Reluctant Savior

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Just as Snape had promised, Harry began his lessons after breakfast the following day. It was to this end that he found himself in an old charms classroom on the fifth floor, face to face with Professor Snape about to engage in a wizards’ duel. The Potions Master had said he wanted to get some idea of what Harry was capable of, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Snape just wanted to hex him. The distinctly carnivorous look he was giving Harry at the moment did little to alleviate these fears. The easy camaraderie from a few nights before was forgotten; this was business. Wiping his sweaty palms on his robes, Harry took a deep breath to calm himself, wishing Snape appeared to be even a fraction as unnerved as he was. Then again, why would Snape be afraid? He was after all not even a fully-trained wizard. "Oh well," he thought, resigning himself to this ‘comprehensive practical’ "here goes nothing!"

They stood facing each other, tense, weary. Harry gave Snape a good once over, sizing up his opponent. Snape's long dark hair and cruel black eyes glinted dangerously in the afternoon light; the entire room seemed unnaturally still, though the air between them was very much alive. Harry took in the sharp angles of the Professor's face, the broad, gentle slope of his shoulders, and the way in which his fingers curved almost sensually over his wand. With his robe open, tapering over his well-chiseled form, the Potions Master looked deadly, like a feared gunslinger from the old west. Harry's eyes then lit upon Severus' t-shirt- The shirt read:

"It is widely accepted that it is the skill of the wizard and not the size of his wand that matters, that having been said, how would you like to hold my 16 inch Mahogany? Property of Where the Sun Doesn't Shine, a place where Bed Knobs and Broomsticks combine with grave consequences."

His mouth hanging open and eyes widened in shock, Harry didn't see the first spell hurled his way, "Expelliarmus!" A dazzling flash of scarlet light burst forth from the tip of Snape's wand knocking Harry back, disarming him rather effectively.

Sufficiently chagrined that his wand was now in the Potions Master's possession, Harry decided that Snape must be trying to teach him a lesson about paying attention- It wouldn't do to get distracted like that when he was facing down Lord Voldemort. Besides, gawking at a dirty t-shirt before a wizards' duel was certainly not good form!

Then, as suddenly and unexpected as the first, a second spell was hurled in Harry’s direction, striking his left shoulder, violently interrupting his ill-timed musing.

The force of the curse pushed him back, and the white-hot pain made him gasp. He just stared at the Potions Master, stunned, only dimly aware of the blood that was beginning to pool at his feet. As Severus stepped forward to survey the damage, Harry's shock mirrored on his own face- Harry raised his right hand in front of him, his fingers spread, as if to ward off another attack. Before Snape could react, light shot from his palm, pushing the Professor against the wall. Next, both his and Severus' wands hurtled toward him. Harry snagged the implements in mid-arc with an ease born of many quidditch matches. At this point, Harry shivered and stumbled backwards into one of the desks in the old Charms Classroom. Snape found he was no longer smashed against the far wall, paralyzed, and thus made his way to Harry's side, gaping. What had just happened?

Unable to contain his outburst, Snape blurted, "I thought you would move." He sounded so desperate, like his life depended on proving to Harry that he had not intended to hurt him- hell, he hadn't even been aiming for Harry's wand arm. He caught Harry's eyes, cold green on pleading black- forgiveness seemed a distant possibility. In those few seconds, a heartbeat, Snape's entire demeanor shifted. With effort, he reigned in his emotions, and looked back upon the boy before him with equal coldness, rising to his full height. Towering above the slumped, trembling figure, he spoke again, "I didn't think even you would be dumb enough to stand there like a deer in the headlights waiting for the curse to hit you! How you survived this long, Potter, is a complete mystery. Though they say Merlin protects fools and their children - I’d say between you and your father, you’ve got your bases covered." The disturbingly collected Potions Master, seemed to revel in these taunts and barbs, despite the dire nature of their situation.

"Are you done now?" inquired Harry softly, a great deal less vehemence in his voice than Snape had anticipated.

In response Snape knelt to the floor, tearing a long strip of fabric from the hem of his robe to bind Harry's wound. He worked in silence for a few seconds, but then once more weighed in with a scathing rejoinder. "Merlin's owl, Potter! with reflexes like that...how do you manage to stay on a broomstick, much less best my house team in quidditch year after year?"

Grumbling, he continued with his ministrations, pulling his hand away from the boy's shoulder and staring at the amount of blood coating his palm. He was worried, far more worried than his expression would ever reveal. Harry remained still, though his breathing had become rather labored during Snape's essentially one-sided tirade.

Blood welled relentlessly from the deep laceration, fresh and red, streaming in little waves down his arm, forming tributaries that branched from his shoulder, flowing from his upper arm to his fingertips. Blood also ran down his chest in rivulets. Harry thought he could feel his life essence seeping into his shoes, thinking absently that it was probably ruining his favorite pair of socks- the pair Dobby had knitted for him for Christmas last year- the pair Ginny was so fond of stealing.

"Shock" thought Snape, panicking slightly.

Finally Harry spoke, "It looks worse than it is- I have very thin blood. When I get a paper cut Ron and Hermione usually think I am going to bleed to death before it stops." He chuckled slightly at the memory, making himself cough. "Oh God," thought Snape, "he is going to die... why am I wasting time, I've got to get him to Madam Pomfrey..."

"Why did you curse me?" Harry asked suddenly, emerging from his reverie, sounding utterly betrayed. "You disarmed me before the duel had even begun and then when I had no way to defend myself..." his voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken allegation hanging between them.

Snape became angry; angry at himself for thinking he was doing the right thing, angry at Harry for not getting the hell out of the way and for not understanding, and angry at the Dark Lord for necessitating any of this nonsense. He busied himself once more with tying the make-shift bandage around Harry's shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. Finally, he could take it no longer, "Do you think that You-Know-Who..."

"Say his name!" Harry demanded quietly.

"...that the Dark Lord..."

"Say it!"

"... that Voldemort..." he couldn't help but shudder, cursing himself for his weakness in the face of something so trivial as a name... even his followers did not utter it unless forced to by threat of torture or death. Composing himself, he continued, "is going to play by the rules at your next encounter, Potter?! Do you think that the Death Eaters are going to give a second thought to etiquette before they finish you off?"

"That is what separates us from them..." Harry reasoned, wisely, sounding at once both far older than his fifteen years and painfully naïve.

The strain of Snape’s past and his present and the fear of his future collided in him, stripping him of his cool logic and his indifferent veneer. "I am here to train you to defend yourself against the Dark arts and those who wield them unscrupulously, not to prepare you for the next dueling championship and certainly not to coddle you- though I seem to be doing a rather lot of that lately! In order to do my duty, as I have sworn to Dumbledore, to you, and to the wizarding world, I must become one of *them*!" 'again' he added silently as he tied the final knot of the bandage rather more forcefully than necessary causing Harry to emit a strangled cry. Severus had to speak with Dumbledore. "Let’s go."

Fortunately for both of them, the infirmary was only a few doors down from their temporary battlefield. He half-carried Harry into the ward, depositing the boy on one of the beds, leaving him to Madam Pomfrey’s expert care. She removed Harry’s robes, which were beginning to stick to the wound as a result of the drying blood. Severus stood by, momentarily at a loss, finding himself thoroughly physically and emotionally spent. Finally, as he saw Harry succumb to the blood loss, he made his excuses to the capable nurse.

"I have to see the headmaster." She nodded her tacit understanding, and so he fled, seeking refuge in the cool stone corridors and spiraling staircases.

After a guilt-ridden journey, Severus Snape appeared outside Albus' door. He touched the gargoyle whilst muttering the password- "three musketeers." The tone he used was almost murderous- why the headmaster insisted... he violently squashed his idle thoughts as he entered the school's sanctuary. The calm amid the chaos for Severus was not to be found in his dungeons or his lab, but here, surrounded by the essence of Albus Dumbledore. Collapsing into the green, overstuffed chair next to the Headmaster’s desk, Snape awaited Dumbledore’s arrival.

Out of nowhere, Dumbledore appeared, as good humored as ever, "Well, Severus, judging by your expression- yes, you are scowling even more than usual- don't think I can't tell!- I am assuming the lesson didn't go as expected?" While Snape collected his thoughts, formulating an answer in his head, Dumbledore spoke again. "By the by, where is our indomitable Mr. Potter... and for Merlin's sake, Professor Snape, what are you wearing?!?"

The Potions Master had momentarily forgotten the fact that his black robes were open and that he was wearing a "Where the Sun Doesn't Shine" original, specifically, this original. "It's from 'Where the Sun Doesn't Shine'..."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the headmaster, sounding somewhat affronted.

"Well..." Snape began to clarify, but then he recognized the characteristic twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes- the old man was having some fun with him, eh? 'sadistic bastard,' Snape thought, rather uncharitably.

"Now then, about Mr. Potter?" Albus prompted.

"Potter is in the infirmary," Snape proclaimed matter-of-factly.

"I see..." the headmaster intoned, if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. However, his eyes urged Severus to elaborate on the events that had transpired and the boy’s condition.

"He didn't move," Snape explained simply.

"Is he alright?"

"I hope so," Snape said, seriously, divulging more to the Headmaster than he had intended, perhaps even more than he himself was aware of.

"He did a remarkable bit of extremely well-controlled magic," Snape continued, "without his wand," he added suddenly, as if the event had slipped his mind completely until now. Since the Headmaster said nothing, he spoke once more, "I don't mind telling you it was a bit... well, unnerving, to say the least." The Potions master sat there, remembering the shocked Harry transform, his left arm limp at his side- his green eyes, piercing as always, but somehow more poignant this time, so much power... the hand raised threateningly, fingers splayed.

He shook the vision from his mind, pausing.

"He lost a lot of blood," Snape finally reported, clinically, noting the fairly substantial amounts that still stained his hands. "He may have been in shock, I don't know."

"I am sure Poppy will have him up and about in no time- not that you seem particularly remorseful." Albus commented dryly, hoping to snap the younger man out of his self imposed exile.

He regarded his superior with a look that would have sent a lesser man running. His smoldering black met the headmaster's twinkling blue- displaying the anguish and inner turmoil that resided there, swirling in his depths, threatening to consume him. But all he said was, "He just stood there."

The two sat there for some time, silently regarding one another until the headmaster circumscribed the fruitless contemplation by asking Snape the one question he was perhaps most anxious but also most afraid of hearing, "shall we go and see how he’s getting on, then?"

The Potions Master, shook his head, numbly, though the brief look of terror that flashed in the dark eyes did not go unnoticed by the great Albus Dumbledore.

Knowing that was as enthusiastic as the other man was going to get, it now fell to Dumbledore to half-drag Snape back to the infirmary. Despite seeming impervious, the Headmaster did appear a bit taken aback by Harry’s bedraggled appearance. "How is he?" asked the old man in a whisper, afraid of disturbing the peaceful slumber of the patient.

Madam Pomfrey regarded both men coolly, causing Snape’s heart to leap into his throat. His hand gripped his robes tightly, his knuckles white with the strain. She wordlessly closed the curtains around Harry’s bed and waved the two concerned onlookers into her private antechamber. Here, they could speak freely.

"What in Merlin’s name did you do to him, Severus?" She tossed the question at Snape hotly, not bothering to conceal her feelings on the matter.

"Poppy," said Dumbledore attempting to appease his long-time colleague, "I don’t think accusations are going to do anyone any good now, do you?."

She flushed slightly, but maintained her stern look, "Well, I’ll tell you both. It was a near thing, it was. The poor dear, practically bled to death before you got him here. Near as I can tell it ‘twere the bandage that made the difference," she admitted grudgingly. "The next twenty-four hours are critical, mind you, but I ‘spect he’ll be completely fine in a fortnight."

Dumbledore nodded, patting Severus on the back as he departed. "Do let me know if anything changes, will you Poppy?" he called to her.

"Aye," responded the disgruntled witch. With that, she fixed a frightening glare on the Potions Master and busied herself with cleaning and taking inventory of her supplies.

Once she had gone, he drew back the curtain and approached Harry’s sickbed. After gently removing his glasses and stroking his pale cheek, Snape settled into the cushioned chair, preparing for a bedside vigil. Several hours passed, and the boy didn’t move. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have forgiven him somewhat, for she brought him some sandwiches and pumpkin juice for supper. He gratefully accepted them, still keeping his steady watch.

Around midnight, when Severus had just begun to doze off, Harry stirred, whimpering. At first he thought Harry might be in pain, he knew Pomfrey hadn’t given him anything because of the blood loss, but then he noticed that Harry had brought his good arm up to his scar. Harry was convulsing slightly, sweating. He cried out loudly, and Severus was torn. He didn’t want to leave the bedside, but he also didn’t want Harry to hurt himself. Thankfully, years of experience had made the nurse a very light sleeper. She scurried in to see what had happened, a bit startled to find the Potions Master still there, but did not allowing his presence hinder her examination. "Poor dear," she muttered. "It’s a nightmare," She said to Snape, looking him in the eye. "He has them frequently from what I understand. I’ m not sure I should risk giving him anything right now, see if you can sort of ease him out of it, will you? I’ll be right back."

Severus, at a loss, just stood there, staring at Harry as he relived his private hell. Luckily, whatever it was that was haunting him retreated before Pomfrey returned. She was almost beaming at Snape, though he had done nothing. "Good, Good. Now if he fusses again, you can use this," she said, handing him a small vial of some medicinal potion.

"What is it?" he couldn’t help but ask, professional curiosity overtaking him, for he knew that he hadn’t brewed it.

"Family secret," she said mischievously. "I think that I have sufficiently diluted it so as not to harm him."

"You think?" Snape queried, icily, unable to disguise his disgust for amateur alchemists. Potions was not a discipline for dabblers; it required an almost inhuman degree of precision to be truly gifted in his subtle science.

"Don’t go gettin’ your knickers in a bind, Severus, "she said, haughtily, "I am a professional."

He admirably suppressed a snide insult as he resumed his position next to Harry. The sun came and then set, a whole day passed and Harry didn’t wake. He didn’t seem to be having any more bad dreams either, though it wasn’t much of a consolation as far as the Potions Master was concerned.

Dumbledore flitted in and out, checking on his student and his professor. "Severus, you don’t have to stay," Poppy had commented at one point, knowing full well it would take a blast-ended skrewt on a rampage to chase him out of the ward.

"I know," was all he said in return.

Finally slightly more than 48 hours after the initial incident, Harry regained consciousness. At first he seemed confused, groggy and incoherent; practically speaking a foreign language. "Nice of you to finally rejoin the living, sleeping beauty," Snape told him, handing him his glasses, almost happy for once.

After slipping them on his face, he surveyed his surroundings, noting that he was in the infirmary, and registering the presence of Madame Pomfrey and Snape. As the events that precipitated his current situation flashed before him, he seemed a bit apprehensive, particularly around the Potions Master.

"I imagine you’re hungry, Potter." Snape managed to sound quite unfeeling.

However, when Harry fairly blanched at the idea of ingesting anything, Snape allowed a genuine smile to seep through, "Not quite yet, okay."

Madam Pomfrey gave him another examination, commenting that he still seemed a little weak, but all things considered, that was to be expected. At her pronouncement, Harry asked if he could wash up a bit. "I don’t know," she said, hesitating, "Do you think you’re up to it?"

Harry nodded, wanting desperately to get out of the remnants of his sticky clothing and the uncomfortable hospital robe. "I suppose," she relented, "but on two conditions. One- you eat something first" Harry tried not to look too green when she said this, "and two- you are to be accompanied by Professor Snape, we wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, now would we?"

Both objected rather adamantly. Snape, actually rising in protest. Before either could articulate their specific complaints, however, she paused and pointed at Snape’s attire. "Merlin’s owl, Severus, what are you wearing?" Blast his damnable t-shit, he thought, though her comment had the desired effect, for he sat down and fastened his robe securely once and for all, swallowing his objection to babysitting Harry.

After Harry forced some soup down and drank several glasses of water, he steeled himself for the discomfort of rising from his bed. Snape reached out to help him, but Harry refused his assistance, "I think you have done quite enough, don’t you?" he asked coldly, causing Snape to withdraw his arm, hastily. As Harry swayed on his feet, he almost had to eat his words, but managed through some great feat of willpower to remain upright.

"Stop bickering and go- Both of you!" Pomfrey called out, shooing them into the hallway.

As the two departed, Snape asked Harry, clearly exasperated, "What is it with you and showers, anyway?"

They continued to walk, and Harry glared at him, still looking pale, but on the whole markedly better. "Look, just because Iwash my hair once in a while!"

Still smarting from Harry’s rejection and unwilling to take this kind of verbal abuse from someone who was still a child in the eyes of the law, Snape lashed out, "You better hope that you don’t pass out this time, because I might just let you drown!" The cold intensity in his voice hit Harry with such force that he took a physical step away from the glowering Potions Master- the hurt displayed quite apparently on his face, mixed with what could only be described as embarrassment at the memory of the last time Snape was told to keep an eye on him while he showered.

They trudged along in silence after this juvenile display before Harry once again spoke defiantly, "You would think you might feel just a little bit responsible." Harry seemed to know he had gone too far in trying to bait the steely Potions Master. Snape grabbed Harry from behind, and spun him around.

"Do you want to die, Potter?"

Harry stiffened and unconsciously reached up to massage his shoulder, grimacing, as Snape had inadvertently wrenched the injured one- certainly Madam Pomfrey had worked her usual miracle, but the wound would still require a few more days to heal properly.

Nonetheless Harry stood his ground, responding in a snotty, facetious tone Snape had not thought the usually polite boy capable of, especially when discussing his own life expectancy, "Give me a minute…Um…no, not particularly." Severus noted that despite the apparent bravado, Harry seemed a little bit afraid, though he was undeniably hell-bent against disclosing this fact.

Still marveling at Harry's frustrating, but impressive nerve, and also noting that the boy was a bit shaky and pale and still had his injured left shoulder cupped protectively in his right hand, he restrained himself from further incitement and argument and said only one word, "Good."

By this time, the pair had reached the door to the lavatory. As Harry turned to enter the WC, Snape informed him, "I'll wait here, but don't dawdle." Harry nodded his acquiescence and each began to battle their own private demons, unbeknownst to both that they would require the help of the other to slay them.

TBC

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