Trust
He was pulling each drawer open as fast as he could. If someone saw him, they would believe his life depended on it. Christopher couldn’t think straight anymore. His mind was racing and his hands were working on autopilot. When he finally spotted the shiny silver object he had been looking for, everything else became irrelevant. He didn’t notice his skin tearing apart when he grabbed the blade of the knife instead of the handle. He didn’t notice the blood dripping from his fingers onto the ground. He didn’t notice the cold stone floor he was sitting on. He didn’t notice that he forgot to lock the door of the room. All he noticed was the excitement of finally calming the tension that had built up. Just like in the bathroom he rolled up his sleeve. He put the knife onto his flaming red skin, applied pressure and pulled it away. A gaping wound was visible. It was white and looked like someone had stolen a piece of flesh from his arm. When the blood was taking too long to build up, he set the knife down again and tore his skin open just an inch away from his first wound. He kept going, creating an even pattern. One that traveled up his arms in horizontal lines, almost representing a staircase. He loved the way it looked. And the way it felt. The anticipation of his wounds turning into beautiful purple scars. Making up a pattern. Making it visible to people that he was suffering. Easing the pressure he felt on his forearm. His infected wounds were hot and burning and it felt like his skin was pulled on too tightly. The boy couldn’t risk his fresh wounds to end up like the ones he created at the start of the week or else he would loose his arm and, he thought, he was only 13 and this seemed like a rather unfortunate future. He had not planned on it but when he heard a door close shut nearby he startled and the knife cut into one of his older wounds. He hissed in pain, tears filling his eyes. Christopher was trying to breathe normally but the pain he felt was too much to bear. He stumbled through the room, dropping the potions knife to the floor. His legs felt like they had turned into pudding and his hands were now shaking. Inhaling sharply the boy rested his head against the cold stone wall of the dungeons. He couldn’t fix this by himself. He needed help. But who could he trust?
Madame Pomfrey? She would tell his head of house and the young Gryffindor couldn’t stand her at the moment. Not after his week had been filled with detentions for wearing pants instead of a skirt. Hagrid? His hands wouldn’t be able to clean out the wounds properly. It needed small, tender hands to properly handle these injuries. Flitwick? Christopher liked him but he feared he wouldn’t understand, would pass out from the shock of seeing one of his best students hurting himself. Black? The boy barely knew him. The history of magic teacher treated the teenager with respect but other than that there was not much Reid knew about him. It was a 50/50 chance of making things worse. He couldn’t risk that. That left him with Lupin. The poor man who had already witnessed him breaking down. The man who knew his secrets. The man who was covered in scars himself! If someone in this building knew how to treat them it would be his exhausted looking teacher.
I can’t do that. He’ll think im crazy or something and send me to the hospital wing. He’ll tell everyone that I’m a freak who just does this for attention. I’ll be the girl who- But Christopher didn’t get to finish that thought before he felt his legs give out beneath him. His forehead scraped down the wall and he ended up on his knees. His face was burning hot but the rest of his body was freezing cold. He felt his trousers sticking to his legs and they were unusually wet. Looking down he found himself kneeling in a puddle of crimson coloured blood. The boy had no idea what he was doing. He was going to bleed out on the cold stone floor, all alone and too stupid to save himself. Drawing a shaky breath and feeling his lungs fill up with cold, rusty smelling air the child once more tried to pull himself out of his position. His right arm was pushed against the dark stone wall while his shaking right hand attempted to pull his left leg off the ground. It took all the strength he had left in his fragile body to keep himself upright but once his feet were touching the ground below him again he started stumbling towards his belongings. Christopher’s backpack had been lying next to the puddle of blood and was soaking wet but the boy didn’t care. He threw the bag over his shoulder and covered himself with the invisibility cloak and made his way into the hallway, trying to make it seem like the door had creaked open because of the wind. Keeping himself near the wall in case his legs gave up on him again, the brown haired teenager slowly strode forward. His breathing was heavy and his head was pounding as if he had just worked out but he knew he couldn’t stop. The sleeve of his robes had fallen down and was now covering the bleeding gaps on the pale skin. Dried blood was sticking to it and the Gryffindor knew the house elves would have a hard time cleaning it but right now he couldn’t care less. Yes, he liked the elves a lot but he knew they would find a solution for the problem either way. Christopher wouldn’t have to bother. He was about to place his right foot onto the first step in front of him when he suddenly felt long, harsh fingers grab his shoulder.
“Miss Reid, didn’t I just see you walking around Hogsmead with that blasted auror friend of yours? It seems like sneaking around one place at a time is not enough to satisfy you.” Christopher's heart raced as he heard the stern voice behind him. The grip on his shoulder didn’t seem to loosen and so he was forced to slowly turn towards his teacher. The boy tried to steady his breathing, acutely aware of the blood seeping through his robes. His mind was scrambling for an explanation but before he could come up with one the invisibility cloak was pulled off his head. His vision was blurring slightly from the blood loss. The corridor seemed to spin around him, and he struggled to focus on the figure before him. His teacher's eyes narrowed, taking in Christopher's pale face and trembling form. "Miss Reid, are you unwell?" The harsh tone softened slightly with concern. Christopher opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. The only sound that echoed through the corridors was the sound of the boys blood dripping from his arm down to his fingertips and onto the floor. That caught Snape’s attention. He looked down to where the sound came from and felt his stomach turn upside down when he saw the small puddle of blood that was building up on the stone floor. “Follow me.” he barked. It came out harsher than he had anticipated but he knew he had no time to waste. When the child in front of him didn’t move he managed to make the word “Now!” come out behind his clenched teeth. The Gryffindor slowly started following the man down the hallway. His cheeks were tingling and he fully believed the feeling in his chest was about to suffocate him. He couldn’t make out a single sound. He was too frightened about what was going to happen. Was he going to get punished? Would Snape make fun of him? Was this just the last drop that was needed for the potions teacher to explode? Did Christopher’s outfit piss him off more than the boy thought? He wasn’t sure that he would survive whatever was about to happen. He didn’t want to.
Not a moment after the boy had made his way into the professors office he was shoved into a plushy chair. It was made of green velvet, had two armrests and was wide enough to sit in it cross legged. It was unusually soft, creating an almost unbelievable contrast to the teachers demeanour. The black haired man was looking through a dozen different cabinets, trying to gather the right supplies. Meanwhile the teenager was staring off into space. The chair had been a bit too comfortable and even though he refused to lean back the soft texture of it had calmed him so far that he had started to dissociate. He didn’t notice the single tear rolling down his cheek or the amount of vials and bandages being placed on a small desk next to him. It was only when his potions teacher placed a hand on his shoulder that he managed to partially snap back into reality. “Miss Reid, would you please roll up your sleeve? I need to treat your wounds.” His voice was both calm and demanding at the same time. Christopher swallowed past the lump in his throat. Slowly he rolled his right sleeve up. He silently hoped that Snape would ignore his other arm. The wounds on his left arm were both deeper and infected and would surely get him landed in St. Mungos for a lifetime. A quiet “Thank you” stopped that thought. “I will use a spell to remove the dries blood. Then I will apply an antibiotic like potion to your wounds. This might hurt a bit, however it is necessary to prevent further damage. Lastly I will make your wounds scab over and then apply bandages to stop them from reopening. If you are not comfortable with anything please tell me and I will stop.” The boy gave a small nod. He knew that Snape didn’t despise him as much as he despised the rest of Gryffindor house but he was miles away from being his favourite student. He couldn’t grasp why his teacher seemed to care. Why anyone would seem to care.
Severus was working with as much precision as he could offer. When a flick of his wand had removed the dried blood and he had seen the full damage the child had done he felt his heart stop for a moment. The wounds were deep and far from pretty. It seemed like the blade was either bent or shaking because a flexible ruler was straighter than the lines that covered the students arm. He kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to further stress the child. It took him mere minutes to finish his work, which seemed to make the child relax. Snape knew that the left arm would be just as damaged as the one he had treated but something felt off. “Would you please let me heal your other arm? We both know that it is covered in wounds too.” There it was again. That coldness. The coldness that told Christopher his professor didn’t actually like him. He shook his head. The older man ran a hand over his face. “Miss Reid, either you let me assess the damage or I will have to floo Madam Pomfrey in. I believe it is best to keep this incident between us. For now. I might despise most Gryffindors, however I do not wish harm on them. At least not on those few that know how to brew a adequate potion.” he concluded with a small hint of joy in his voice. Christopher couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. Even after three years he still didn’t know if he despised Snape or not. Drawing a deep breath he slowly rolled his left sleeve up. He hissed when the fabric sticking to his wounds was lifted.
The already reddened and swollen flesh was not only covered in deep wounds but also had the word faggot carved into it. Severus swallowed. “I am going to apply the same procedure as before. This time however I will also give you an anti-inflammatory potion to take. That atrocious term will be healed fully so you do not have to carry the reminder around for the rest of your being.” the usual stern tone has left his voice, it was now shaking ever so slightly. “Oh professor, you- you really don’t-“ the boy didn’t get to finish his stuttering as he was interrupted by his teacher. “You will not finish that sentence.” he demanded. “I will not let one of my students walk around with lies carved into their body.” “But it’s true!” Christopher yelled. “I am nothing but a freak. Nothing more than what is carved into my body!” his voice was pleading. Pleading to understand his argument, pleading to let him believe the only thing he thought was true. “I do not want to repeat myself. I will not let you believe that lie.” he emphasised every word. The child sighed. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Snape continued his job, pretending to not have heard the boys sighing. He cleaned the wounds with a potion, let most of the cuts scab over and then fully healed the letters carved into his students skin. After wrapping it all up in bandages he conjured a vial filled with an orange potion and handed it to the figure in the green armchair. Christopher swallowed it, scrunched his face and handed the empty vial back. When Severus sat down in a chair across from him he knew this wouldn’t end well.
“Miss Reid, would you care to elaborate on how this happened?” “Will you tell Professor McGonagall?” the boy spat. “Unless you wish me to do so, no I will not.” Raising an eyebrow the Gryffindor started mumbling. “Tonks doesn’t know about my detention or why I got it in the first place. Didn’t want her to find out so I came back to the castle. Couldn’t calm myself down so…” the last part consisted more of stuttered noise than actual words which left the teacher to figure it out himself. “I see. May I inquire why you didn’t seek help in the hospital wing but instead were walking around the hallways?” Christopher swallowed and suddenly found the floor to be more interesting than the black haired man sitting in front of him. “If you were scared that Madam Pomfrey would scold you for self inflicted injuries let me assure you that she has seen many cases like yours before and always treated them with the utmost respect and kindness.” The boy looked up from the floor. His green eyes met the dark ones staring at him and for a brief moment he believed he saw something soft in them. Still, he couldn’t bring out another word. “As for your believe that that term is fitting…unless I missed something important in the past three years I am under the impression that you are everything but a gay man.” his sentence had started as a sneer but ended as a rather neutral sounding statement. Christopher couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “You know nothing about me.” the teenager spat. “Oh? Is that so?” He raised his eyebrows again. “Go on, explain what I don’t know” A cold shudder ran down his spine. “Well, where do I start? Maybe with the fact that I am not as spoiled as everyone believes I am? Or maybe with the fact that my aunt and uncle treat me like I don’t exist? Maybe with the fact that this isn’t the first time I almost died? Or how about the fact that I won’t live long enough to come of age?” His voice rose with every new sentence. He felt trapped, like someone had wrapped a noose around his neck and was now tightening it. He feared the worst; feared Snape would get too close. Feared he would actually care and then drop him like everyone else did. “I’m not a gay man. I’m a very straight man! Is that what you want to hear?” he was now yelling. Severus froze in his seat, hands folded in his lap. The idea came to his mind when he saw the teenager wearing pants instead of a skirt but he didn’t want to finish his thought. It wasn’t his business. But now it was.
The potions professor cleared his throat. “I see. While I am usually not someone who hears this type of confession I want to thank you for trusting me. I might seem like a rather unpleasant person, however, I would never disrespect a student like that. Would you prefer me to use masculine pronouns from now on?” The Gryffindor couldn’t believe what was happening. The dungeon bat respected a student? This must be a dream. He only knew that Snape tolerated him from the lack of stupid comments during class. He never thought that Snape would thank him for something or even remotely react like he did. Giving a quick nod the teenager smiled. “Do you also have a preferred name or will I forever refer to you as Mr Reid?” the black haired man commented. “Oh- yes of course- I chose Christopher.” the child replied. Giving a small nod, Snape concluded: “The other staff members do not know, neither does your family. I believe you wish things to stay that way?” The boy nodded again. “I see. I will keep your secret Mr Reid under one condition. The next time you are injured in any way you seek medical help from either Madam Pomfrey or myself immediately. However, it would be wise to seek support when the urge arises so no harm happens in the first place.” “Yes Sir. Thank you.” the brown haired student whispered. He was too stunned to bring out more than that. Placing a hand on the boys shoulder, Severus escorted him towards his dormitory. He wasn't the type of man to care about a child, especially the son of his enemy but something inside him had changed when he first met Christopher. That insecure, shy kid with those emerald eyes was too interesting to ignore. He had his mothers talent in potions and seemed to be a rather atypical Gryffindor. Now that he knew his secret Severus was sure he had to do everything in order to not loose his trust.