Severus nodded, and pulled a chair up, one left there by the Quidditch team. As he eased himself down, he wondered how it had come to this. Alas, he knew the answer; he just did not want to admit it. And yet he must.
It was fairly close to midnight before Potter woke. As with almost everything the boy did, he woke quietly, eyes blinking heavily as confusion crossed his face. Severus could tell when Potter realized he was in the Infirmary, as he gave a low sigh, almost a groan, of displeasure. If he had not been trying desperately to figure out what he was going to say to the Boy Who Tried to Beat Bludgers at Their Game, he might have found it amusing.
As it was, he had only to say, "Mr. Potter," and the boy closed his eyes again with another almost inaudible groan. His expression grew immediately blank, as Potter hid his emotions carefully behind his mask. Severus could not blame him, at all.
The words he knew he had to say made his voice shake, just a little, when he repeated, "Mr. Potter." He swallowed, then, "I know you are awake. I would like . . . I want to speak with you."
The resigned look in the boy's eyes when he opened them again and sought out the form of his professor was so complete, Severus was almost knocked back. He didn't have to be a Legilimens to realize Potter expected a lecture, and maybe some punishment. Well, the boy was in for a surprise then.
"Yes, sir?" Potter's voice was flat, with almost no inflection, and Severus hesitated and swallowed again.
"Potter . . . I would like . . ." Severus ducked his head briefly, and when it came up, he leaned forward, closer to the bed and reached for the edge of the bed, to clutch at the blanket. He needed something to hold, something to grip, or he was never going to get through this.
"Sir?"
"I want to apologize," Severus said quickly, only able to get the words out if he rushed them. Potter's mouth opened as wide as his eyes as he continued, "I've treated you badly, and I'm sorry."
A long moment passed, with Potter staring at him like he had suddenly turned into a flobberworm. His eyes narrowed after the first few seconds, as suspicion took root in his mien. Severus was almost glad to see it, as it meant the Potter Brat wasn't going to just accept his words on face value. And yet . . . he had to accept them. Severus would not accept anything else. He was going to make a concerted effort to treat the boy as he would any of his other Snakes; he was going to change.
At last, Potter said, "Fine. Thanks," and turned his face away.
He should have just gone, and waited for another time, but he could not dispel the feeling that this was all his fault, and he wanted . . . absolution? Something, some recognition or acknowledgement of what this was costing him. So he said, "Potter, I know you're tired, and I understand this has been a difficult week for you," and when the boy's jaw clenched, he should have taken it as a sign and left him alone, but hindsight was twenty-twenty, wasn't it? "I am willing to take some of the responsibility for that, and—"
"Oh, you are?" the boy snapped. His green eyes flashed dangerously. "How incredibly noble of you. Sir."
Severus clenched his hands into fists. "Well, it is hardly my doing that your scar has been hurting and you've not seen fit to share that information with me."
"Oh, right; you've been so bloody approachable!"
"Language, Mr. Potter! And I will not tolerate your impertinence."
Potter worked his jaw and came out with a sullen, "Sorry, sir."
Severus gave a quick nod. He was just as glad for the display of temper, actually, as, in his opinion, it showed the boy would likely make a recovery from this . . . incident, without too much trauma. "As I was saying, since your present predicament is, at least in some respects, my responsibility, and I have heard from others of your professors that you have fallen behind in your work—"
"Because you made me do—" Potter cut off when Severus raised a warning hand, though the accompanying flinch he could have done without. He had never struck a child in his life, but Potter's reaction gave him a start nonetheless, and reminded him that this was a child he had to handle carefully, or he would never regain the boy's trust . . . if he had ever had it in the first place.
"I understand that," Severus said, more softly, dropping his hand. The boy's gaze tracked it, all the way down, which made him feel an even greater beast for raising it in the first place. "I am merely telling you what I have come to realize very recently. And to follow that up with an offer for tutoring. To help you catch up with your classmates."
"No. Thank you. Sir." The boy's expression was set in stone. "I'm doing fine by myself."
Severus stared at the small form in the bed and suppressed a sigh. How many times had this child said – or internalized – that same thing over the course of his life? How many times had others made him feel like he had to get along by himself, that he had no one else to rely on? He had been severely neglected by his relatives, that was certain, and seemingly had not been given any refuge at school either. Severus did not care to ponder that particular issue any longer for the moment, but he had to set the boy straight.
"I was not actually giving you a choice," Severus told him.
Potter's eyes blazed again, though the rest of his face was as blank as a new canvas. That was his weakness, Severus realized. The boy could not lie with his eyes to save his life. His voice came out rather strangled as he said, "Fine, sir." Then he drew a deep breath and swallowed, looking away again. "Can you . . . can you go now? I'm really tired."
"Very well," Severus said and got to his feet. But he had to get in a parting word. "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that the nutritive potion you have been taking will do you no good without actual food to drive it along. Assuming she allows you to leave the infirmary in the morning, I will expect to see you at all meals tomorrow, and each day thereafter. And after dinner, starting tomorrow, we shall begin catching you up."
"Yes, sir," came the quiet reply, and Severus took his leave.
Madam Pomfrey did not, indeed, let Potter leave the infirmary the next day, insisting he needed another day of full bed rest. Severus did not see the need to speak with Potter again during the day, but he did advise Flint to make sure one of the other Firsties got his assignments to him and several of his books as well. He rather thought the boy would appreciate something to do. As well, it would make it easier when Severus began their tutoring session after dinner. He did not mean to put that off any longer than necessary.
He would have thought Potter understood that, and so it with some consternation that he met the boy's annoyed, "What now? Sir?" when he arrived at the infirmary at just half six.
"We are beginning our tutoring," Severus said with much more calm than he felt, and choosing to ignore the snappishness in Potter's tone. "You seem to be most behind in History of Magic, thus we will focus on that subject this evening."
Potter glared at him for one long minute, then let out a deep sigh and said, "Yes, sir."
When it seemed the boy was just going to sit there, Severus said, "Would you not prefer to take notes?"
With a quick glance at his right arm, which was still in a sling, Potter said, "No, sir, that's all right."
Oh, for pity's sake. "Have you never heard of a dictaquill?"
Potter frowned. "No . . . should I?"
No, Severus thought, he probably hadn't. Not living with those Muggles, at any rate. As patiently as he could, he said, "A dictaquill will take notes for you; they are not generally allowed at Hogwarts except for under circumstances where the student is unable to take notes on their own. Madam Pomfrey should have several specimens, just for this purpose."
"Oh."
"Shall I see if she has one?"
Potter squinted at him. "Please."