Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: blood, self harm injuries, suicidal thoughts, talk of child abuse and eating disorders
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Harry wasn't really sure where he was going. At first, he'd planned to go to the infirmary and see Madame Pomfrey - however, he'd quickly rejected that idea at the thought of her finding out how it happened. Then, he'd thought maybe the Room of Requirement could help - there might be medical supplies in there, or at least a book or two with some basic healing spells. However, after half an hour of running around the school, searching for the doorway up and down every corridor in the castle, Harry gave up. So that was how, at 2am in the morning, faint with blood loss and struggling to remain upright, Harry found himself outside the door to Snape's office. He knocked hesitantly on the heavy wood and waited five long minutes before Snape finally answered.
Snape cracked open the door, peering into the dark corridor. His eyes narrowed as they settled on Harry. "Potter." He seethed, spitting out the name as if it was sour milk on his tongue. However, upon closer inspection of the boy, Snape's tone shifted. "Potter," he said - softer, quieter - and opened the door fully.
"I-" Harry swore under his breath. Now that he was actually here, Harry had no idea what he was meant to say.
"Mister Potter, I'm assuming you did not wake me at this hour just to spew profanity at my door?"
"No sir, I- I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know where else to go."
The boy looked even worse than the last time Severus had seen him with the glamours down. His baggy, long-sleeve t-shirt and over-sized pyjama bottoms hung loosely off of his skeletal frame. His collar bones jutted out above the neckline, the shadows from his protruding cheekbones stark against his pallid skin. His face was deathly pale and contorted with pain, his mouth set in a grim line. Lastly, his eyes settled on the arm the boy was clutching to his chest. The sleeve was soaked through with blood.
"Come in." Snape spoke grimly, stepping away from the doorway to allow Harry entrance. Harry tried to take a step, but the dungeon suddenly tilted, and he lurched forwards. Snape, quickly assessing the situation, stuck out an arm to prevent the boy from falling face first onto the hard stone floor. "Are you intoxicated, Potter?" Snape hissed, grabbing Harry's elbow and hauling him upright.
"No, sir," Harry gasped, gripping his bloody arm tightly. Despite the pressure he had been applying since he left the dorm, the bleeding had not stopped. In fact, Harry was struggling to staunch the flow at all. Snape, still gripping Harry's elbow, pulled him into the office and shut the door behind him.
"You're injured." It was less of a question and more of a statement.
"I know, sir. That's not why- it's not why I came." Harry knew he was shaking, and to Snape he probably looked pathetic, trembling like a newborn fawn, but he couldn't help it.
"Then why, pray tell, do you require my assistance at," a quick glance at the clock above his desk, "two o'clock in the morning?"
Harry didn't answer. He didn't know what to say.
"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey. You clearly need medical attention, and you are bleeding all over my floor. Hospital Wing. Now." Snape pointed towards the door.
"No! I can't go to Madam Pomfrey! I need- I need…" Harry shook his head, unable to speak.
"What's the matter with you, Potter? You're behaving like a lunatic!" Snape snapped, though his words seemed to lack their usual venom.
"I'm out of my mind, Professor. Out of my mind." Harry spoke frantically, shaking his head from side to side as he spoke.
"I'm lost. I am fucking lost." His voice broke, and any fragment of sanity he had been clinging to for the past few months broke with it.
"I've gone crazy. Completely insane. I-" Harry gripped his wrist tightly, his fingernails scratching and digging into the bleeding flesh, causing blood to seep through his sleeve at an alarming rate. Snape, upon seeing the damage the boy was inflicting upon himself, grabbed Harry's hand and pulled it away from his arm.
"Potter, roll up your sleeve." Snape commanded, dropping Harry's bloody hand. It hung limply at his side, making no move to do as the potions master had ordered.
"You hate me. I know you hate me. You could give me a potion- something, something…" Harry's hands flew to his head, grabbing handfuls of matted hair and pulling sharply. Suddenly, he released his grip, his arms falling to his sides. His head snapped up, looking at his Professor with wide, manic eyes. "Something… a potion, or a poison, or… anything! I know you want to. You hate me. You've always hated me. Just… just give me something, please. Be rid of me at last; you'd be doing me a favour."
Snape just stared, speechless, at the boy in front of him. Without a word, he turned on his heels, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the room as he strode towards one of the shelves in his office, plucking various vials and small bottles, examining the labels then either carefully putting them back in their places or setting them down on his desk.
He came back with the armful of vials and dumped them, rather unceremoniously, ontop of his desk. He marched towards Harry, thrusting a small bottle into his hand. Harry lifted it to his face, staring at it with a blank expression. "I want to die. Will this kill me?" He said, his voice void of any emotion.
Severus had no idea how he was meant to respond to that. "No. Drink up."
Something inside Harry snapped. Snape hated him. Aside from Voldemort, Harry couldn't think of anyone who would want to kill him more- except maybe himself. And Snape Wasn't. Fucking. Doing it. Why?! Harry was standing there, literally asking him - inviting him - to kill him, and he wasn't doing it.
His fist clenched tightly around the bottle ('Calming Draught', he had read on the label) before he sent it flying across the room, hitting the floor with a resounding smash and shattering into thousands of tiny glass shards. The viscous white potion splattered across the cold stone on impact, a strong floral aroma filling the room.
"JUST FUCKING KILL ME!" Harry knew he was being irrational, but for once he didn't care. He was done.
Snape didn't even spare a glance at the mess in the corner, which vanished with a single flick of his wand. He kept his eyes on Harry, on the blood still seeping through the material of his shirt. "Pott- Harry. Please, let me look at your arm. You are losing too much blood."
Harry stared dumb-founded at his Professor. In all the years he had known him, Snape had only ever addressed Harry using his last name. Potter. Never Harry.
When Harry didn't respond, Snape huffed a breath through his nose and grabbed hold of the boy's wrist, yanking up the sleeve in one fluid motion. Judging by the amount of blood staining the fabric, he didn't have time to be patient. Snape wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Blood flowed freely from a large, gaping wound to his arm, surrounded by more bleeding cuts on his wrist. Even beneath the dried blood coating his upper arm, Snape could see the copious scars littering his pale skin - thin, milky white lines and wider, pinky-purple scars from deeper wounds, criss-crossing all the way up to his elbow. There wasn't an inch of skin that was left untouched. Snape raised his wand, but only managed to get partway through the spell he had been muttering before Harry jerked his arm back, holding it to his chest.
"Don't heal it! Don't you dare heal it." Harry whispered the last words, cradling his injured arm.
"Potter, have you gone completely insane?! You are bleeding." Snape hissed, trying to reclaim the boy's arm. Harry, however, just took a step back, so that Snape's hand swiped at empty air.
"So what if I have gone insane. Why do you care?" Harry spat back.
"I have a duty of care. A duty which extends to all students at this school, including you." Snape said brusquely, what little patience he had with the boy wearing thin.
Something about Snape's phrasing rubbed Harry the wrong way. As if he wanted anything but to help Harry - that he wouldn't even have allowed him past the door had he not been duty bound.
"Well, I'm sorry for being such an inconvenience." He said, his voice rising an octave.
"Why did you come to me, then? If you don't want my assistance," Snape snapped.
"Because I thought you'd help me. I thought you could give me something - thought you'd be happy to finally be rid of me. But I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry for bothering you," Harry spat, his rage discernible in his tone.
"You thought I'd kill you?"
Harry flung his arms into the air in exasperation. "I don't know! I just- it hurt, Professor. So fucking much. It was like I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the pain. I just wanted it to stop. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't, really." Harry tried to explain, his voice beginning to fail him. "I just want to die. But I can't- I can't because everyone needs me alive, needs me to fight Voldemort, needs me to fulfil the stupid prophecy. Needs me to live. And I don't have a choice. I never had a choice - ever since that night, when I was one year old, the fate of the entire wizarding world has rested on my shoulders. And I can't do it. I'm fifteen years old. How the hell am I meant to defeat one of the most powerful wizards of all time, when the extent of my magical prowess is turning a porcupine into a pincushion, and making a feather float in mid air. And I can't even do that for more than a few seconds!"
Harry couldn't help the choked laugh that escaped his through at those words. It was all just so funny.
"I am nothing. I'm just a stupid teenager who happened to survive when Voldemort came calling - through absolutely no effort on my part, by the way, seeing as I was a god damned baby when it happened!" Harry voice broke, silent tears sliding down his pallid cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away. For once, he didn't care. "I'm nothing."
"Pott- Harry. Please, let me help you." Snape spoke softly, any trace of bitterness gone from his voice. For the first time since meeting him, all those years ago, he was finally able to see Harry for what he was - not a carbon copy of James, not a cruel reminder of what he could have had with Lily, not the arrogant, Gryffindorian fool he'd always assumed Potter was - but a boy. A boy who needed his help. And Severus would be damned if he didn't try. If he failed Lily in that way… he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let her down again.
He waved his wand towards the desk and a small wooden bowl appeared, followed by a grey washcloth and an array of first aid supplies. Another flick of his wand had the bowl filling up with lukewarm water. He grabbed the washcloth, soaked it in the water, then wrung out the excess, placing it back down on the desk.
Slowly, gently, he prised Harry's arm away from his chest. Harry tensed as he withdrew his wand again, but he didn't try to heal the wounds. Instead, he set the wand down on the desktop and picked up the damp washcloth. He cleaned Harry's wounds carefully, applying firm pressure to the deepest laceration, which was still bleeding profusely. However, a near-silent, under-the-breath incantation had it cauterised and clotting within moments. Harry flinched as Snape wiped the cloth over a particularly sore area, earning a muttered apology, followed by a rather contradictory, "Though I doubt it can hurt much more than what you've already done to yourself." He did, though, take extra care when cleaning that area from then on. He noted with concern the deep-ish cut where the pain was emanating, the scab a worrying green-yellow colour and the surrounding skin unnaturally pigmented. It shouldn't really be this red and sore at this stage in the healing process. However, seeing as Potter didn't seem to take much care - if any - in regards to his wounds, it was likely infected.
Once Harry's arm was clean and the crimson-tinted water had been discarded, along with the blood-stained washcloth, Snape took some of the medical supplies - bandages, some gauze and a row of white strips that Harry did not recognise - and began dressing the wounds. He reached towards the shelf with an outstretched arm, and a small pot flew into his hand. The lid unscrewed itself, revealing a thick, blue-white paste. Snape applied it generously, dabbing it gently onto the infected wound, as well as onto any other cuts that looked as though they might not be healing properly. He then took the white strips, peeling them off of the plastic sheet they adhered to and used them to close up the deep cut on Harry's wrist. They worked surprisingly well, the sticky-backed material bringing the sides of the gash together so that only a thin, red line remained.
He placed a padded layer of gauze over the top before wrapping the bandage around Harry's wrist, covering up the fresher wounds while leaving the scabs and older cuts further up his arm exposed. Severus was about to secure the bandage with a safety pin, but paused with it halfway to Harry's arm, seeming to reconsider for a moment. He placed the safety pin back on the desk and grabbed a small roll of muggle medical tape, deeming it to be more appropriate. He also picked up one of the vials.
"It's a blood replenisher," Snape explained, holding out the vial. Harry took it cautiously, eyeing the crimson potion with distain.
"I know. I've had one before - they're disgusting." He said, wrinkling his nose at the memory.
"When have you needed a blood replenisher before?" Snape asked. Harry kicked himself internally.
"I, um- during the summer, I sort of-" Harry's eyes were cast downwards, not wanting to look his Professor in the eye. He waited for Snape to interject, but he didn't - he just waited patiently for Harry's response. "I sort of did something stupid, whilst I was staying at Grimmauld Place, and Remus gave me loads of these."
"Then you should be accustomed to the taste. Drink." Snape gestured towards the vial in Harry's hand. Harry sighed in resignation and downed the potion, trying to keep it at the back of his tongue to avoid tasting it. It didn't work. He made a not-so-attractive face, and he could have sworn he saw the corners of Snape's mouth turn up in what was proabably the closest the man had ever come to a smile. He handed back the empty vial and was greeted with another small bottle. This one was filled with a pale lilac liquid, which smelled faintly of lavender, even with the stopper in.
"A dreamless sleep potion," Snape clarified as Harry took the bottle. "I presume you haven't been sleeping well?"
After a brief pause, Harry nodded. There was no point in lying at this point. Snape could always tell, anyway.
"This will help. Take it just before you get into bed - it will make you very drowsy."
"Thank you, sir."
"I would like you to come and see me tomorrow, after dinner. I will need to keep an eye on those injuries," he added, courtesy of the look on Harry's face. "Unless you would rather have Madam Pomfrey see to them?"
A vehement head shake.
"I thought not. I will, however, be required to share this information with Professor Dumbledore, who will likely converse with Professor McGonagal, seeing as she is your head of house."
"Do you have to?" Harry asked, anxiety beginning to settle in his stomach.
"Yes." There was no room for compromise in Snape's tone, and Harry knew better than to argue.
"Potter, are you going to be safe in your dormitory? Because if you are not, then I cannot in good conscience send you back there."
"I'll be fine, sir. I just need to sleep." For once, Harry wasn't lying. He was exhausted, and the bottle of dreamless sleep he had clutched in his hand could well have been liquid gold for what it was worth to him in that moment.
"Very well then. Eight pm, my office. Don't be late." Snape turned to his desk, and began clearing away the various vials and bottles spread over the top. Harry took this as his cue to leave, and was heading towards the door when he realised.
"Professor?" Snape turned to Harry. "My uh- my shirt. Someone might see."
When Harry had come down to the dungeons, he had been so out of it that he had completely forgotten about his invisibility cloak. By some small miracle, no one had spotted him. Not even Mrs Norris. But Harry could not be sure that that luck would extend to his return trip.
"I could check lost property for you, if you wish? There may be a suitable night shirt in there. Bloodstains can take a while to come out, even with magic." Harry struggled to hide his shock at Snape's offer. It may just have been the nicest thing the slimy dungeon bat had ever said to him.
"Thank you, sir."
A curt nod, and Snape picked up his wand from where it still lay atop the desk. He muttered 'Accio', and a large basket appeared in front of him with a faint pop. He began rifling through the numerous possessions, pausing to examine various items of clothing and tossing them back into the basket when he deemed them unsuitable. After a minute or two, he held up a pale blue pyjama shirt, not dissimilar from the shirt Harry was currently wearing. Mercifully, it, too, had long sleeves. Snape tossed the shirt to Harry, who caught it quickly. A smile of thanks, and then an awkward silence.
"Potter, I haven't got all day. Change the shirts over, and leave the soiled one with me - I will have it clean and ready for you to collect tomorrow. I'm assuming you don't particularly want to be wandering the halls at night with a blood-soaked shirt in your possession?"
Harry shook his head, mumbling his thanks. He turned his back on Snape, but he could still feel the man's eyes on him. Harry was tempted to ask him to turn around, to save him at least a shred of dignity, but he knew that it wouldn't be worth it for the onslaught of snide comments he would receive. Deciding to just rip off the band-aid, Harry quickly removed the bloody top, dumping it in a heap at his feet, and fumbled around with the clean shirt, trying to cover himself up before…
"Potter, turn around."
Shit.
Harry turned around unbearably slowly, the shirt clutched to his chest, covering his up as much as possible. Snape was staring at Harry with an expression that he couldn't quite place. Shock? Anger? Concern? However, the look disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cool mask of feigned indifference.
"Put down the shirt."
It wasn't a request.
Hesitantly, Harry removed the shirt from where it was covering his chest, and instead held it by his side. Snape's narrowed eyes were the only sign on emotion on his otherwise blank face. Harry knew it wasn't a pretty sight. He still had bruises littered over his collar bones and up near his shoulders. The ones on his shoulders, he suddenly realised, looked suspiciously hand-shaped. The bruise on his rib cage was the worst by far. It covered most, if not all, of the ribs on his left side. When he'd first arrived at Grimmauld Place, the bruises had still been deep purple in colour, and had looked much more severe than they did now. They had faded significantly, some of the smaller ones disappearing all together, and the dark, blueish tones had been replaced by sickly greens and yellows. He had tried putting some salve on them, but he had run out after only a few uses due to the large amount he needed to cover all the bruising, and it always rubbed off on his shirt anyway.
"Your relatives?" Snape asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"My cousin, Dudley- he and his friends- they don't like me very much, sir."
"Clearly." Snape said, making an effort to reign in the sarcasm in his tone.
"I'm fine, though - it doesn't hurt anymore." Harry was painfully aware of Snape's beady eyes running up and down his body, and realised with a jolt that he was reacting to more than just the bruises. His ribs were painfully visible; Harry's mealtime dodging and secret bathroom visits, coupled with his religious exercise regime, had taken a toll. His stomach was practically concave, his hip bones sticking out like ledges on a cliff where his pyjama bottoms were slipping down, too loose around his tiny waist. Harry knew for a fact that every single vertebrae along his spine was visible - that must have been what Snape was staring at. He looked like a skeleton draped in skin.
"When was the last time you ate?" Snape asked sharply, finally dragging his eyes off of Harry's emaciated body to look him in the eye.
"Yesterday night, at dinner." Harry lied smoothly.
"Don't. Lie. To. Me." Snape said, his tone menacing.
"I- I can't remember, sir." Harry admitted after a brief pause, "maybe Monday?"
"Potter, today is Thursday. Are you telling me you haven't eaten for three days?"
"I wasn't hungry. I'm fine!" He added, at Snape's raised eyebrow.
"Yes, clearly. You are the picture of mental stability." Snape gave a pointed glance at Harry's bandaged wrist, and another at his skeletal frame. It was a low blow.
Harry pulled on the blue shirt, quickly pulling it down over his exposed torso. "Thank you for everything, sir, but may I go now?"
"Yes, you may. But Potter," Snape called after Harry, who had started walking at the first word. He paused in the doorway, one foot already in the corridor.
"Yes, sir?"
"I do expect to see you here, at eight o'clock sharp. Don't think you can weedle your way out of it. "
"I wasn't planning to, Professor." Lie.
"And I expect to see you in the Great Hall for meals. Three times a day. You are far too thin for a boy of your age."
"Yes, sir."
There was a moment of silence before Snape spoke again, seeming to choose his words carefully, "Potter, I cannot stress enough that this behaviour must discontinue. It is neither helpful nor safe, and I do not want to see any evidence of it happening again. Is that clear?"
Harry paused for a moment before muttering a quiet, "Yes, sir."
Snape nodded once. "You may go."
Harry didn't need telling twice. He practically ran along the corridor, down the halls and up the staircases. By some small mercy, they seemed quite inactive this early in the morning, allowing Harry to reach the portrait of the Fat Lady without much difficulty.
The Fat Lady started awake when he spoke the password, complaining loudly about being woken up at such an hour. Harry hurriedly shushed her, not wanting to attract Filch, and climbed through the open door, the portrait swinging shut behind him, still grumbling about 'students these days' and 'no respect for others'. Harry just rolled his eyes.
Back up in in his dormitory, with Ron sprawled out on the bed next to his, snoring loudly, and Neville, Seamus and Dean all fast asleep, Harry sat down on his bed and pulled the scarlet curtains shut. He downed the potion, grimacing at the too-sweet, sickeningly floral taste, and instantly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He didn't even have a chance to move under the covers before he was asleep.
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Thanks for reading! Take care 3