Severus deposited Potter on one of the beds with strict instructions not to move an inch unless he wanted to spent every weekend until Christmas in the company of Filch, before knocking with a single sharp tap on the Matron's office door.
"I've brought Potter," he announced without preamble. "He was reluctant to come so I thought it best to escort him here myself."
"Thank you, Severus," Poppy said tiredly, rising from behind her desk. She withdrew her hawthorn wand from one of her many pockets and with a flick of her wand ascertained that the one-way silencing spell on her office door was active.
"Is there something you need before I return to my quarters?" Severus asked tersely, recognising the spell she'd cast.
She seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Exams of this nature require a witness," she began delicately. "Someone with the requisite qualifications and who can be trusted to keep silent on anything revealed." She sighed wearily at the confusion evident on his face. "I'm asking you to be the witness to Potter's examination."
"You've never required my presence before. Why can't Healer Dawson assist you as usual? I believe he's been doing so for fifteen years now."
Poppy looked as tired as he'd ever seen her, and Severus recognised the sympathy in her clear blue eyes.
"Like it or not, Harry Potter isn't just another student. Until your suspicions are proven, and even after, word of this cannot reach the general public or the poor boy's secrets will be splashed over the front page of every newspaper in the country. I'd hesitate to consult even the most discreet of my colleagues with this; the shock of the Boy Who Lived being investigated for abuse might be too much to ensure their silence."
"Dawson's under a binding confidentiality agreement when it comes to patients." Severus argued coldly.
"I trust Dawson," Poppy defended, "But he's duty bound to provide a written report of the examination and as much as I trust him, you cannot deny that there are people within the Healing profession who would gladly break their oath to sneak a glance at Harry Potter's casefile. And even those with enough decorum not to go to the press will not be able to contain their horror that The Boy Who Lived has been treated in such a manner." She paused for a moment, and then continued on in a softer voice, "I know you dislike for him to be treated as anything but a normal child but in this instant, there is simply no other option."
Severus exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't find a single fault in the argument she'd presented to him. It didn't matter that as far as he was concerned Potter was a third year Gryffindor with a penchant for mischief, to the rest of the country he was their saviour, a public figure whose personal life was fair game for every gossip rag to speculate about. Severus wouldn't wish that on a child, even if that child was an arrogant, attention-seeking clone of his childhood nemesis.
"Potter won't be pleased." He said at last.
Poppy smiled tightly at his unspoken consent. "No," she agreed, "He won't be."
Without any more fanfare, she pushed open the office door and walked slowly towards Potter, the clicking of her heels against the stone floor announcing her presence to the waiting boy.
Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, curling into himself with his back against the headboard of the bed.
He could feel light tremors running through his body and his breathing was quick and unsteady. The scent of Cleaning Fluids which clung to every surface of the room seemed to grow stronger by the second, cloying and all-consuming until Harry could hardly breathe.
He pressed his nails into his arms to centre himself, leaving little crescent marks behind, and focused on the anger which burned beneath his panic. Snape had no right to drag him here, to stare at him with prying eyes and demand he spill his secrets. Anger was an easier emotion than fear - he could control anger - and Harry could feel his breathing steadying as a furious rage built within him.
He was so sick of adults telling him what to do and demanding he listened as though their superior age granted them unquestionable wisdom. Fudge had done just that when he'd returned Harry to the Dursleys that summer, writing off Harry's complaints that they'd kill him as the petulant whining of a spoilt teenager. And then Fudge had left with a bumbling smile, as though the whole situation was nothing more than an amusing family anecdote to be told for years to come.
The door had hardly even closed before Vernon had knocked Harry to the ground and started beating the crap out of him.
And now Snape, who'd spent the last two years tormenting him at every turn, wanted to humiliated him further, just because he could. No doubt every Slytherin would know by morning that Harry Potter was too pathetic even to stand up to his muggle relatives. He could almost see Malfoy's lips curling in disdain at his weakness.
The tremors had returned, though Harry no longer knew if they were from anger or fear. He closed his eyes, running a shaking hand through his messy hair. He felt like a caged animal, every muscle in his body yearning for him to run, Snape's threats be damned, back to the safety of the Gryffindor common room.
His thoughts were interrupted by the gentle creaking of a door opening. Green eyes snapped open, catching sight of Madam Pomfey bustling out of her office towards him. Snape followed behind her, a look of consternation on his face, and stopped in front of Harry's bed, arms folded across his chest.
"Ah Mr Potter, thank you for waiting so patiently. Professor Snape informed me that you collapsed last week, and asked me to perform a full check-up to investigate any possible causes."
Harry said nothing. Instead he sat there, waiting for Snape to leave. The man had no business staying, not that he'd had any business dragging him to Pomfrey's clutches in the first place. He looked irritated too, his expression one Harry recognised from years of detention with the man.
"Why's he here?" Harry asked sullenly, not caring enough to be polite.
Snape glared at him but didn't move, staying fixed in his position at the foot of the bed, his body blocking Harry's view of the exit.
"I asked Professor Snape to assist with your examination," Madam Pomfrey replied simply, paying no heed to Harry's hostile tone. She smiled at him gently, withdrawing her wand from her apron and drawing the curtain around his bed, shielding the three of them from view. A second silent charm swapped Harry's clothing for a standard hospital gown. "Now Mr Potter, I'm going to start by measuring your height, weight and current magical usage."
A piece of parchment and a quill appeared in the air beside her, and the quill soon began to scribble away as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand several times in quick succession.
Harry noticed Snape shift slightly, the scowl on his face growing considerably as he read Pomfrey's notes.
"Alright, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning slightly, "I'd like you to lie down on the bed and I'll do a scan of your bones and any current injuries."
Harry lay back reluctantly, closing his eyes as he did so.
He felt a slight tingling coursing through his body. Once the feeling had faded, he opened his eyes, squinting slightly as they adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lights of the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey were reading the parchment carefully with pursed lips. When she caught sight of his gaze, she turned away from the parchment and back to him.
"You have a fractured femur," she informed him, "It's not healing properly since it was never set, and there appears to be damage to the blood vessels which is further slowing down the healing process."
Harry didn't bother to respond. He stared at the wall ahead, determinedly not making eye contact with the Matron.
"How did you injure your leg?" She asked softly after a momentary pause.
Harry flinched slightly at the question and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Swallowing quickly to rid himself of the metallic aftertaste of blood, he asked hurriedly, "Why does it matter?"
"In order to properly reset the bone, it is important that I'm aware of the nature of the injury," she responded calmly.
Harry shrugged, not offering up any more information. He stared mutely at the wall, wondering if his silent refusal would be enough to make them leave him alone.
Some hope of that.
"Well, Potter?" Snape barked when it became apparent Harry wasn't going to speak.
"I got in fight with my cousin." Harry repeated the lie he'd told a few days ago, not caring that Snape had called him out for his mendacity earlier that day. It was practically true anyway, though it had been less of a fight and more of a vicious, unprovoked assault.
"Potter-," Snape started in a low, dangerous voice.
"Sir," Harry gritted out coolly.
"I warned you earlier today about lying to me. If your word cannot be trusted, there are other ways for the truth to be revealed." Snape reached into his pocket and withdrew a vial filled with a bubbling violet substance. "This is a mild truth serum known as the Probing Potion, which will render you incapable of telling a lie. Do not force my hand."
Harry glowered at him. How dare Snape threatened him, when it was only for Snape that he'd been dragged here in the first place. Enough was enough, Harry decided, and he refused to stay for a minute longer.
Abruptly, Harry jumped down off the bed, wincing as a shock-wave of pain ran through his injured leg. Before he could move, however, Snape shifted slightly, his body now directly in front of Harry and blocking any path towards the exit.
"Sit down, Mr Potter," he hissed.
"No, I'm not doing this."
Snape raised an eyebrow in response, "No one is leaving this room until you've been given a full examination, Potter. Now sit down!"
Forcing his breathing to remain even, Harry shook his head once more.
"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, "I have a duty to all the students of Hogwarts to ensure they are of sound mind and body. I cannot let you leave until I've healed your injuries. Now please lie down on the bed."
Harry looked at the two of them and then at the exit. Snape, who must've been watching his line of sight, clamped one hand down on Harry's shoulder. "Bed. Now," he demanded.
There was no escape. Feeling utterly defeated and inexplicably tired, Harry lay back in the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away from his professors.
Madam Pomfrey leant over him, tapped his leg with her wand and muttered "Ferula." Bandages spun up Harry's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint.
"I don't want you moving it in any way until I've tended to it." She explained, casting several more spells as she did so. She looked at him for a moment, and Harry could see a flash of indecision in her eyes before she spoke again, in a calm and gentle manner. "I know you're scared Potter, but it is imperative I know the cause of the injury. Otherwise I'll be forced to seek outside help."
Harry froze, recognising the threat behind her word. An image flashed to the front of his mind of a newspaper reporting on his injury, revealing every excruciating detail to its readers. Lockhart had assured Harry several times that he'd made the front page with just a photo, let alone an expose on his home-life.
His breathing quickened again, as he struggled to get oxygen into his lungs. Black spots danced across his vision. He could feel his nails biting into the soft skin of his palms, slick with cold sweat, and forcibly unclenched his fists.
"Breathe, Potter," he heard Snape say from somewhere far away. Harry tried, but there was a hippogriff sitting atop his chest and it seemed impossible to draw any breath at all. Then he felt a vial being pressed against his lips, and calloused hands massaged against his throat. He flinched back at the touch, his body remembering Vernon's hands around his neck, but the hands stayed put, forcing him to swallow the strange liquid, which tasted of lavender and peppermint and…
"It's a calming draught," Snape explained in a placid tone. Since when did Snape speak placidly? Harry pondered that as he gulped down several deep breaths, feeling his heart rate slow until it no longer seemed to hammer away in his chest. He relaxed back onto the bed, his eyes feeling suddenly heavy and the world faded into black.
"That was an unmitigated disaster." Severus said once he and Poppy were safely inside her office, their conversation protected by privacy charms.
Poppy nodded absently in response, her attention fixed to the parchment before her. Laid out bare was a decade of mistreatment, a tale told through broken bones and concussions and Potter's absolute terror when questioned.
"How did we miss this?" She whispered. "All those times I've treated him for Quidditch injuries and I never noticed anything amiss."
Severus glanced at his own copy of the scan. When he'd discovered there might be something improper with Potter's home life, he'd envisioned neglect and contusions consistent with being pushed around a bit. He'd never once considered that there would be broken bones, concussions, and a litany of scars and other smaller injuries. At least most of them had healed, though Poppy's scans suggested that the bruises had only faded a couple of days ago. No doubt Potter's accidental magic was to thank for that, if his reaction to anyone finding out was anything to go by, Snape would bet his best cauldron that the boy's terror at him seeing his bruises had prompted a surge of healing magic.
A wave of fury swept through his body as he took in the extent of the abuse Potter had suffered. Lily had given her life for the boy, and no one had even cared to check he was safe. They had all failed her. Worse still, they had failed her son.
When Lily had died, he'd visited her grave with a bouquet – of marigolds and asphodels and poppies – in hand and an apology on his lips. But in end he'd set it alight and left a single dried white rose and a whispered promise that he'd do everything in his power to ensure her son survived. Mere weeks ago, when word of Black's escape reached him, Severus had returned to the graveyard and re-sworn his vow to protect her child from harm.
He had failed.
Wiping all thoughts of Lily from his mind, he refocused his attention on the sheets of parchment before him. There was no time to wallow in grief; right now, there was a child in need of treatment.
"What immediate treatment does he need?" Snape asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.
"He had a couple of broken ribs which are largely healed, but would benefit from the Wiggenweld Potion. There are lacerations on his back which will need to be treated with Scaradite for at least a couple of weeks. He'll need to take nutrients potions with every meal, and perhaps an appetite stimulant as well, until he's gained at least two stone. I'd also like to have his eyes properly checked – the prescription for his glasses is clearly inadequate and his magic has begun to compensate for this. And then there's his leg," she broke off, looking back down at the parchment, sorrow evident on her face.
Severus motion for her to continue, and after a moment she did so. "His femur is snapped in two places. Neither of the breaks are clean, and one of them has splintered in such a way as to cause damage to his blood vessels. Frankly, I can't see any option but to vanish the bone entirely and dose the boy with Skele-Gro. The rest of the damage to his body can be cleared up with a standard Healing Potion."
"And the emotional damage?" Severus asked.
Poppy looked as lost as Severus had ever seen her. "I don't know, Severus." She put her head in her hands for a moment, weariness clinging to her body and sorrow in her eyes. "I don't know."
They sat in silence, each reflecting on the grim tales the parchment told. Waiting for the small orb on Poppy's desk to light up, telling them that Potter had woken from his potions induced stupor.
"Do you think you'll be able to get him to answer any of your questions?" Severus broke the silence.
"I didn't realise his reaction would be quite so severe. It's better to let his injuries heal first, and then try to get the truth out of him. If it comes to it, we may need to consider giving him a mild truth serum, although I'd rather it didn't come to that."
Severus nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on the orb. "I'll need another copy of the scan to give to Albus." Not only as the Headmaster but as Potter's Magical Guardian; the only person who could change Potter's guardians without alerting the Ministry.
They lapsed back into silence. Each consumed by their own guilt for the boy sleeping in the main ward. Here, in the safety of the office, they could grapple with their emotions, for the moment the boy awoke nothing beyond strict professionalism would be acceptable.
The first thing Harry's half-conscious mind registered was the strange smell. Lemon and antiseptic and bleach stung his nostrils. Blearily, he opened his eyes to white walls and harsh fluorescent lights and a dull blue curtain which blocked out the rest of the room.
He blinked rapidly in confusion, trying to work out where he was. Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. Snape dragging him here, Pomfrey threatening him, a vial pressed against his lips as his lungs struggled to pull in any air.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry pressed his nails desperately into his palm, hoping beyond all belief that this was a nightmare. Maybe he'd wake up back in the Gryffindor dorms. At this point, he'd even take waking up back at Privet Drive over facing another inquisition from Pomfrey.
A chill spread through Harry from his spine to the tips of his fingers and toes.
They knew.
Harry had known that as soon as he saw the look in Snape's eyes, disgust mingled with pity as he saw how weak his nemesis' son really was. No doubt the whole world would know by the end of the evening. He didn't have any time to panic though, for the Matron's precise footsteps echoed against the stone floor as she made her way over to his bed.
Snapping his eyes shut, Harry rolled over onto his side, intending to feign sleep until she left him alone.
"Good afternoon, Mr Potter," Pomfrey said in a level tone, nixing Harry's plan. He cracked one eye open, unsurprised to find he could see little more than a fuzzy outline of the mediwitch. While he fumbled for his glasses and pushed them quickly onto his face, Pomfrey busied herself in modifying the splint around his leg, until it resembled a muggle cast. When she was satisfied with the result, she tapped it once and it vanished from view, only the weight on his leg reminding him of its presence.
Pomfrey must have registered his confusion, but she paid no heed to it, casting several more charms without a word.
Harry opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, but his half-formed question was abandoned as the dour Potion's Master strode briskly back into the room. His face looked as though it was carved from stone, and not a hint of emotion shone through his dark eyes.
"Drink this." He demanded when he reached Harry's bedside, passing him a vial filled with a thick sludgy blue liquid. Harry sniffed it and almost gagged.
"What is it?" He asked, holding the vial as though it might explode at any moment.
"I'm not surprised you don't recognise it. The appalling essay you handed into me at the beginning of this term made it quite clear how little research you'd done." Snape said contemptuously. Then, in a slightly more level tone, he continued, "It's the Wiggenweld Potion. I trust you remember its uses."
With a glare, Harry downed the potion in one. It tasted like damp hay and the way floo powder smelled. Without a word, Snape pushed a glass of water towards him and motioned for him to take a sip.
"And this one," Snape demanded once Harry had gulped down his water. This potion was a deep green and oozed down his throat, leaving a foul taste behind. A frothy pink potion followed, and then a yellow one which tasted like toothpaste and made the dull ache of his leg, already reduced from a raging inferno, vanish entirely.
"This is a Nutrients Potion," Snape explained, handing Harry a vial filled with a colourless liquid which smelt vaguely of fennel but had a surprisingly bitter aftertaste. "You'll need to take it with every meal for the foreseeable future, along with this one," he gestured to another of the potions lined up on the bedside table though he didn't elaborate further on what exactly the concoction was.
Once Harry had downed several more potions, Snape banished the empty vials with a flick of his wand and withdrew an ampule filled with another putrid mixture that Harry couldn't recognise in the slightest. He wondered for a moment if Hermione would know, before shutting that thought down as a wave of nausea swept through his body.
His friends couldn't find out about this. An image flashed through his mind of Hermione questioning him about the bruises on his arms and he remembered the look of horror in her eyes. Hermione would overreact and Ron would realise what a weak, pathetic coward he was and both would pity him as once they knew that he'd fought a basilisk and a Voldemort-possessed Quirrel but couldn't protect himself from Uncle Vernon.
Harry struggled to banish the thought from his mind, clenching his fists against his side. When he looked up, he caught sight of Snape's black eyes fixed on him, as though he was a potions ingredient and Snape was trying to decide whether to dice him up or just chuck him into the cauldron whole.
After a moment, Snape broke the silence, placing the half-filled ampule on Harry's bedside table. "This is a pain reliever that you can take up to three times a day. It must be consumed within two minutes of you breaking the seal or it won't be effective and could induce a range of nasty side-effects."
Harry nodded in understanding. Now that his job was done, Snape stepped back away from the bed, though he didn't leave, instead choosing to hover by the foot of the bed while Madam Pomfrey – who'd gone to check on McLaggen – bustled over again.
She launched into an explanation of Harry's injures and their treatment, her voice quiet even though the closed curtain activated silencing charms so powerful that Harry could have screamed at the top of his lungs and McLaggen, who was resting on the other side of the Hospital Wing, wouldn't have heard a thing.
Madam Pomfrey paused slightly in her lecture, and Harry hastily refocused, aware that his attention had slipped.
"The damage done to your femur is too substantial for me to fix this evening. I've healed it as best I can and bound it in a splint, but you'll need to come back first thing on Saturday morning so that it can be treated properly."
"But I have Quidditch practise on Saturday," Harry objected.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head gently. "I'm afraid you won't be able to play Quidditch for a few weeks, not until your injuries had fully healed and you've put on enough weight that we can be sure there's no risk for you of collapsing in the air."
"You're banning me from Quidditch! You can't do that. We have our first match of the season in a few weeks." Harry voice rose as he spoke, until he was almost shouting. Colour flooded to his cheeks and his breathing felt laboured.
"Watch you tone, Potter," Snape snarled, startling Harry who, in the heat of the moment, had almost forgotten the silent man's presence.
"Your first match isn't until November, that's still five and a half weeks away." Madam Pomfrey reminded him in a calm voice, utterly unaffected by his outburst. "If you take your potions and eat properly at every meal, you ought to be back on a broom by then."
"But-" Harry tried to argue further but he was silence by a stern gaze.
"Mr Potter, I understand your concern but it is my duty to keep you safe and healthy, and I will not be swayed by your petulant complaints. You are off Quidditch until such a time as I deem you able to play. I have granted you some leeway with your behaviour given the stressful nature of your visit today, but I won't hesitate to give you a detention if you continue to be disrespectful."
Harry looked down at the ground, conflicted with shame and a raw desperation to argue more. He needed to play Quidditch. Being on a broom was about the only thing that made him feel normal at the moment. But Madam Pomfrey's expression was stern and her tone final and Harry knew he would gain nothing from arguing further.
"M'sorry," he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the starched white bedsheets.
"I understand this is difficult for you, Mr Potter." She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking to the far window. "It's getting late. Why don't you head back to your dorm and we can continue this conversation on Saturday."
Harry nodded quickly, pushing himself up off the bed before she could change her mind. As his feet hit the floor, he braced himself for the familiar jolt of pain to run through his leg but, to his immense surprise, none came.
"Potter," Snape's nasal voice interrupted his thoughts. With a crooked finger, he indicated that the boy should come over to him. Harry went reluctantly, a dozen humiliating ideas of what Snape might say running through his mind.
The man did not speak at first, instead handing Harry a box filled with a dozen or so vials, filled with the colourless liquid that Harry recognised as the Nutrients Potion he'd been given earlier and the pale yellow potion that Harry couldn't name nor give the use of. "I've given you enough to last until Saturday, at which point Madam Pomfrey can replenish your stock."
Snape paused again, his gaze flickering to the window where the moon shone in the darkness of night sky. "Don't forget, you have detention tomorrow immediately after your evening meal. We will discuss the results of your examination, as well as your appalling conduct in my office today, then. Do not be late."
Harry recognised his dismissal, but he hesitated and remained rooted to the spot. Snape, as though sensing his dilemma, raised an eyebrow at him in question, though he did not interrupt.
"You won't … you won't tell anyone about this will you?" Harry burst out nervously, his cheeks burning.
"I assure you Mr Potter, the results of such examinations are strictly confidential."
Harry nodded jerkily, avoiding Snape's gaze entirely.
"Potter," Snape started, and then clearly thought better of it for he continued in his normal, harsher tone, "The potions I've given you are to be taken with every meal. I shall be most displeased if I discover you have not followed Madam Pomfrey's instructions."
"Yes, sir." Harry said. The Potion Master's harsh nasal tone sounded so normal, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that afternoon. He'd stopped using that awful level tone from Harry's examination, the one that positively dripped with pity at every syllable.
Harry would rather face Snape's icy disdain than have his pity for even a second. At least his snarky manner was normal. And normal was all Harry wanted right now, so that he could forget the terrible events of that afternoon and the shame that came from his darkest secrets being shared with his hated professor.
As quickly as possible, Harry traced the familiar route back to his dorm, desperate to get as far as he could from the prying, pitying eyes of his professors.
Back in the Hospital Wing, Severus sighed to himself, his eyes still staring at the door through which Potter had fled.
"How did this happen?" Poppy asked desperately. "How did we not notice?"
"I don't know," Snape said quietly. "But I expect I'm about to find out." With a swish of his wand, he duplicated the report of the examination, and strode over to the fireplace in Poppy's office.
"The Headmaster's Office," he intoned, dropping a handful of emerald powder into the hearth.
A/N - Sorry for the delay on posting this chapter. I suffered complications with an operation I had and ended up back in Hospital. But I'm feeling a lot better now and should be able to start updating more regularly. Thank you so much for all the follows and favourites, and of course, the reviews!