Hating me (Discontinued)

The Detention

Harry

Harry trudged miserably behind his professor, dreading what was to come. He was embarrassed. Snape had seen his weak side, he was sure to use it against him. The dull ache in his stomach only grew worse as he saw the door to Snape's office looming before him, along with the hunger and the striking pain in his ankle which was refusing to give him a break.

Damn bodily needs, he thought.

As they entered the office a wave of dizziness overcame him, but he ignored it. He didn't want to give Snape any more power over him than he already had and he sat down, quite reluctantly, in the chair opposite to Snape.

"You will be writing an essay on why you must respect your superiors," Snape drawled, "You have precisely one hour and fifteen minutes."

Harry sighed, silently and picked up the quill that lay before him. His hands were shaking slightly and he tried desperately not to spill ink everywhere as he began to write:

You must not respect your superiors-

His vision blurred suddenly, causing him to knock the ink bottle over, soaking the parchment that lay before him. He inhaled sharply and his sight cleared as quickly as it had gone.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "I suggest you clean up your mess Potter."

Obediently, Harry turned the bottle back upright and picked up the now dripping piece of parchment, throwing it into a nearby paper bin. He looked around for a cloth, but just as he spotted a pile of flannels in the back of the room he was once again blinded by static. He waited for it to pass, but it did not. He swayed on the spot, stumbling against the wall and dropping to his knees. Daggers dug into his stomach and he winced as his ankle hit the paper bin. His head throbbed unbearably to the point he thought it might burst. He could hear Snape speaking to him, but the words sounded twisted, nonsensical. The world spun and his vision faded into blackness.

Snape

Severus sneered at the boy before him, whose intense clumsiness had stained both his parchment and his desk.

"I suggest you clean up your mess Potter," he said, threateningly. He obeyed the order, chucking the parchment carelessly into the paper bin. The arrogance.

He gazed around the room and made his way towards the flannels Snape kept specifically for incidents like these. However, he stopped before he could reach them and swayed alarmingly, clutching at his head as he collapsed onto the floor.

Severus stood up, "Potter?"

He got no response. He marched towards the boy and knelt down beside him, "Potter are you alright?"

He knew he was faking it really. This whole scheme was for the attention which he oh so desperately craved. Was the fame not enough for him?

Harry let out a sigh and fell to the ground, a soft crack sounding from the lower half of his leg. Snape winced, that didn't sound good.

Snape bent over the unconscious child, the beginnings of concern rising in his chest.

No, not concern. Potter was faking it, he was fine. Then again, he did look rather pale...

After a moment's thought, Severus decided to at least take him up to see Madame Pomfrey. Just in case, not that he really cared.

He picked up the frail body of the child and gasped slightly. He was lighter than he had anticipated. His ribs were visible through the fabric of his shirt and his ankle appeared to be protruding out at a rather unnatural angle...

He rushed up to the hospital wing, cradling Potter's thin frame in his arms. He kicked open the door - quite a bit harder than he intended to - startling a spaced out Madame Pomfrey.

She glanced down at Harry, "What happened, Severus?"

Snape lay Harry down on the nearest bed and turned towards the medinurse.

"He passed out. In detention." he stated, simply.

Madame Pomfrey nodded and examined Harry, carefully. Snape stood patiently by the door, waiting for her to finish.

She sighed, "He appears to have a broken angle," she studied the boy again, "He's rather skinny...quite the cause for concern."

Snape tapped his foot impatiently, "Yes Poppy, I can see that."

Madame Pomfrey muttered something under her breath just as a paper and quill appeared before where Potter was sleeping and began to write swiftly. Eventually, it stopped and fell onto the bed covers. Madame Pomfrey picked up the parchment and read it, her eyes widening.

"Oh my," she handed the paper over to Snape, with a grim expression on her face.

Snape's eyes skimmed the paper and he looked back up at the medinurse in shock.

Broken ankle (right)

Achilles tendonitis (right)

Two fractured ribs (left )

Fractured hip (right)

Mild concussion

Malnutrition

Whip lashes (thighs and back)

Severe bruising (backside and lower back)

Mild internal bleeding

Scarring (forehead - magically inflicted)

"No.." he said, slowly.

"I'm afraid so, Severus," she replied, taking back the paper and placing it down, "These are the giveaway signs of domestic abuse."

Snape fell into a chair next to Harry's bed and hid his face in his hands. How had he not noticed this before? It was crystal clear to him now, the way Harry had winced at the slightest raise in his voice, how he flinched at every sudden movement and how he had somehow become scrawnier and scrawnier within the past year.

He gazed down at the 12 year old, who was now breathing in a slow, steady motion as Madame Pomfrey gave him a vial of dreamless sleep. He was too young...

Looking at the boy reminded him somewhat of himself when he was a child. Lonely, scared, abused.

And to think he had so much in common with the son of his esteemed nemesis.

He watched as the child fell into a deeper state of rest and got up to leave. He would not let this go on for any longer than it had to.

Word count: 967

How the hell Harry is doing so well with a bloody concussion honestly baffles me and I don't understand why my brain decided to write it but this is Wattpad.

Anything is possible here, even if that means fighting concussions and internal bleeding on a daily basis and somehow going unnoticed.