a particular racket, re-enacting some moment from their practice and waving their hands around like buffoons to articulate their point.

Beside the twins sat the youngest member of the team, who was sitting there, nose fully healed and eyes more animated than they had been in weeks, chattering away with Granger and Weasley.

The boy was even eating, Severus noted with a feeling akin to relief. He wondered briefly if Poppy had said something to him about his eating habits. He certainly wouldn't put it past her to threaten to ban the boy from Quidditch for medical reasons if she thought he wasn't eating properly.

He glanced along the staff table, noticing with surprise that Poppy wasn't occupying her normal seat. Shrugging the thought off, he made a mental note to ask her about Potter later, and reached to refill his coffee.

"Potter looks brighter," Minerva commented. Severus recognised the same hint of relief in her eyes.

He inclined his head in agreement, still maintaining an air of indifference to the whole situation.

"I've assigned him and Malfoy detention with Mr Filch all day during the Hogsmeade weekend next month. I can hardly assign him more evening detentions, given he's with you every night for the next four weeks, and this way both of them will be forced to watch their classmates go off and have fun while they have to complete whatever menial task Mr Filch has planned for them," she said.

Severus nodded in approval, though he wondered briefly whether he ought to advise her to keep the two boys apart. Then again, he supposed that was the whole point: to make Potter and Malfoy co-exist peacefully when trapped in a room together. He scoffed to himself. It was more likely that Longbottom would win Potions Weekly's prestigious Potioneer of the Year award than that Potter and Malfoy could get on for an afternoon.

Nevertheless, he declined to make any further comment. Mainly because he wouldn't have to be the one forced to supervise that debacle. Taking another sip of coffee, he banished all thoughts of Potter from his mind and finished his breakfast in peace

"How was practice?" Hermione asked as Harry dropped down into the seat beside her, soaking wet and covered from head to toe in mud.

"I swear Wood's trying to kill us," Harry grumbled, allowing Hermione to pile food onto his plate without complaint. "He had us practising sloth rolls, which are tricky enough when it isn't pouring with rain. I think I spent longer on the ground than I did on my broom."

He'd landed on his injured leg one time, and the resulting shooting pains which ran from his toes all the way up to his thigh had been agonising. Harry had sat there shell-shocked and unable to move, and it was only Katie's concerned offer to take him to the Hospital Wing that forced him back onto his broom.

He didn't tell Hermione any of this, but instead let her sigh and mutter 'boys' reprovingly before asking, "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

"You mean besides Hermione reading out the final paragraph from her essay on Switching Spells a dozen times, just to check it made sense?" Ron replied, stuffing another rasher of bacon into his mouth.

Hermione glowered at him. Ron was now hunched over, frantically scribbling down a conclusion to his own essay and using his other hand to mechanically shovel eggs into his mouth with a spoon. "You might find it useful too, if you ever actually finished an essay ahead of time."

Harry grinned at them and leant back, the sound of their squabbling lightening his mood. He felt like the weight of the world had been lifted temporarily from his shoulders, for flying always gave him a sense of peace and freedom. Even better, Wood had accepted that Harry didn't want to go to Pomfrey and risk a detention for fighting in the corridors, and healed his nose without asking any questions.

Even so, Harry picked at his breakfast. His appetite had not returned despite his good mood.

"You in, Harry?" Ron asked, snapping him back to reality.

"Yeah sure," Harry said, and then added as an afterthought, "For what?"

"Quidditch this evening. Dean and Seamus have agreed to play us two on two, and I bet we could get some of the Ravenclaws to join in a pick-up game."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, and then groaned. "I've got detention with Snape this evening. And I bet he'll keep me till right before curfew again."

Ron glared up at the head table, muttering under his breath about the greasy git, while Hermione turned to Harry and asked, "For blowing up your potion yesterday?"

"I uh … kind of … hit Malfoy," Harry admitted quietly, preparing himself for Hermione's exclamation of horror.

"The prat deserved it," Ron said, leaping to Harry's defence before Hermione had a chance to speak, "Didn't you see him chucking that thing into Harry's cauldron yesterday?"

"That thing was shrivelfig, which you'd know if you ever did the reading Snape assigns," Hermione lectured imperiously, before turning her attention back to Harry. "What were you thinking?"

'I lost my temper. It's not like I just walked up to Malfoy and attacked him,' Harry said defensively. He scowled bitterly, "Although it might as well be for Snape."

"The greasy git caught you punching Malfoy and you're still alive to tell the tale?" Ron exclaimed, "Did you hex him?"

"I'm barely still alive. The lousy bat gave me detention every night for the rest of the month." Harry grinned at the look of indignation on Ron's face, feeling a burst of warmth for his best friend, who began rather vigorously listing off everything he hated about Snape.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the pair of them, listening to Ron's animated rant for a couple of minutes before saying to Harry, "You'd better go and shower now, if you're planning to do so before Charms."

Harry glanced at his watch, surprised to find they only had fifteen minutes left till lessons began. He rose quickly, turning slightly away so as to hide the look of pain that crossed his face. His leg was on fire after his Quidditch practice, and he worried that he wouldn't even make it to Gryffindor tower, let alone around the castle for the rest of the day.

Doing his best to hide his limp, he grinned goodbye to his friends, promised to meet them at charms, and slowly made his way back to the common room.

Severus climbed the spiral staircase and knock three times in quick succession on the door. A summons from Dumbledore had landed on his desk as the bell rang to end his first class of the day, inviting him to meet at his earliest convenience. He scowled to himself, knowing that Dumbledore had deliberately sent a letter right before the beginning of his free period to deny him any opportunity to delay their meeting.

Inclining his head respectfully at the headmaster, Severus settled himself down in the too-comfy armchair in front of Albus' desk, purposefully ignoring the portraits of former headmistresses and headmasters who peered out at him from the walls.

"You asked to see me?" he said, cutting straight to the point without bothering with pleasantries.

Albus smiled at him, his blue eyes twinkling, before his expression turned grave. "Poppy had to take an unexpected leave of absence earlier this morning," he said. "St. Mungo's has agreed to send a temporary nurse, but she won't arrive until Monday."

"I fail to see how this involves me," said Severus icily. But his heart sank. He knew exactly where Dumbledore was going.

"Severus, my dear boy, I have thoroughly exhausted every other resource. Believe me, I would not ask this of you were there any other choice."

Severus restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Just barely. How many possible resources could Albus have exhausted, in less than an hour? He scowled resentfully, for the first time regretting that a qualification in healing was required to become a Potions Master.

"Please, Severus," Albus begged, turning the full force of his twinkling blue eyes on him, "All I'm asking is for you to manage to the Hospital Wing for the next three days. You're the only member of staff qualified to take on the roll. You can do your marking in Poppy's office, and there's a chance you won't even be disturbed."

Severus grimaced, trying to think of a single good reason to refuse, though he knew his protests would be futile and that his agreement was merely a formality. Still, that did not mean he had to like it.

He glared begrudgingly at Albus. "Fine. What exactly does this job require from me?"

He didn't bother to hide his displeasure as leant back slightly in his chair, listening attentively as Albus started running through exactly what he'd need to do for the next three days.

Harry limped slowly through the grounds, glad that Ron and Hermione were too busy to join him. It was agonising forcing himself to walk normally in their company.

It had become clear over the past week that his leg wasn't going to heal on its own, but Harry had already carefully devised a plan. He'd wait another two or three weeks, until his bruises had completely healed. Then he'd go to Madam Pomfrey and claim to have fallen off his broom. Provided there was nothing else obviously wrong with him, he was sure she wouldn't look further into it than that.

Nodding to himself, Harry approached the small wooden hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He smiled at the sight of smoke wafting out of the chimney.

He didn't need to knock on the door, for he was greeted by booming barks from Fang, who leapt up as he entered the room and slobbered all over Harry's face. Harry grinned, pushing the dog's face away from his and patting his head instead.

"Harry," roared Hagrid in delight, "Why, I haven't seen yeh outside o' class since last summer. How've yeh been?"

Harry smiled openly and settled down at the table. He petted Fang's head as he chattered away to Hagrid, complaining about the workload and Quidditch practice and assuring him that he really did enjoy Care of Magical Creatures, even if all they did was feed flobberworms.

"It's definitely my favourite elective," Harry promised Hagrid, neglecting to mention that the only other contender was Divination, where Trelawney predicted his tragic future every lesson, complete with warnings about the Grim. "Probably my favourite subject as well, though I like Defence too. Lupin's definitely the best professor we've had, and we had an absolutely wicked lesson the other week about Boggarts." Harry laughed as he told Hagrid the tale of boggart-Snape staggering out of the cupboard wearing a hat adorned with a stuff vulture.

"I 'eard all about that in the staffroom. Professor Snape was furious. 'Course, Snape and Lupin have a history. They always used ter be at each other's throats."

"Really?" asked Harry in surprise. He couldn't imagine mild-mannered Professor Lupin being at anyone's throat, even Snape.

"Well o' course. Lupin an' yer Father-," he cut himself off suddenly. "I shouldn't have said that. Forget I said anything"

Harry was about to press further, wanting desperately to find out how Professor Lupin had known his father. He knew Hagrid would cave and tell him the full story if he kept asking, and he had just opened his mouth to do so when he caught sight of the clock that hung over the mantelpiece of the clock.

He swore loudly, and frantically scrambled to pack up his bag. "Sorry Hagrid! I have to run. I've got detention with Snape in ten minutes."

Hagrid nodded sympathetically and stood to open the door for him, pulling Fang back when he jumped up to lick Harry goodbye.

"Bye," Harry called as he raced out the door, "I'll try come by again this weekend."

Harry didn't hear Hagrid's response, for he was already racing up the path back to Hogwarts, his leg erupting in fire at every step.

Harry skidded to a halt outside of Snape's office, panting. His leg was agonising, and he pressed his eyes shut to stop the tears from leaking out, trying to focus his mind on anything else. He took a few moments to breathe deeply and compose himself, before finally lifting his hand to knock on the door.

As he did so, his stomach grumbled loudly. It occurred to Harry that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, having skipped lunch in favour of working on the Transfiguration essay he'd neglected to do the previous evening. He'd meant to eat dinner after visiting Hagrid, but he'd lost track of time while chattering away in the comfort of the warm hut. Hagrid had served him food, of course, but Harry had been surreptitiously slipping the rock cakes into his pockets for the duration of his visit, knowing that even a single bite could risk breaking a tooth but unwilling to hurt Hagrid's feelings by ignoring them entirely.

Hoping he'd find an old chocolate frog hidden somewhere in his trunk later that evening, he pushed thoughts of his stomach away and entered the classroom.

Snape glowered at him, clearly in a foul mood. Without a word, he gestured for Harry to get to work disembowelling the barrel of horned toads which had been set up at the workstation closest to his desk.

Harry did so, relieved he didn't have to sit through another lecture from Snape.

He worked away quietly and diligently, more than hour passing without any noise bar the scratching of Snape's quill and the thud of Harry's knife hitting the chopping board. Just as it seemed the evening might pass without incident, Harry accidentally knocked his sharp silver knife off the table while reaching for another horned toad. He bent to pick it up.

Suddenly, Harry was struck by a powerful wave of dizziness. He grabbed desperately at the side of the desk to stop himself from falling, but failed, his glasses falling off as he staggered to the ground with a groan. He fumbled awkwardly for them, another groan emitting from his lips as he shoved them back onto his face and found his sight still remained fuzzy. He sat slumped on the ground and leant against legs on the desk, his muscles trembling. Through blurred vision, he could just make out a dark figure looming towards him.

Harry flinched away and raised his hand slightly to protect his face. The room spun around him. He felt a vial press against his lips and he swallowed on instinct. A foul-tasting liquid filled his mouth and he screwed up his eyes in disgust, momentarily blocking out the spinning world. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he registered two cool fingers against the side of his neck. He squirmed away.

"Potter, stay still," barked an icy voice, although it sounded almost … worried.

Harry opened his eyes, glad to find the room veering back into focus. His cheeks flooded with heat and he made to stand – but his movement was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to remain on the ground.

"Don't move," Snape ordered, keeping his fingers pressed against Harry's neck.

"I'm fine," Harry protested.

"You're clammy and pale and your pulse is racing," Snape observed coldly. "You are not fine."

Waving his wand, Snape transfigured the hard stool into a comfortable armchair. He slowly helped Harry to his feet and guided him gently into the newly altered chair.

Harry sat there, mortified, as Snape stalked over to the cabinet on the far side of the room and gathered a number of glass vials.

"Drink," Snape demanded on his return to Harry's side.

Harry reached out to take the vial, only to find his hands were still trembling violently. He felt weak and shaky. He knew he must look as awful as he felt, for Snape held the potion carefully against his lips, making sure Harry swallowed every last drop of before banishing the empty vial back into the cupboard.

Harry leant back into the chair, wanting nothing more than to sink through the floor, out of sight from Snape's gaze. Snape summoned a stool and sat down opposite him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Severus stared at the boy in front of him, cursing Poppy's absence. Of all the nights Potter could've chosen to collapse dramatically, why did it have to be when Poppy wasn't there to deal with it?

Leaning forwards, he pressed his hand gently against Potter's forehead, ignoring his feeble attempts to move away. He was relieved to find no sign of a temperature. The boy was clammy to touch though, and a sheen of sweat covered his face even in the cool air of the dungeon.

"Does this happen often?" Severus asked, breaking the silence of the room. Colour flooded Potter's cheeks.

"No sir."

Severus rolled his eyes as Potter tried to shake his head, only to sink back in the chair unsteadily. Imbecile.

"Have you been feeling under the weather today?" Severus queried, hoping desperately that he didn't have a sick Potter on his hands. Especially when he was in charge of the Hospital Wing.

"No sir," Potter repeated.

Severus paused, considering the information. Potter had seemed fine at breakfast; Severus had observed him chatting away to Granger and Weasley, not to mention storming in with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And at lunch… Come to think of it, Severus hadn't seen Potter at lunch. Or at dinner for that matter. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of meals he'd seen Potter attend over the past week.

Waving his wand delicately, he muttered the incantation to determine Potter's blood sugar levels, and was unsurprised to find his hunch was correct. A second spell clearly showed Potter to be a good two stone outside of what would be considered a normal range for a boy his age. Frowning, Severus summoned one of the elves from the kitchen, who reappeared seconds later with a platter of sandwiches, cut-up fruit, and a variety of biscuits.

"Eat," he ordered, summoning a table to rest next to Potter's arm. He watched as the boy bit into a sandwich, wishing for the thousandth time that he could just hand the boy over to Poppy and be done with it.

Instead, he waited for the boy to consume a couple of sandwiches and several slices of apple before accusing, "You haven't been eating properly."

Potter flinched but didn't respond, staring down at the biscuit in his hand as though hoping it held the solution to all the questions of the universe.

"Why weren't you at lunch today?" Severus tried again, determined to get a straight answer out of the boy.

"I was working on an essay."

"And yesterday?"

The boy glowered at him defiantly, and Severus had no doubt that the absence had had to do with his fight with Malfoy. "I wasn't hungry," Potter said flatly.

Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling, silently begging every deity in existence for strength. Forcing himself to keep his voice even, despite the irritation which was beginning to bubble up inside of him, he asked cooly, "are you aware, Mr Potter, that the human body needs food to function properly?"

"I eat enough," Potter argued back.

Severus laughed darkly. "The information here suggests you hardly eat enough to survive." He gestured to the piece of parchment on which Potter's blood sugar levels and other vital information had been recorded. "But I'll be sure to inform Madam Pomfrey of your professional opinion on the matter before you go to see her."

Potter gaped at him, looking stunned, before spluttering, "Pardon?"

"Madam Pomfrey is currently occupied, but rest assured, she'll give you a full check-up when she has finished."

"I'm fine," Potter insisted, "I don't need to go to the hospital wing."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, willing himself not to lose his temper at the idiocy of the insolent brat. "You collapsed in my classroom from malnutrition, Potter. You cannot possibly believe that you don't need to see Madam Pomfrey to talk about your eating habits."

Potter opened his mouth to argue again, but Severus interjected before he could. "Do not try to debate with me, Mr Potter. My patience is wearing thin. As soon as Madam Pomfrey returns-,"

"She's not here?" Potter interjected, wincing as he saw the venomous look on the Professor's face. "Sorry," he whispered.

Severus nodded in recognition of the boy's apology, and continued on as though he'd never been interrupted. "When Madam Pomfrey returns next week, you can discuss the matter with her."

He stopped speaking, assessing Potter carefully. The boy's colour had returned and, if his insolence was any indication, the dizziness and confusion seemed to have passed. Casting another diagnostic spell, Severus tried to determine whether it was safe to allow Potter to return to the dorms that evening, or if he'd be forced to monitor him in the Hospital Wing.

He summoned a nutrients potion from the open cupboard and passed it over to Potter, raising an eyebrow at the brat's hesitation. Clearly sensing the professor's impatience, Potter downed the potion in one, putting the empty vial on the table beside him.

Once the boy had washed the taste of potion out of his mouth with a glass of water, he took hold of Potter's arm and began to push his sleeve up, intending to take his pulse again. But he paused, his eyebrows climbing up his brow as he noticed that bruising littered the boy's arms. He hadn't spotted it early, too caught up in the panic of Potter collapsing to the ground without any warning. The bruises were yellowing and faded, Severus noted. He knew then that this was no Quidditch injury.

"What happened to your arms?" he asked.

Potter froze, flushing scarlet. Then his eyes began to dart around the room wildly, liked a caged animal. After a long, awkward moment, he said, "I got in a fight. With my cousin."

Severus knew in an instant that the boy was lying. He was about to call him out on it, when he noticed the mulish expression on Potter's face. He recognised that expression all too well, and knew from the way Potter's jaw was set that he'd get no more out of him that night. He sighed wearily.

"Can you stand?"

The boy nodded uncertainly, as though expecting some sort of trick, but he rose to his feet. He failed to suppress a wince as he did so.

Severus didn't comment, hoping desperately that Poppy came back soon and could deal with the brat. He knew deep within him that the malnutrition was just the tip of the iceberg.

Allowing the boy a moment to regain composure, he scribbled a note to Minerva asking her to meet him in his office in ten minutes and called for a house-elf to deliver it.

He flicked his wand lazily at the door, turning to Potter as it swung open. "Shall we?" he drawled, gesturing towards the corridor.

Potter's eyes flicked to the exit and back. "I don't need you to walk me back to the common room. I'm fine."

Severus rolled his eyes, glaring at the ashen-faced boy, and strode out of the classroom without a word. He watched Potter out of the corner of his eye as he waited for him at the end of the corridor, taking note of his stiff posture and obvious limp.

Poppy really couldn't come back soon enough.

Severus strode down the familiar passageway to his office fifteen minutes later, having deposited the brat outside his common room with strict instructions to go straight to bed.

He muttered 'wolfsbane' as his office door. It creaked open, revealing Minerva in a warm tartan robe, hair slightly falling out of her normally impeccable bun. She raised an eyebrow at him in unspoken question as he entered.

"You'd better take a seat," he said wearily. "It's Potter."