Reparo, Pt 2b: Confundo Had to break Confundo into two posts for easier reading.

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Reparo, Part 2b: Confundo

The wee hours of the night were always the worst when one was trying to stay awake. Not that Harry was trying to stay awake, but since he was being forced to do so, it felt similar. He stared for hours at the grounds of the castle, trying to occupy his mind so that he wouldn’t be tempted to close his eyes. Harry hated the feeling of wanting to sleep desperately and being unable to do so.

A few times he caught a tiny sign of movement—perhaps the splashing of the squid in the lake or an owl going to or fro or just taking a late night jaunt. There was never anything interesting—say a unicorn, or a Centaur, or even a Blast-Ended Skrewt! Even the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the premiere school of magic in England, were deadly boring in the dead of the night. Harry sighed.

Then he jumped as a hand rested lightly on his shoulder. Harry thought at first that it was Madam Pomfrey, woken from her ‘nap,’ but then he turned and gasped when he saw that it was actually Snape. He managed to restrain a scream, but jumped off the bed and backed away quickly. From a distance he saw that Snape had a steaming potion in his other hand.

Harry shook his head. Did Snape think he was a *complete* idiot? Of *course* he wasn’t going to take a potion from the man, after all the potions he had been given in the past—including the Wakefulness Potion.

“Sam…” Snape began slowly. “I knew you were going to be tired, so… I made a Pepper-Up Potion. It took some time to fix, but I made sure that it wouldn’t interact with the Wakefulness Potion you’ve already been given. I was… hoping it would make staying awake a little less unpleasant.” Harry continued backing up, glancing down the Hospital Wing and seeing that Madam Pomfrey was still asleep. In a panicked haze, he stared at Snape and wondered whether he should scream to try to wake the medi-witch or if he was safe as long as she was in the room, asleep or not.

Then Snape took another step forward, and Harry *did* yell. He glanced down and saw no movement from Madam Pomfrey, and his heart raced faster. What if she wasn’t just asleep? What if Snape had done something to her? Harry glared at the man, shaking from anger but also from fear.

“Calm down, Sam.. I only cast a minor sleeping spell on her when I came in, so that we didn’t have to worry about waking her and disturbing her sleep.” Harry stiffened at hearing the magic confirmed. “I just want to give you this potion, and then I’ll leave you alone. I’m not trying to hurt you; I’m trying to help.”

Harry shook his head furiously, glancing panicked at the sleeping form of the medi-witch once again. He suddenly realized how dependent he was becoming on her. He *did* trust her, at least somewhat, even if he couldn’t always act on it. She was so nice and motherly and always knew what to say and do to calm him down—and what if she was working with Snape?! But then he second-guessed even that; after all, Snape had cast a sleeping charm on her, meaning he didn’t trust her to watch. Unless Snape just wanted Harry to *think* he didn’t trust her so that Harry would trust her more. He shook his head to clear it from the mess of thoughts and saw with a flash of fear that Snape was three steps closer than he had been, and holding out the goblet full of potion.

I’m not drinking it, you—Harry cut himself off and acted instead, slapping at the potion and trying to spill it so that he could not be forced to drink it. Snape kept hold of the goblet, with some effort, but it tipped precariously. Harry blinked when the potion poured up to the edge but stopped there instead of spilling over.

He glared, and Snape smirked slightly. “I cast a No-Spill Charm on it, as you can see—and a good thing, it seems.” He paused, looking less certain of himself. “I’m not going to force you to drink it, but I think it would help. I spent rather a lot of time on it, as well…”

Harry glanced pointedly down the length of the Wing again, and Snape sighed. “Would you like me to wake her?” Harry hesitated, wrapping his arms around himself nervously, and then nodded slowly. He just hoped that Poppy wouldn’t be angry with him.

Snape sighed again, more heavily this time, and walked away from Harry, leaving him backed into the corner as he walked closer to the other end and then cast the spell to wake Madam Pomfrey. She sat up abruptly, moaning slightly at the crick in her neck, and then blinked and looked around. “Severus? Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes,” said Snape’s amused voice. “You were completely asleep when I entered, and your patient has ‘escaped.’”

Madam Pomfrey sat up and stared in horror at the empty bed. “What--?!” she started, and then her eyes swept the room and she saw Harry in the far corner. She turned to glare at Snape. “What is my patient doing in the corner?”

Snape raised up the goblet that was still in his hand. “I made a Pepper Up Potion he could actually take, Poppy,” he said more quietly, so quiet that Harry could hardly make it out. “I thought it might make it easier for him to stay awake.”

Poppy sighed. “It was a nice thought, Severus, but did you have to corner him?” She stood stiffly, paused to stretch, and then took the goblet from his hand and moved across the room toward Harry. Snape followed her halfway before stopping and just watching.

Harry watched suspiciously as Poppy approached. They were too friendly; every alarm in his head was going off. He shook his head before she even got within five feet of him. “Sam, dear, what are you doing all the way over here?” she asked gently. “You’re supposed to be resting..”

He glared at her angrily. Why was she helping Snape? Harry had just begun to think that she, of all people, might actually be on *his* side. He shivered, and pressed back into the corner a bit as she approached, eyeing the goblet in her hand.

Poppy seemed to notice his anger and suspicion—no surprise considering he was displaying it as flagrantly as he could. “Oh, Sam,” she said sadly. “Are you mad about Severus? He’s not trying to hurt you, I promise. In fact, no one asked him to make this Pepper-Up Potion—isn’t that right, Severus?” She looked back to Snape, and he looked surprised and then nodded. She turned back to Harry. “See? He was just trying to help in the way he knows best. Here—“ she had moved much closer now, and she held out the potion to Harry. Angrily he slapped at it as he had before, hearing Snape’s abortive cry too late to get Madam Pomfrey to tighten her grasp. The goblet leapt from her hand and crashed on the floor, the clattering sound of it bouncing and rolling filling the Hospital Wing.

“Sam!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed in frustration and a bit of anger, and Harry shrank downward a bit, unable to pull back any further. She gentled her tone at seeing his response, but it was still stern. “That is no way to treat a gift. I understand that you are frightened of Severus, but he is *not* trying to hurt you.”

Harry shook his head angrily, glaring at the goblet that she had retrieved, still full of the potion due to the No-Spill charm. When she tried to hand him the goblet again, he pushed it away but didn’t force it out of her hands. “Sam, please,” she tried again. “Just take the goblet? You don’t have to drink it, but… Have you ever had a Pepper-Up Potion before?”

Harry stared at her confusedly for a moment before remembering that she didn’t know that he was Harry Potter. He remembered in particular the Pepper-Up Potion he had been given immediately after climbing out of the lake after the Second Task. This recalled to his mind the gills, and that made him think of the Gillyweed and Snape’s ‘inspired’ method of torture. He shook, suddenly gasping for breath as though he had been drowned once again, and slid further down the wall weakly.

“Sam..? Sam!” He barely noticed movement before the medi-witch was lifting him from his crouched position and carrying him across the Hospital Wing, back to his bed. He cringed in her arms when they passed Snape, his mind conjuring more nasty images that he tried to supress. Then he was being laid down on the bed again, and covered with a blanket that was already warm. His shivering slowed and his breathing began to even out at the feeling of the pleasant warmth that Snape had always denied him, and he began to focus on what Poppy was saying.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me?” He nodded weakly. “Oh, good!” She did indeed sound relieved at his response. “What were you remembering, dear child?” she fussed worriedly. “You stopped breathing and then suddenly started gasping—I was so worried!”

Harry glanced around quickly, looking for Snape, but he couldn’t see him. Madam Pomfrey seemed to know what he was looking for, though. “He’s here—just out of sight so that you wouldn’t panic. Would you like to be able to see him?” Harry hesitated before nodding slowly. “Alright, Severus, why don’t you move over behind me, but keep your distance.” Snape did as he was told, lurking a few feet behind Madam Pomfrey and watching with an unreadable expression. Harry made eye contact and shuddered before looking back at Poppy. “How’s that?” Harry hugged himself and looked away from both of them, feeling edgy.

“I’m sorry,” Snape said finally, after a few long moments of silence. “I’ll be going now.” Before Poppy could protest, he had swept out of the room.

Harry looked back at Madam Pomfrey and saw that she looked a little upset. “Did you have to run him off? Can’t you see he’s trying to help, Sam?”

Harry glared at her. She didn’t understand—she couldn’t, as long as he wasn’t *absolutely* sure that she wasn’t somehow working with Snape, which would be a long time. Even if Snape had just convinced her that Harry was making all this up, he wouldn’t be safe because she would inform him if Harry told her anything about who had hurt him.

“Fine,” she said shortly, obviously disappointed. “If *you* won’t drink the potion, then *I* will.” Harry shrieked in protest and stretched out a hand to stop her, sure that it was something bad and not wanting her to get hurt, but she had already drunk half the goblet. She smiled sadly at him as extra color filled her face and then her ears started to steam lightly. “There. See? Nothing harmful.” She set the goblet down at his bedside. “Now *I* won’t be falling asleep again for a while. What would you like to do?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He didn’t like having her angry at him, but he still didn’t trust Snape. Just because it was apparently safe *this* time didn’t negate all the other times that Snape had hurt him! He sighed sadly and didn’t dare another glance at the medi-witch’s face, forcing himself to stare at the wall instead through slightly watery eyes.

“I think we’ve exhausted the entertainment value of Boris,” she began contemplatively. “And we certainly can’t do anything active, as that will only tired you out further. I could read to you, but I don’t know what you like..” He actually saw her sit up straight out of his peripheral vision as she made a little “oh!” sound. “Perhaps a little game! First I ask you a yes-no question, and then you ask me one. You don’t have to answer, but if you don’t, then that gives me a chance to refuse a future question. How does that sound?” Harry shrugged, but decided that it would at least keep him occupied, for the time being. But how would he ask questions? He looked at her questioningly, finally making eye contact, and she seemed to have overcome her disappointment except for a little lingering frustration in her eyes.

“Here, you’ll need this,” she said with a smile, and she pushed the parchment and quill toward him. “Would you like to ask the first question?” He shrugged, and she waited.

What was he going to ask? A yes-no question, only. He spun the quill between his fingers, a peculiar habit that he had picked up after entering the wizarding world, and tried to think. “Were you ever a medi-witch anywhere else before Hogwarts?” he finally wrote. She smiled at him.

“Yes.” Harry didn’t expect anything more, but she continued, “I worked at the children’s ward at St. Mungo’s before Albus asked me to come here. I’ve always loved to work with children. Even if you do get yourselves into *all* manner of trouble.” She winked. “Now, what am I going to ask *you*, Sam?”

Harry’s eyes twinkled slightly and he scrawled something on the parchment that she had handed back to him. “That’s not a yes-no question!”

“Indeed, it was not my question at all, silly boy,” she replied, reaching out to tweak his nose playfully. She was forcefully reminded that he was not just any boy, though, when he shied away from her hand instinctively with a look of terror on his face. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Sam, I keep forgetting. I’ll try to do better.” She bit her lip, then tried to distract him with a question. “Are you a wizard?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and then nodded. She actually looked quite surprised at that, and he had to write, ‘Did you think I was a Squib or a Muggle?’

Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, her eyes very focused suddenly. “It’s only that… Well, this will be a difficult question, I’m sure, but… Before, did you do any accidental magic?”

Harry didn’t have to ask what she meant by ‘before,’ but he didn’t want to answer that question. He looked away for a long moment, then wrote one word on the parchment. “Skip.”

Poppy sighed. “Let me explain, Sam. I’m simply a little worried, because you’ve had several severe panic attacks and shown no sign of any accidental magic. It’s very unusual for this to be the case for a wizard, unless there is a *very* powerful reason for him to suppress it.” She looked deep into his eyes until Harry looked away in pain, hugging his arms to himself as his breath briefly caught in his throat.

“I’ll ask something less painful. Let’s see… Did you go to a wizarding school?”

Harry nodded. Then he wrote his next question. ‘Are you very mad at me for not taking the potion from Snape?’ He couldn’t bring himself to actually look at her, focusing instead on the parchment as he passed it across to her.

“Sam, look at me,” she said quietly, and he looked at her. She shook her head firmly. “I’m not angry at all, Sam. I—I’m sorry about my reaction earlier. It’s only that I’ve never seen Professor Snape extend himself so much toward someone, and to see that rejected was—well, it was hard. Still, I also understand that you are genuinely frightened of Severus, and I can only hope that with time you will come to trust him.”

Harry shrugged, and played idly with the blanket, having looked away again. He was waiting for her question. “Are you—are you *done* with wizarding school?” she asked finally, the disbelief sounding in her voice. Harry nodded, then rolled his eyes impatiently at the fact that he looked *so* young.

He had so many questions. ‘Why are you helping Snape?’ ‘Why did Snape bring me here?’ ‘Why can’t anyone recognize me?’ None of these could be answered with a yes or no answer. Nor could he safely ask, ‘Will I ever be safe?’ without effectively admitting to her that he felt in danger, which was sure to get him in trouble with Snape. He sighed as he held the quill over the parchment, trying to think of something. ‘Are you helping Snape?’ and ‘Are you really Madam Pomfrey?’ were questions he could never hope to get honest answers to. Finally, he wrote a compromise to the questions echoing in his mind. ‘Am I ever going to be better?’

"Oh, Sam," she responded sadly. "I wish I could give you a simple 'yes' as an answer, but that would be dishonest. It depends on so many things--physically, you will be 'better' very soon, but emotionally.. That takes time, dear.. And you will need to feel safe in order to recover." She caught his eyes and held them once again with her sharp gaze. "Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Harry started to shake his head, and then he started to nod, and then he shook his head in confusion. He looked down, staring at the parchment for a long minute, and then leaned over it to scrawl another question, not caring that it would break the rules. ‘If you had to choose between believing me or believing Snape, who would you choose?’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Honestly?’ and underlined it.

Poppy stared at the question for much longer than was necessary for her to read it, and Harry was certain that she was going to refuse to answer—and somehow he wasn’t surprised. When she finally looked up, though, she said, “It’s not just between you and Professor Snape, Sam. When I choose to trust Severus when he says that he did not do this to you, it is not because I don’t believe you. I believe that someone who looks a lot like Professor Snape did this, and I don’t blame you at all for being frightened of him. But, Professor Dumbledore would *not* have brought Severus back here if he was any danger to you, and I know he investigated following your conversation with him.”

At first Harry was merely frustrated, but then his eyes widened in horror. How had he missed it?? Madam Pomfrey, the real one, couldn’t possibly have missed the death of Albus Dumbledore. All this time he had been trying to decide whether he could trust her, and the truth had been right in front of him—of course not!

Suddenly he realized he had to get out of here, before Snape realized that his deception was failing and took him back to the dungeons from which he would never escape. He leapt off the bed, but Harry’s expression had apparently warned Madam Pomfrey to expect something and she grabbed his arm. Panicked and no longer caring much about the imposter, he swung his other arm and heard a thud as the metal band collided with her cheek, and she cried out in pain. His arm had been released, finally, and he ran for the door.

Snape had replaced the ward, apparently, as he was immediately caught and entangled by an invisible web when he tried to run through the open doorway. He struggled to break through but was only pushed even more strongly back into the room. Then, when he had been pushed clear of the door, it slammed shut. He spun to see Madam Pomfrey with her wand out, much too far for him to attack her before she could stop him with her wand.

The medi-witch was apparently not interested in waiting until he rushed her, though, and cast a Full-Body Bind on him. “Petrificus Totalus!” He was unable to dodge the bolt in time, and fell stiffly back against the door with a thud. Immediately, though, he began to struggle with the bind, and managed to break free of it before Poppy got halfway to the door to retrieve him.

Her eyes widened in surprise, one hand over her cheek and the other holding her wand tightly out in front of her. “Calm down, Sam,” she said in a warning tone. “Why don’t you go back to your bed?” she suggested. Harry glared at her before turning to focus on the door, trying to open it with his magic.

“Stupefy!” she cried, and Harry couldn’t even see the bolt to *try* to dodge it. He collapsed to the floor, paralyzed once more, but thankful that the Wakefulness Potion had not yet worn off as he attempted to push through the forced paralysis as he had with the Body Bind.

If he had been faced the right direction, Harry might have seen Madam Pomfrey throwing the floo powder into the fireplace. As it was, he heard the flare of the fire and then heard her call, “Severus Snape!” Then there was a brief period of silence (Harry had to assume that her head was in the fireplace) and he tried desperately to break free. His hand twitched, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly in an attempted grin. Just another minute…

Harry leapt to his feet just in time to see Snape unfold himself from the fireplace, and he paled dramatically. Then he turned to the door, desperately trying to unlock it and refusing to go down without a fight. Snape surely couldn’t punish him any further than he already was going to. Harry shook slightly at the thought, his skin already prickling in anticipation of the pain to come, and a roaring sound resounding in his ears at the thought of the hole, again.

He heard the click of the lock and made to open the door triumphantly when he was suddenly grabbed from behind, his arms pinned behind him and an arm dangerously tight around his neck. Harry screamed and tried to struggle, but he had no leverage in his current position. He was being moved, he realized, and tried to kick out with his legs but only managed a few glancing hits.

Then he was released, right next to his bed, and Snape hissed, “Quickly!” He looked in the direction of the movement that he saw and Poppy was there, her wand out and ready.

“Stupefy!” she cried again, and though Harry tried to dodge, Snape didn’t give him enough room to move. As he started to collapse to the floor for the second time, Snape caught him instead and picked him up, placing his body on the bed. Harry couldn’t move his limp limbs but he could feel what they were doing, and he wanted to cry out as he felt them replacing the restraints. When he finally managed to overcome the paralysis (for the third time) several minutes later, he turned his head to see Snape towering over him, his eyes sharp on Harry’s prone form.

“What were you *thinking*, you imbecile?” Snape sneered finally. “Are you so arrogant, so vain that you think you can take Madam Pomfrey’s valuable time without measure and then *attack* her when you see fit? And just what did you hope to achieve with such an attempt?”

Harry tried not to shrink back from the sneering face, and his eyes darted around frantically. He tried to see Snape’s hands from his supine position, and his breathing quickened when he couldn’t. Did he have the knife? He lifted up his head slightly to try to see where Madam Pomfrey had gone, and Snape revealed one of his hands to slam his head back down harder than was strictly necessary. Harry screamed with panic and scrambled to try to get out of the restraints.

“Calm yourself, boy.. or perhaps I should calm you?” Snape’s other hand moved into Harry’s view, wand and all. Harry froze, even his breathing stopping as he tried to control himself and keep Snape from casting whatever spell he had planned. Snape twirled his wand absently and asked, “Tell me… what were you thinking?”

Harry stared at him, eyes wide, hardly daring to breathe. He couldn’t open his mouth, because he didn’t want to risk blurting something out, so he tried to get unnoticeable breaths in through his nose, though he was feeling light-headed from lack of oxygen. Snape stared down at him, his expression getting darker all the time. “Tell me, you idiot,” he finally growled, “or I will find out for myself!”

Harry shuddered slightly and tried to focus on not struggling. He wasn’t supposed to fight—but he wasn’t supposed to speak, either, and now Snape was demanding that he speak. He didn’t understand, except to assume that Snape was just creating another excuse to torture him. His muscles tensed again, and he couldn’t force them to relax.

“Very well,” said Snape nastily. “The hard way it is. Legilimens.”

It was horror, pain, terror, death. It was black and it was small and the walls were closing in and it was the hole. Harry knew nothing before and nothing after, but only this. He heard a voice screaming, and realized that it was his own. He was screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and it would never end, and he was going to die, the walls were going to collapse on top of him or worse, he was going to be trapped in here forever until he died of dehydration.

The world snapped back into focus with a gasp, but there was still screaming—two voices, not just one. He thrashed at the restraints and continued to scream until a hand gently touched his brow, and he subsided into desperate sobs, thankful that he was no longer in the hole but not certain that he wasn’t about to be put back there. The hand was gone and the other screamer was subsiding as well now, and then he heard murmurs that he tried to make sense of.

“Severus, what did you *do*?” the female voice asked first.

“Merlin.. oh dear Merlin, he’s claustrophobic, Poppy, he’s claustrophobic, that’s all I could see, the dark and the walls closing in and—“

“Shush.. come on, you’ve got to help me here—you need to lay down but I can’t get you there on my own, and I don’t want to levitate you. Come on..!” she grunted slightly with effort and then both Snape and Madam Pomfrey came into view, the former looking pale and very weak and leaning on the medi-witch as they hobbled around to the next bed in the row.

“You cast Legilimens on him, didn’t you? You blistering idiot! What were you thinking? Casting Legilimens on a defenseless, innocent boy who had done nothing to deserve it!” Madam Pomfrey was obvious quite upset.

Snape sputtered indignantly. “Innocent? Nothing to deserve it?! He broke your cheekbone!”

“Accidentally,” she said firmly. “I grabbed him, Severus. And as you just established, extremely unethically might I add, he has been very traumatized. I don’t think he was even aware of hurting me—he was just trying to get free.”

Harry’s sobs had quieted even more as he was distracted by attempting to understand their conversation. Now Madam Pomfrey turned her attention back to him, and when he registered that hers was the hand that comforted him he tried to turn his head away. “Sam… Sam!” she repeated his name more and more firmly until he finally turned to look at her, nervously. She smiled sadly. He saw now that the large, ugly bruise on her cheekbone—and that was presumably after she’d healed the main injury. “Was it something I said?” she asked, and Harry blinked and tried to figure out what she was talking about.

When it finally registered, he shrugged uncomfortably in the restraints. It had been partially what she had said—and partially realizing what he hadn’t realized before. Now he was even more confused than before, though. Snape had seemed surprised that he was claustrophobic, and Snape *knew* that. And Madam Pomfrey had yelled at him for using Legilimens, so could she really know how Snape had hurt him and still be on his side?

“Here now, dear.. Let’s see if we can make you a little more comfortable,” she said warmly, and turned her attention to his restraints, and he lifted his head hopefully to try to see what she was doing. This time, his head was not pushed back down.

Snape, however, did not appear to be pleased. “Poppy! I am *not* dragging him back to that bed again when he runs—and if you are going to insist on excusing his behavior based on trauma, then at least be sensible and don’t give him more excuses to repeat it!”

The medi-witch turned from what she had been doing to glare at her colleague. “I’ll have you know that I am *not* completely releasing him—simply implementing a different form of restraint that will give him a *bit* more freedom of movement. How would *you* like it if I tied you to that bed?”

Harry was ecstatic to find that Poppy had undone the restraint on his left arm completely before turning her attention to the angry Potions Master. He tried to move as discretely as possible as he reached across and carefully unfastened the buckle on the other restraint by touch only.

Based on his tone of voice, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to find that the man on the next bed was rolling his eyes. “*I* am not attempting to run, nor have I *ever* broken your cheekbone. If I recall, it was the Headmaster that first suggested the restraints,” he finished, smug as though he had already won the argument.

“It was the Headmaster,” Poppy replied with her usual protective temper. “And he suggested *light* restraints, if you’ll recall. At the moment, the problem was simply with the boy tearing at those metal cuffs!”

“Yes, and then he started kicking, and then running, and now he’s begun to attack anyone who gets in his way. Can’t you see that this is only escalating?”

Harry sat up slowly behind Poppy as she spoke, hoping for just another minute or two that Snape didn’t notice his movement. “He’s testing us, Severus, in more ways than one. He may be trying to see how much he can get away with, but he is also testing to see how we will deal with him. If we choose methods too harsh, how will we ever differentiate ourselves from whoever did this to him?”

“I’m not suggesting that we *torture* him. I’m merely suggesting..” There was a barely noticeable pause, and then he continued, “.. that we not allow him to walk right out of the room while we argue over methods.” His voice was very pointed and Harry froze in the middle of unstrapping the last restraint over his ankle.

“Sam!” she cried out, and he knew the medi-witch had turned and seen him sitting up and in the process of escape. “Lay back down *now*, Sam,” she said sternly, and he rocked back slightly but didn’t lay all the way back. He glared at her, not willing to go down without a fight. “Sam,” she began again in a gentler tone, “I have an idea that I think will make both of us much more comfortable. I don’t want to constrain your movement, I just want to keep you from hurting yourself or anyone else if you panic. Do you understand?” Harry continued to glare at her, deliberately bending his free leg so he could hug his knee to himself protectively.

“Sam, that is enough!” she exclaimed. “Lay back down!” Harry made an angry noise in his throat and hugged his knee to himself more tightly. Wasn’t it enough that he couldn’t get off the bed like this? She moved forward as though to force him but Snape’s voice stopped her.

“Don’t risk it, Poppy,” Snape said smoothly. “*I’ll* take care of it,” he sneered. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Snape slowly sat up and then moved across the divide between the beds, every step seeming to take hours as Harry desperately fought between laying back down and refusing to cooperate. Then Snape was there and pressing him back, and he couldn’t muster any resistance. They strapped his arms back down and were pulling the restraint over his ankle when he suddenly screamed in panic and refound his resistance. He pulled his leg free for an instant, but then Snape grasped his ankle tightly and pulled it back down despite his resistance.

He yanked angrily at the restraints as they muttered to each other too quietly for him to hear. He had been *so* close, and then they tied him up again. Harry sagged back against the bed, feeling hope leave him almost as quickly as it had come.

The murmuring stopped and Snape approached with his wand, causing Harry to tense once again. Snape was murmuring something in Latin and tapping his ankles, and then his wrists. To both their surprise, though, when he moved to tap the restraint on his first wrist the first of the metal cuffs popped open. Harry heard a gasp from Madam Pomfrey, and then Snape tapped the second wrist without saying anything and the other popped open as well. The Potions Master glanced back at Poppy so that Harry couldn’t see his face.

Then the medi-witch was bustling up next to him and removing the restraints on his wrists so that she could see the skin that had been under the arm cuffs. Harry tried to hug his arms to himself, not wanting her to see, but Snape held one and Madam Pomfrey held the other, ignoring his noises of protest.

Poppy gasped again when she saw the condition of his wrists. She looked to Harry and her eyes were obviously moist. “Sam, did you..?” Harry glared at her then, daring her to tell him that he had been wrong. She didn’t understand; she would never understand. He turned his head to the side, as far away from Snape as he could. He shivered as the man inspected the inside of his arm, tracing his hand over the scar that ran the length of his inner arm.

“Poppy,” Snape murmured, obviously trying to get her attention. Harry felt something appear on his arm, but it definitely wasn’t cold or heavy like the metal armband had been. There was a short pause, and then his other arm was held up (against his will) and he felt something appear there as well.

“Sam,” the medi-witch said, even as he could still feel Snape doing something with his left arm. “Sam,” she tried again to get his attention, and listlessly he looked at her. “You’ll be able to sit up in a just a minute, Sam,” she said with an attempt at an encouraging smile, though it was hardly an overwhelmingly happy expression. Harry just stared at her for another moment before looking away.

Snape released his wrist but he couldn’t move it; the man had replaced the restraint. Then he felt the hands holding his other wrist changing, and turned his head the other way so that he wouldn’t have to look at Snape. Harry only had to wait another minute before Snape spoke a quick string in Latin that he couldn’t quite catch and then stepped back.

“Sam? You can sit up now,” said Madam Pomfrey. Harry just laid there staring toward the end of the Hospital Wing, though some part of him was vaguely curious why he would suddenly be able to move. Had Snape’s incantation vanished the restraints? If so, why had they bothered to put them on in the first place?

“Stop being a bloody martyr, boy,” Snape growled, and a second later he had grasped Harry’s arms and pulled him to a sitting position before he could even squeak in protest. Snape let go of Harry’s arms immediately and Harry hugged them to himself but didn’t lay back down. Then he pulled his arms away slightly to look at them.

In place of the metal cuffs that had been on his arms, there were now flesh-colored, padded cuffs. They covered approximately the same area, including the entire length of the scars on each arm. They were also seamless, so that Harry would have no idea of how to remove them aside from vanishing them, for which he still needed a wand. He pulled and tugged at them lightly, to see if they could be rotated or moved, but it was as though they were part of his arms.

Between the cuffs and his hands were a pair of strange white bands that were clearly separate from the arm cuffs. Glancing down at his ankles, he saw the same white bands on his ankles as well. He would have assumed that they were the restraints, except that there was nothing tying them to the bed.

“Sam,” Madam Pomfrey said, but Harry stared at the bed instead of looking at her. “Sam, look at me.” He moved his eyes in her direction but didn’t lift his head to see her face. “Sam, please,” she pleaded. Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach tightly as though he had a stomachache and curled over them slightly, setting his face to be expressionless. “Sam? Are you alright?” Harry shrugged irritatedly. She hadn’t asked him that when she was tying him to the bed, he thought angrily.

Suddenly her wand appeared in front of him, and he jerked away. When he did, he realized that his legs were not restrained either. He hugged his knees to him tightly and hid his face between his arms. “Sam, please look at me,” Poppy tried again, and her voice was clearly becoming impatient. “I want to explain what I’m going to do before I do it, so you don’t panic.”

At the word ‘panic’ Harry’s head came up, and he reluctantly looked at the medi-witch, his face still blank. She sighed. “Do you feel better without those heavy metal cuffs on your arms?” she asked hopefully, and he shrugged, absently feeling the strange new cuffs that had replaced them. Then he glanced at the strange white bands again. “I’m sure you want to know what those other things are,” Poppy suggested, and he shrugged again. “They’re special restraints,” Harry tensed, and her tone gentled even further, “that I will only use if absolutely necessary. As you can tell, they will let you move around, at least on the bed, and even further if I give you permission. But if you are panicking or get violent, this will make both of our lives much easier.”

At least on the bed, her words echoed in his head. He scooted toward the edge away from Madam Pomfrey, and neither she nor Snape (who was still lurking nearby) made any move to stop him. As soon as he made to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, though, he found that he simply couldn’t. His ankles stopped at the edge of the bed and refused to move any further, no matter how hard he tried.

Harry gave a frustrated noise of protest and kicked at the air above the bed, but each time his ankles slammed to a stop right as they would pass the barrier where the bed ended. Shaking slightly, he moved his hands out slowly and found the same thing true of his wrists. He curled into a tight ball again, hugging his knees painfully tightly. He realized vaguely that he was breathing faster, dangerously close to hyperventilating. Then Harry felt a hand settle on his back.

He swung his arm instinctively, and heard a cry of surprise from Madam Pomfrey, who had moved around to this side of the bed while he was panicking. Then she said clearly, “Recindo,” and Harry screamed, full-fledged panic flaring in an instant.

The white bands on his wrists had flashed brightly at Poppy’s incantation and were now pulling him back to the center of the bed. He fought with every bit of energy that he had left, but it didn’t do any good at all—his legs were stretched away from him even as his arms were pulled back to his sides. The restraints on his arms even regulated the angle of his forearms, pulling them down so that the most upright Harry could be was to prop himself up on his elbows. Even that was difficult, and after another moment of struggle and a bit more shrieking he flopped back so that he was flat on his back, sobbing brokenly.

Madam Pomfrey was there again, her hand stroking his forehead comfortingly. He moaned and tried to turn his head away, not wanting to be comforted, but the hand followed his head and continued. “Hush.. shh.. It’s alright,” she whispered, and Harry moaned and shook his head a few times. It was *never* going to be alright, that much was obvious. “I’m sorry, Sam, I wanted to warn you, but.. Now you know what they can do, and I will use them as little as possible. In fact,” she incanted a Latin phrase that sounded similar if not the same as the one that Snape had used earlier, and Harry immediately curled up on his side with his back to her.

The medi-witch merely moved around to where she was in front of him. Harry wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t sleep yet, even though he was so exhausted. He was about to roll over so as to get an unobstructed view of a wall to stare at, when Poppy lowered a tray with parchment and quill on it into his field of vision. “Got anything to say?” she asked in a somewhat teasing voice, and even though—or maybe because—he was so irritated, he nodded quickly and sat up.

‘Let me go!’ was his first demand. As he passed the parchment to her he looked up and saw that Snape was still lurking. How could he have forgotten? He paled and scooted back slightly, trying to see how angry the man was at having seen him write. Snape’s expression was completely implacable, though; after a momentary staring contest, he moved forward to stand just behind Madam Pomfrey and read over her shoulder.

“I have let you go, in a manner of speaking,” she replied evenly. “And once the Wakefulness Potion has worn off and you’ve had a good rest, I’ll give you free reign of the Hospital Wing, as long as you behave.” She smiled softly at him, but he just grabbed the parchment as soon as she stretched it out far enough that he could reach it.

A hundred responses went through his mind but none of them would work. What he really wanted to write was, ‘No, I mean let me GO—out of Hogwarts, away from you and Snape and that stupid imposter Dumbledore!’ ‘I hate you!’ would have done in a pinch, but both of those would like get him time in the hole or perhaps something worse, with Snape standing there reading everything. He forced himself to keep looking at the parchment instead of glancing at Snape, even though he knew that Snape would understand that he was properly cowed by his mere presence. He wanted desperately to ask Poppy *why* she was on Snape’s side, but he obviously couldn’t do that while he was here and probably not ever. Finally, he wrote ‘Fine,’ wearily, and pushed the parchment and quill toward her before laying down facing the opposite direction.

Madam Pomfrey sighed but didn’t make any move to come around to the other side of the bed. “Alright, Sam, I’ll give you some time to calm down. Just make some noise if you need or want something, alright?” Harry shrugged his shoulders barely so she would know that he had heard, and continued to stare at the wall blankly.

This was not a very effective way of distracting himself from all the negative thoughts that were spinning in his head, nor from his inability to fall asleep. Almost without thinking about it he began to tear at the wrist cuffs compulsively, getting progressively more frustrated as he made no progress on removing them.

Then a hand settled on one of his and he jerked away, across the bed, panicked. Seeing that it was Madam Pomfrey, he managed to avoid hyperventilating but curled inward on himself and continued to tear at the cuffs, more furiously than before. The medi-witch reached out again, and he curled his body around his hands so that she couldn’t reach them.

“Sam,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Give me your hands.” Harry shook his head furiously, tears leaking from his eyes as he tried to shut them. “Give me your hands,” she said slightly more loudly, and he shook slightly just curled tighter, though he wouldn’t have thought it possible.

“Sam.” Her voice was more insistent now, and he tensed in anticipation but wasn’t sure if he could uncurl if he tried. “Very well. Recin—“

Poppy was interrupted as Harry shrieked and somehow launched himself from his curled position toward her in a desperate scrabble for freedom or release. His wrists and ankles slammed painfully to a stop at the edge of the bed, and then the medi-witch repeated the spell she had almost managed. “Recindo!”

All he knew was panic. Once again his legs and arms were dragged in different directions, and he screamed as though in pain, his vision tunneling until he could hardly see the light in the room. He continued to scream, flat on his back now, his mouth wide open as much for the gasping breaths as for the screams that they interrupted. Then suddenly a sickeningly sweet potion was being poured into his open mouth, cutting off a scream and forcing him to gag painfully. A hand massaged his throat and he swallowed instinctively, then gasped in a breath to begin screaming again.

Instead, a calm sensation flooded through him, and he sighed and relaxed back against the bed. Someone was stroking his forehead gently, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and enjoy the comforting sensation, but he couldn’t for some reason. He made a questioning noise in the back of his throat and looked around for the source of the comforting hand.

It was Madam Pomfrey. His brain moved sluggishly to fill in what had happened. She had asked for his hands, and he had attacked her when she started to activate the restraints—or tried, but the restraints had stopped him and then she had activated them and he had panicked and then… she must have given him a Calming Draught. That would explain why he could now think about all of that, even about the fact that he was restrained even now, without panicking.

“There now… that’s much better, don’t you think?” He yawned, another wave of tiredness stealing over him. If only he could close his eyes.. “I’m sorry, Sam. I seem to be going about this all wrong.. that is, if there *is* a right way. Maybe you should be at St. Mungo’s, but the headmaster is insistent for some reason that this is the place that you are most likely to recover.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Do you have any idea why that is?” She hardly paused before continuing, “Of course, you won’t answer. You don’t talk, even when you’re under a calming draught and exhausted. What was done to you, poor dear? And how did you come through it?”

Harry just stared at her, his mind not particularly interested in interpreting the words that she was saying. Various isolated words or phrases—‘St. Mungo’s’, ‘headmaster’, ‘calming draught’, ‘poor dear’—triggered trains of thought that he quickly stopped before they could go anywhere in particular. As for the meaning as a whole, he was far too exhausted and drained to even attempt to piece it together.

Another wave of fatigue hit and his eyelids began to droop. Harry himself didn’t recognize the significance of this, but the medi-witch clearly did. “Oh!” She pulled out her wand and Harry caught glimpses of movement through his half-closed eyes. “The Wakefulness Draught is wearing off—stay awake for a moment longer, Sam,” she exclaimed, and then bustled away. Harry closed his eyes, ready to surrender to the sweet bliss of unconsciousness that he had been denied so long. Not even the prospect of waking to pain could deter him.

Barely two seconds later, though, he was being shaken awake. “Sam.. Sam!” a voice exclaimed, and he wearily dragged his painfully heavy eyelids open, groaning in dismay at not being left to sleep. “Sorry, dear, but I want to make sure you sleep soundly—just open up and get ready to swallow.” Anything to sleep, Harry decided, and he opened his mouth and swallowed obediently when the disgusting potion was poured into his mouth. He didn’t even need to wait to be dragged under—his body was taking care of that all on its own.


Harry lay still and kept his eyes closed. Everything was wrong. He was flat on his back—Snape always strapped him down face first. He had woken naturally, not from pain in some part of his body. If he was even restrained at all, he couldn’t feel the restraints. And, strangest of all, he could *swear* that he could feel sunlight on his face. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he had finally snapped and somehow failed to realize it, but his mind was creating pleasant alternatives to the torture that was the only thing that Snape had to offer.

He twitched his arm muscles slightly, and was surprised to find that he could move his wrists. He twitched his legs, and found that they could move as well. He relaxed his neck muscles, and his head lolled to the side slightly, unrestrained. Harry couldn’t wait any longer; his muscles were already tensing for a chance at escape, though part of him feared the consequences if this were another trap. He almost relaxed, almost gave up the fight, but some part of him needed to try.

Even as he snapped his eyes open to the bright room, he was moving to launch himself off the bed. He didn’t get very far, though—it was as though an invisible wall that only affected his wrists and ankles had slammed him to a halt. He tried again, more slowly, but had no success. Then he took a chance to look around.

It was the Hospital Wing, at Hogwarts. Harry would know that room in a second, having spent so many hours and days in it over the years that he attended Hogwarts. What was he doing in the Hospital Wing? He dredged his mind for memories and a few trickled back in—something about waking up in the hole, and screaming, and then Snape allowing him out? And then… and then… Snape stunning him and bringing him to the Hospital Wing? And Madam Pomfrey, and… and Dumbledore?? Harry shook his head harshly, as though to clear the hallucinations from his mind, and tried again. The memories of speaking to “Dumbledore” did not vanish, though a sensation that it was wrong did trickle through.

“Ah, Sam, you are awake,” a horridly familiar voice spoke. Harry stared up at the wizened old man—the *dead* wizened old man—and paled significantly. And what had the man called him—Sam? He scooted away from the man nervously. “I assure you, there is no reason to be afraid. I have no intent to harm you, nor does anyone else here. You are safe.” Harry (Sam?) nearly snorted in disbelief. Of all the people that he might believe that from, a dead man was one of the least likely.

“You must be feeling very well-rested—you slept for quite a long time!” the ‘headmaster’ commented idly in his usual jovial tones. Harry eyed him suspiciously, wondering if there was actually someone there impersonating the old headmaster or if it was truly a hallucination. If it was the latter, perhaps it would be better not to acknowledge it? Harry wasn’t quite sure how those things worked; he’d always been quite happily sane. Well, until he had wished for insanity or death over Snape’s ministrations, but that was a recent development that he had not yet had time to adjust to or learn from.

“Madam Pomfrey asked me to keep an eye on you. She needed some rest, too, after all. She also asked me to wake her as soon as you woke, but I think that can wait, don’t you?” the old man asked with a wink. Harry forced himself to take his eyes from the apparition and focus on the worn stone floor instead. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there.

“Albus! Somehow I knew that you wouldn’t wake me when the child finally woke. It’s a good thing I set a warning spell as well, or I’d still be asleep.” Madam Pomfrey made a vocal entrance, but Harry had to wonder if she was any more real than Dumbledore. Perhaps he was still in the dungeons, strapped down to the table—or even in the hole. He shuddered slightly at the thought. “Sam? How are you feeling?”

Harry gave a very light shrug of his shoulders, his uncertainty only growing by the second. “Sam? Look at me please, Sam,” Poppy said in a more urgent tone, and Harry turned his head without thinking. Maybe he wasn’t Harry—maybe his name was Sam. Maybe Snape was the dream and this was the reality. But then why would he be trapped on a bed in the Hospital Wing, and why would the only ‘memories’ he could recall be these horrible nightmares? “Sam? Sam! At me, in my eyes!” the medi-witch was still speaking, and Harry followed her directions even as his thoughts spun uselessly in circles.

The gray eyes that he met were warm and concerned, yet analytical at the same time. She stared into his eyes for a long moment as if reading his thoughts, and then nodded. “I expect you’re hungry?” she said, and by the way she began bustling before she had finished it was clear that it was not a question. “And well you should be,” she continued as though she had asked and he had answered, “after sleeping so long!”

He opened his mouth to ask how long it had been, then gasped in a breath at what he had been about to do. Madam Pomfrey glanced at him and frowned disappointedly. “You can speak—you won’t be punished here,” she prodded gently, but he shook his head. Even his hallucinations were trying to confuse him! “You were asleep for nearly 20 hours—well past the length of the sleeping potion that I gave you to help you sleep soundly.”

She watched for a reaction for half a second before moving away to retrieve something. Harry watched ‘Dumbledore,’ who had backed off a small distance in order to give Madam Pomfrey some room to work. The piercing blue eyes watched him closely, and he looked away, disconcerted. A moment later, the medi-witch returned, a goblet in one hand and a bowl in the other. “Nutrition potion first,” she said, and handed him the goblet. He pushed it back towards her, refusing to take it. “Sam, please—not this again.”

Again? Harry couldn’t remember taking any potions except from Snape, and those were bad. But he wasn’t allowed to fight. He wavered for a moment in indecision before taking the goblet and swallowing the potion quickly, tensing in case he could feel its effects. The worse ones were the ones whose effects weren’t obvious, and this was apparently one of those. He pulled his knees to his chest nervously, wondering what the potion was and what it would do.

“Well done, Sam,” Poppy responded with a smile, and handed him a bowl full of porridge. “Eat up.” And eat he did—he was very hungry, just as the medi-witch had expected. Had he really slept for 20 hours? Where was Snape, and why was he letting Harry sleep so long? Harry briefly entertained the idea that he had been discovered and rescued, before remembering the blurry memory of Snape bringing him to the Hospital Wing. That meant Snape knew he was here, and this was probably another test. He paused in his eating, wondering if he was failing by taking the food he was offered.

“Sam? What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Harry stared at her with an uncertain expression. She kept calling him Sam—that must be the name Snape had given her for him. Why not Salazar, his nephew, as he had told McGonagall? McGonagall—opening his mouth to speak—pain, drowning, pain, pain, drowning, terror..!

Someone was rocking him gently, humming into his ear. He was curled into as tight a ball as he could manage, gasping for breath, eyes wide with terror but somehow unseeing. He could still feel the pain covering his body, and it was hard to breath as though he had just inhaled salt water. He shook violently and only the person holding him was soothing the painful twitches.

“Shhh.. hush.. it’s alright.. it’s alright..” Harry hung on to that gentle voice like a lifeline, refusing to think of Snape or the dungeons but only the soft voice and the bright Hospital Wing finally coming back into focus. “That’s right… take a deep breath.. You’re back, you’re safe, no one is going to hurt you here..”

Here? Where was here? He couldn’t ask, he couldn’t talk, no talking, oh Merlin, no talking! He shook more violently still and the rocking began again, slowly soothing him and blanking his mind to the terror.

“Albus, can you get me a Calming Draught from the storeroom, please?” the soothing voice interrupted itself to speak, though it was still in a low, calm tone. He looked around and jolted when he saw the former headmaster, standing by the bed as though he was not dead. The arms tightened around him and he tried to relax, telling himself once again that it was a hallucination.

This strategy didn’t work as well when the hallucination returned with a goblet full of another potion. He cringed back and made a brief whining sound before freezing, remembering the rules—no fighting. He remained still except for his uncontrollable shaking as the contents of the goblet were poured down his throat, and swallowed the potion so sweet that he almost instinctively rejected it. Finally, his jittery mind was covered in a blanket of calm, and his shaking slowed as the tension drained from his body.

Harry took a few deep breaths, relaxing further every time. The arms encircling him squeezed comfortingly and then moved him gently to the side. When Madam Pomfrey moved off the bed slowly, smiling at him sadly, he realized that she had been the one calming him. He curled inward on himself and simply watched as she moved a little further away and talked in hushed tones with the man who looked so much like Dumbledore.

He watched blankly as they argued over something, Poppy in particular waving her arms about and Dumbledore restraining himself to a few calming hand motions and a gesture or two in Harry’s direction. Somehow he knew that they were arguing over him, and he hoped that whatever they decided that it had nothing to do with sending him back to Snape. Not that he was panicked at the idea, strangely enough; he simply knew intellectually that it would be bad thing. The panic would come later, after whatever she had given him (a Calming Draught?) had worn off.

Finally, the two stopped arguing, and Madam Pomfrey turned back to smile at Harry warmly even as Dumbledore glanced at him one more time before turning to leave the Hospital Wing. Harry felt some of his confusion drain away as the direct evidence of his hallucination moved out of sight.

“Now, are you still hungry, Sam? You never finished what you were eating,” Poppy asked, extending the bowl toward him again. He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out why she was asking him—Snape never did. He just handed him the bowl and told him to eat. Harry probably would have anyway, since he was always so hungry. He glanced at the bowl suspiciously, wondering if it held more than he could see, then decided that if she wanted him to eat she would make him anyway. He nodded slightly and took the bowl from her hands, finishing off the rest of its still-warm contents in short order.

“Alright, now just sit still while I check you,” the medi-witch said in a calm tone, and Harry froze in place as well as he could while she pulled out her wand and began to run it over him. After only a few seconds she sighed heavily. “Relax, Sam.. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He forced himself to relax slightly while still trying not to move. Finally, she was done. “You seem to be doing as well as expected—the sleep has done you some good, as have the nutrition potions and some more food. How would you like to get off of that bed?”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to get off the bed. Snape usually told him what he was supposed to do. When Madam Pomfrey began walking toward the far end of the Hospital Wing, though, he hesitantly slid off of the bed, surprised that he wasn’t stopped like he had been before. His ankles easily cleared the edge of the bed, following closely by his wrists. Then he lingered at the edge of the bed, still close enough to get back on in a hurry if he wasn’t supposed to be off of it at all.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want,” Poppy threw over her shoulder casually. Harry froze in place but didn’t leap onto the bed just yet. Did that mean she wanted him to come with her, or not?

Harry watched as she moved down the aisle, and then stopped at the window, leaning on the sill and staring out at the grounds. He moved forward slightly as she didn’t seem to be looking back, curious at what she was looking at. She laughed out loud, and he moved forward next to another bed. He was about halfway down the aisle toward the windows when she turned and he froze, staring at her wide-eyed while waiting for a response.

“Oh, so you’re coming?” she said with a smile, and he nodded hesitantly and moved forward, this time without stopping. The medi-witch appeared pleased, and he relaxed slightly.

Then Harry looked out the window, and snorted quietly at the scene that met his eyes. A sopping wet Hagrid was running across the grounds after, of all things, a giant white duck! The duck had a polka-dotted umbrella firmly in its beak and seemed to be getting ready to take off. Hagrid’s mouth was wide open as though he were yelling at the duck, but it didn’t seem to be stopping or even slowing. Meanwhile, Fang was snapping at Hagrid’s heels as though this were all a game.

Madam Pomfrey laughed quietly and smiled at him. The small smile that had twitched on his lips when he had first seen what was happening hard already died, and he couldn’t resummon it even if it might have pleased her. He shrugged his shoulders nervously and moved his eyes back outside quickly, just in time to see Hagrid leap forward and ‘tackle’ the duck, with Fang leaping on top of him to come out the true victor. Still, the half-giant did come out of the heap holding his precious umbrella. Hagrid brushed himself off and then moved off toward his hut, admonishing Fang the whole way. His tone must not have been very angry, though, as Fang’s tale continued to wag the entire time. The duck hurried back to the lake before Hagrid changed his mind about letting it live.

Harry was absorbed in what he was watching that he didn’t immediately realize that Madam Pomfrey was no longer standing next to him. When he did, he turned and froze at what he saw, his mind suddenly blank.


Poppy Pomfrey was not one to admit defeat. Never, in her many years working in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, had she ever needed to request outside medical help for any of the students or others that the Headmaster asked her to heal. That record was now broken by the frail teen who now stood by the window, slightly more relaxed but still visibly tense as he watched the happenings on the Hogwarts grounds that day. Poppy was just happy that she had managed to get him distracted; he didn’t seem to notice yet that she had stepped back a few feet to discuss potions with Severus Snape in low tones.

‘Discuss’ was a rather strong term, however, as she was mostly just listening to Severus talk, her mind only half on his words. He was explaining to her his shortage of ingredients and that he would be unable to make all the potions she had requested until he was able to get out and buy more. She was still considering the child by the window. The medi-witch had been shocked when the headmaster had listened to her explain that she was unable to properly heal the mental and emotional wounds that this boy had, and then proceeded to tell her that he still insisted that the child remain at Hogwarts.

What did the old man know—or think he knew—about this child that made him so insistent? Poppy had to admit that there was something about the boy—something about the way that he was so strong and so weak at the same time. Broken, and yet still fighting nonetheless. But Poppy had no experience with dealing with this kind of massive emotional trauma, deliberately inflicted. She had proven that time after time as she unintentionally triggered new panic attacks in the poor child.

Severus was still explaining her options in terms of which potions she would get before and after he went to buy new ingredients when she saw the boy notice her absence. He stiffened and turned to see where she had gone, but his eyes fell first on the Potions Master. To her surprise he did not panic as he had in the past; instead, he fell perfectly still, and it was almost as though she could see the light disappearing from his eyes.

“Sam?” Poppy called hesitantly, but she received no response from the child. This did capture Severus’ attention, though, and he stopped speaking and turned his attention to the boy as well. His sharp eyes took in the boy’s posture and his facial expression and he tensed slightly in response. “Sam? Are you alright?”

The blank eyes flicked to her and the back to Snape, as though asking a question. Snape seemed to know what was expected of him. “Answer her,” he said gruffly, and that was about as polite an order as Poppy had ever heard from him. The child looked back to her and nodded, but there was no expression on his face. Poppy looked to Snape.

“What’s happened to him?” she asked, her voice slightly panicked despite her attempts to control it. “You know something!”

Snape’s eyes looked slightly haunted as he turned to her. “He has… withdrawn. Something he has seen—probably me—has recalled a memory or set of memories so terrifying that his only response was to withdraw to a place where he couldn’t be hurt or scared.”

“Will he—will he come back?” she gasped in a tone that even to her sounded frantic.

Snape sighed. “Yes… and possibly no. He… his ‘real’ self will emerge from time to time, but will only remain if he deems it ‘safe’ to do so. If not, he will submerge himself further and further each time until eventually he no longer comes out.”

Poppy stared at the empty shell in front of her in horror. “How.. how do we make him feel ‘safe’?” She had thought that things were bad before, when the teen had panic attacks and struck out at her and tried to run, but this was much, much worse. The boy’s eyes remained on Severus, and he was blanker even than the recent victims of Imperius that she had seen.

“’We’ will do nothing. Since I was the likely trigger, I should not be present. However, you should strive to give him as many ‘enjoyable’ things to do as possible. Your goal is to create an environment as different as possible from that that he experienced before. I would recommend creating a way to track him and then allowing him to wander, as he was clearly restrained before. And as few orders as possible.”

Poppy sighed, looking again at the boy who still stood there waiting for an order. “I cannot understand why the headmaster will not send him to St. Mungo’s. I obviously do not know how to deal with him—even you know better!”

“I have had… experience… with this sort of thing, in the past. As for the headmaster, I have long since ceased to attempt to divine his motives in anything. They are beyond fathoming, in most cases, and when they are transparently obvious is when they are most likely to be incorrect.” Snape glanced at the boy, making eye contact for a moment before sighing. “I should be going, in case he recovers quickly. It is unlikely, but… Any contact we have should not be in his presence, until he is significantly recovered. I will deal with the potions on my own.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded instinctively, her eyes still on the boy. “Thank you, Severus.”

When Snape had swept from the room, she moved closer to the boy. “What would you like to do, Sam?” No response. “You may do whatever you want, you know. You may sleep, or rest, or I can get you something to read, or we can play a game… does anything sound interesting?” She was trying to treat him ‘normally’ despite the fact that his behavior was not at all normal.

The teen still didn’t respond, and Madam Pomfrey knew that the days were going to stretch out in front of her like this.

Weeks, in fact, though she didn’t know that yet.

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