Disclaimer: nothing you recognize is mine.
And I'm quite aware that my grammar and punctuation are unfortunately far from stellar.
Harry's POV
The presence of the now-solid form of Snape alleviating quite a few of Harry's further concerns he braced himself and slowly answered, "Actually, no, sir, I was intending to leave." And couldn't help adding, "Unless there are other memories you wish me to view?" Something, was it surprise? flickered in Snape's eyes for the briefest moment before he drawled, "I gather you enjoyed yourself then."
Surprised with the ghost of a joke, Harry approached the older man and extended his arm to him. Not moving a finger Snape raised an eyebrow.
"The fastest way for you regain consciousness is when I help you back. Otherwise you will have to travel through every remaining level of memories occasionally reliving some as I have just done."
When no response followed Harry reluctantly added, "Some get trapped in their… memories. And it takes two or three Confessors to find you. Then you will have no choice but to walk the rest of the way with all of us."
Harry winced as he remembered helping Walden McNair drag himself from two particularly vicious memories the ex-executioner was stuck in. In the first, his sixteen-year-old self was chased (and slightly mauled) by two almost-grown werewolves; in the second, the then slightly older teen was killing six cubs of different ages, refusing the thought of them as human beings and struggling (and finally failing) to contain his nausea.
Harry snapped out of his memory seeing Snape's eyes slightly widen as the man reluctantly put out his arm and laid his hand on Harry's sleeve. Shaking his head, he covered it with the palm of his other hand and before his Professor had time to protest they were flying out of the house, back up the road and over the lowly hedge.
'Phew, that took more out of me than I expected.' Thought Harry regaining consciousness. Looking around he found himself sitting at Snape's feet leaning heavily against the other man's legs.
Harry slowly got up stretching his over-worked muscles that were loudly protesting the strain they were put under during the battle topped by his last hours' awkward position. Looking around he noticed the almost-darkness of the room illuminated only by the soft glow coming from the walls. Mentally thanking Hermione for her Luminescent Charm he released Snape's bounds with a soft "Relashio" and bent over the older wizard's still unmoving form to assess the damage wrought by Shacklebolt's Blasting Curse.
Taking in the shredded battle robes of high quality dragon hide and a small pool of drying blood under the chair he chased to the supply cabinet hidden in the wall niche near the only window. Giving a quick peek from between the shutters (must be near midnight judging by the star patterns) he quickly gathered several healing potions and salves. After the briefest of hesitations he also added the Skin Lotion to his selection and almost ran back to Snape.
Harry carefully eased the battle robes off the man's shoulders and levitated him onto the heather-soft floor in the corner of the room propping his head by a hastily conjured pillow.
Here all three Confessors used to sleep together after especially difficult interrogations of the last year. Too tired to bring or conjure proper bedding and in desperate need of friendly reassurance they would pop into the house, huddle together for several hours of healing slumber and leave at dawn not sparing another thought to the furnishings.
Praying for Snape not to come to his senses for another several minutes and let him apply the potions without the inevitable squabble Harry gently tugged at the remnants of the injured man's coat and shirt and nearly jumped out of his skin when his Professor began to speak.
"What do you think you're doing Potter?"
Sighing, Harry indicated the small array of potions on the floor beside them. "Patching you up, sir. That was quite a nasty Blasting Curse that hit you." Ignoring the first-class death-glare Harry once again reached for the clothes.
"Thank you, Potter. The Dementor will quite appreciate your hard work doing his. When was it you intended to hand me back to the Ministry, tomorrow morning?"
Panicked, Harry looked down at the man contemplating how in the seven rounds of hell he could have read his intentions under the hard-studied Confessor mask.
"No need to be shocked, Confessor. Is it not what every Order member wishes to befall Severus Snape, Death Eater, Voldemort's spy at Hogwarts and in the Order of the Phoenix, murderer of the Leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore?" His voice seemed to be freezing the air between them, solidifying it into ice and creaking like the said substance did in the days of severe frost.
Harry however noticed the almost non-existence lowering of Snape's tone when the man said the old Headmaster's name.
His old anger flared at the slur to his unasked-for Confessor status and Harry started whispering in a voice that made him heard even during the battles. Ironically, this inflection was characteristic of Confessors.
"What I, Harry James Potter, First Confessor, wish, is that one Severus Tobias Snape", he stressed the first two syllables of Severus' middle name, "be acquitted of alleged crimes as it is proven by Confession and evidence him being the Order's spy and Ally in the enemy camp by alias Toby, and acting ultimately for the side of Light." Harry took a deep breath, calming himself, and added in a less formal, but still chilling tone of voice, "And I have means to gain my wishes".
In the ringing silence that followed Harry once again tried to help the older man disrobe. Still Snape seemed reluctant to afford his ex-student help him tend him. If even his gaze for the first time in memory didn't hold it's characteristic loathing or the carefully studied non-expression of the mind land, only defiance.
"Fine, suit yourself." Harry finally snapped. "I will go to the kitchen and see what could be done about some late diner".
After a quarter of an hour of fruitless search for provisions he could only find several almost black bananas, some tea and two tins of canned meat. Putting a kettle and a pan on the stove Harry returned to the main room.
Snape in the meanwhile managed to get rid of his suit and shirt and lay utterly exhausted with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Ignoring the further unsaid protests Harry quickly muttered the cleaning spell Poppy had told them all for treating injuries of unknown severity (a "Scorgify" could bring more damage than not on some types of wounds) and gasped at the sight of a huge black-blue swollen bruise on the right side of Snape's ribcage. To the contrary the deep cuts on his underarm had closed during their earlier activities and would quickly heal after the proper salve was applied.
Waving his wand over the bruise Harry mentioned the six broken ribs and wondered how they had not punctured Snape's lung on the field and during his none-too-gentle Apparition.
"You have six broken ribs, sir." He finally told the glowering man in front of him. "I have some Skele-Gro here, and this salve should help heal your right arm."
The sight of Snape's grimace as the man drunk the disgusting sludge Harry remembered only too well from his second year at Hogwarts couldn't help but plaster a satisfied smirk on the younger man's face.
Tightly bandaging the now healing ribs and applying the salve Harry took his leave to the kitchen, where he heard the whistle of the kettle. Leaving the bananas for breakfast he quickly put the kettle and the pan on a tray and was about to head back to the room when suddenly he felt a strange irritation on his left forearm that quickly began to burn as if he had spilled boiling water all over it. He rolled up his sleeve but could see nothing of the ordinary and the strange sensation ceased as quickly as it started. (1)
Once more reminded of the stiffness of his muscles he flexed his arms, took the tray and went back to join Snape. At the doorway he got a glimpse of the man gazing anxiously at his own forearm. As soon as he saw Harry step into the room, he covered himself with the comforter Harry had conjured after Snape removed his clothes.
Berating his forgetfulness Harry carefully lowered the tray on the floor and approached Snape who was once again attempting to glower.
"Sir, would you please let me see your Dark Mark?"
"Whatever for, Potter?" Cautiously asked Snape.
"I need to know whether it is still afflicting you now that Tom is gone for good. Hermione…" Harry pointedly ignored the gnashing of Snape's teeth at the mention of his best friend's name. "Hermione feared all Death Eater would die with the death of their Master. I'm relieved to see she was mistaken."
"She may be not as mistaken as you think." Muttered Snape, uncovering the inflamed skin around the inky black angry Dark Mark on his left forearm.
Bending closer Harry could smell the light but unmistakable smell he hoped never to hear again now that the war was over. The smell that always hung like a heavy fog over the battlefields. Horrified, Harry inhaled the stench of blood and rotting flesh.
Severus's POV
For several seconds the young man simply stared at the mark as it swiveled on the arm burrowing further into the flesh then started hissing in Parceltongue.
Later Snape could never tell exactly what happened. But he always remembered the dark and almost solid head of a cobra that rose like thick mist from his arm and started answering to Potter, flicking it's forked tongue. He could have sworn it kept shooting him quick glances that sent shivers down his spine.
And then it was gone, dissipated in the darkened air of the room, and Potter dropped in his arms, unconscious. Dazedly glancing at his forearm he saw it unblemished for the first time in almost three decades. Only the quickly fading irritation marked the place where his former master's brand was once burned.
Snapping out of the daze he quickly checked Potter's pulse. To his intense relief the younger wizard seemed unharmed; he had simply passed out from magical as well as physical exhaustion. Gently lowering the boy to the floor he soaked his handkerchief in the quickly cooling water of the kettle and softly washed the dirt and blood off his face, removing the glasses. Snape quickly sorted through the potions and finding the muscle-relaxant, poured it down Potter's throat.
'I hadn't been feeding potions to unwilling and unconscious victims for absolute nothing then.' He thought bitterly.
Quickly eating half the meat he covered himself and Potter with their only comforter. (Potter's wand refused to as much as send sparks for him and not being able to find his own on the boy or anywhere in the vicinity his ribs felt too sore to venture blundering around the house in the semi-darkness.) Laying as far from his unwanted companion as the width of the quilt would allow he was fast asleep within seconds.
A/n
(1) that is my personal experience that when you care deeply about someone, you sometime can share his feelings, specially hurt, even when not in the same room.
I have added some acknowledgments to my profile.