Author's Note: Cameo appearances from Ron and Hermione in this chapter. Oh, and is that, yes, I think it might be... drama! Hope you'll like it!


Step 12

"Friendship, like credit, is highest when it is not used."
– Elbert Hubbard -

Severus was sorting through his unending supply of hate-mail, skimming over the by now third letter from an anonymous writer who made him personally responsible for the second rise of the Dark Lord and the death of his son, who only died because everyone, including Severus, had been 'too busy protecting the Potter boy,' when the call came. It was a non-descript Ministry employee, maybe one of Potter's co-workers or maybe just someone who was charged with delivering unpleasant messages. He supposed it was a sign of courtesy that they hadn't sent an owl instead and he also supposed he should have expected something like this to happen, given Potter's track record.

But he wasn't prepared for the shortness of breath, the black spots dancing in front of his eyes, his jittery hands and shaky knees. The absolute helplessness as to what to do.

"St. Mungo's?" he confirmed with the head in the fireplace, summoning his robes and emergency potions kit and trying not to show his panic.

"Yes, the healers are still working on him, but you're on his emergency contact list so..." The head was clearly uncomfortable and just as clueless as Severus, though he was fairly confident that he was at least displaying greater composure.

"I suppose the staff at St. Mungo's will be able to give me more information," Severus said, shoving into his robes. "Unless you have something else to tell me, I suggest you get out of my way so that I can attend to my husband."

"Of course, good night, sir." The head disappeared before Severus could address the inappropriateness of those words.

St. Mungo's was a bustle of frantic friends and family members, patients and the brigade of mediwizards and healers in their lime-green robes who tried to be everywhere at once. Severus told himself that it was this kind of organized chaos that was making him anxious and not the worry for Potter. The reception area was packed full and the Welcome Witch was desperately trying to understand the wizard who had accidentally - or maybe purposefully - enlarged his tongue to a point where it probably obstructed his airway. A line was beginning to form and Severus really didn't have the time for this.

He used his glare and height to his advantage and inserted himself between the wizard with the swollen tongue and the witch with a suspicious fluid coming out of her eyes, nose and ears then sharply rapped his fingers on the counter till he had the attention of the Welcome Witch.

"I'm looking for Harry Potter, he was admitted earlier today," Severus said before she could admonish him to wait his turn and suppressed a curse at the immediate hushed silence that descended over the room.

"It is against hospital policy to give out this kind of information to anyone but immediate family," she pointedly raised her voice and stared disdainfully at Severus.

"I'm his husband," Severus snapped, leaning over the counter and into her private space.

"I'm well aware of who you are, sir," she bit out, still glaring balefully up at him though she had inched her swivel chair slightly away from the desk; Potter was smiling at him from the cover of the latest Witch Weekly issue, 10 Reasons Why He Married The Wrong Wizard. "You're not a blood relative."

"He's Harry fucking Potter, what blood relative would you like me to pull out of my sleeve?!" Severus exclaimed before he could stop himself.

She reached towards her wand. "Sir, if you don't calm yourself I will have you removed by security. You may wait in the tearoom until Mr. Potter is allowed to have visitors, if you wish."

"I have no intention of waiting in the tearoom," Severus pressed out, curling his hands into fists. "I - "

"Professor Snape! Over here!" he turned around quickly, spotting Potter's bushy-haired friend and their red-headed sidekick and strode towards them without another word to the unhelpful receptionist.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I assume you had more success than I did?" he asked, following them into a mostly empty hallway with examination rooms to both sides.

"With that stuck-up airhead?" Weasley snorted derisively. "Not a chance. But Harry is almost always admitted to Artefact Accidents or Spell Damage and we spoke with one of the mediwizards there. Harry's still being treated but he's no longer in critical condition, so that's something."

"We thought you might still be down here so we came to tell you where we are," Granger spoke up, smoothing a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear.

"I thought we were getting a cup of coffee," Weasley muttered, throwing her an unhappy look.

"What happened?" Severus demanded, not keen to let them get into a lover's spat.

"The healers don't know and as far as we can tell none of Harry's co-workers are here," Granger's tone all too clearly conveyed what she thought of that.

"Most likely it was another 'minor mishap', an 'accident', 'unforeseen complications'," Weasley groused, scuffling his feet over the stone floor as they made their way up to the Spell Damage Ward. "That's all Harry's going to say about it anyway."

"So this is not the first time something like this has happened?" Severus asked, following Granger's example and conjuring up a chair to sit in while they waited for news.

"You're kidding, right?" Weasley gracelessly plopped down in his own chair, all but blocking the hallway with his long outstretched legs. "He lands in the hospital more often than the rest of my family put together."

"Harry has always been a trouble magnet. That hasn't stopped just because Voldemort is dead," Granger said more softly. "Though, I have a feeling that recently it has less to do with Harry being accident-prone and more with whatever they have him do."

"Of course it has to do with his work," Weasley exclaimed and Severus couldn't help but agree. "I hate this. When are they going to tell us what the hell is going on?!"

"Would you really rather the healers were out here, soothing your frazzled nerves, instead of trying to save your best friend's life, Mr. Weasley?" Severus demanded scornfully. "Then, by all means, continue to make a nuisance of yourself."

Granger shushed her boyfriend before he could accuse Severus of something undoubtedly atrocious and uninventive and they lapsed into silence.

One hour later, Granger got out a book and started reading. Two hours later, Weasley went to get them some coffee and sandwiches; Severus checked his for poison. Three hours later, he had just got up to stretch his legs when a door, not the one they had obstinately been staring at the last few hours, but a door nonetheless, swung open and revealed three healers, looking suitably sombre and accomplished.

After a few exchanged words, two of them disappeared in one direction while the other one came towards them.

"You're here for Mr. Potter?" he asked, extending his hand to Weasley and Granger and finally to Severus. "I'm Healer Cardea, I'm in charge of Mr. Potter's treatment."

"How is he?" Granger asked, unabashedly hopeful and frightened.

Severus studied the healer while he gave them the news about Harry. Stable. Recovering. He had a natural suspicion of anyone who tried to compensate for his incompetence with his good looks and he liked the slightly too portly stomach, the washed-out red undershirt that didn't match his lime-green healer's robes, the bald spot on his head that told him that this healer wasn't vain enough to take a Hair-Regrowth Potion on a regular basis. Lacerations. Blood-Loss. He wasn't convinced that the dark rings under his eyes were a good sign, but Healer Cardea didn't indulge in expansive gesturing and his hands were steady. Blood-Replenishing Potion. Close monitoring. Rest.

Granger asked for clarification. What kind of lacerations? Where? How? How come they hadn't given Harry a potion to support coagulation to prevent major blood loss?

The answers weren't very reassuring. The healers were not sure what had caused the lacerations that had covered most of Harry's body, but they had to administer several potions in combination with a string of spells to finally get them to clot, which was why Harry had lost so much blood. But he was stable now, recovering, they were assured once more. It didn't settle Severus' nerves.

"Can we see him?" Weasley asked this time.

"Of course. He's conscious, though he might still be a bit disoriented from the painkillers we delivered," the healer warned. "Someone will be by shortly to give him another Blood-Replenishing Potion; you can come back tomorrow to visit Mr. Potter of course."

"Ah," Weasley said, but it didn't sound like agreement, but rather as if he knew something the healer didn't and so, after the healer had opened the door for them and excused himself, Severus stopped Weasley and gave him a look even the youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley could not misinterpret. "If Harry's conscious, there's no way the healers will be able to keep him here overnight, much less for however long they would like to monitor his recovery. You'll see."

He moved past Severus, following his girlfriend who had already taken position next to Harry's bed, tenderly smoothing the bangs out of his face. Weasley sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, opposite of Granger, tapping Harry's arm to get his attention. Severus went to the end of the hospital bed and took out the rolled up scroll of patient information so that he would have an excuse not to look at Potter.

But he couldn't not look at Harry, who appeared strangely small amidst the white sheets and yet not like the little boy he had been whenever he had been in the Hogwarts hospital wing. He looked tired, weary, sick. His complexion was pasty between the web of pink skin, barely healed and so thin that Severus could see the greenish veins on his wrists, his temple, his neck where the hospital gown had slipped down.

"Hey guys," Harry's voice was soft and he smiled tiredly at Weasley. "Thanks for coming, but I'm fine."

"Your definition of 'fine' needs some serious revision, mate," Weasley said, ruffling Harry's hair after Granger had just smoothed it down. "What did you do this time?"

"Oh, just a small glitch in our calculations." Harry shrugged, glanced at Severus before turning back to his friends. "Could you hand me my clothes, please?"

"Harry..." Granger sighed and sent him a reproachful look. "You know we're always on your side and I know you have your reasons for working for them, but this isn't healthy. You can't keep on like this."

"Can we talk about this later?" Harry asked, sounding piteously tired.

"That's exactly the problem, Harry," Weasley snapped. "We can't. Because you won't tell us what's going on or how you were hurt this time and when we can expect another call in the middle of the night, telling us that you just might not make it."

"We're your friends, Harry. Haven't we proven that you can trust us?" Granger wheedled, putting her hand on his knee; Severus battled down the urge to hex her for being so familiar with his husband.

"Don't play dirty, Mione." Harry wrestled himself into his sweater, breathing heavily when his head emerged again. "What do you want me to say? That I'll quit my job?"

"Yes," – "No," Weasley and Granger said at the same time before exchanging glares; Harry used the time to slip into his trousers and turned to Severus. "I hope they didn't drag you here."

"I came here under my own free will," Severus said stiffly. "Can you say the same?"

"Point taken." Harry chuckled and swung himself out of bed.

Severus reacted at the same time as Weasley to stabilise his wobbling stance. Severus drew back before he made contact and was saved from an awkward situation by the entrance of another healer.

"Mr. Potter!" the second healer exclaimed, scandalised, and hastened towards the young man, making to manhandle him back into the bed. "You can't get up yet. You need to rest and you'll have to stay here for observation for a couple of days."

"Healer Darton, is it? As well-intentioned as your wish to keep me here certainly is, I will be able to recover and rest much more easily at home where I can trust that my own security measures will keep me safe." Harry warded off the healer with a simple raised hand. "And since you're so concerned for my health you will understand that I have no wish to waste energy arguing about this."

The slight sarcasm was softened by the smile he bestowed on the healer. Weasley barely covered a laugh behind a coughing attack and Granger took pity on the befuddled hospital employee.

"We'll see to it that he isn't alone and if his condition should worsen we'll bring him back here immediately," she said, ignoring Harry's eye roll.

"So you'll be going home with Mr. Potter?" the healer grasped at the lifeline she had thrown him – and missed because Severus certainly wasn't going to have his house invaded by the entirety of the Golden Trio. It was hard enough trying to decipher what Harry was up to without having to take Granger's book-learning and Weasley's pettiness into account.

"No," he said, attracting the attention of everyone. "You'll release Mr. Potter-Snape into my care. I believe you have a list of potions he is to take?"

"Er..." Darton commented smartly, but Weasley spoke up before he had to follow up on that insightful statement.

"No offense, but we can handle Harry when he's sick or hurt. You have no idea how difficult a patient he is."

"I'm still here and my ears work perfectly fine, thank you," Harry grumbled. "Ron..."

"I know exactly how difficult it was to get him and the rest of your dunderheaded classmates to listen to simple instructions and I, unlike you, Mr. Weasley, have completed basic healer training as part of my Mastery. I assure you, I can handle him."

"Listen, you - "

"Ron! Enough!" Harry went between them. "Severus is my husband and I have every faith that he'll take excellent care of me. If you have any more concerns I'd be happy to listen to them in private."

He put delicate emphasis on the last word and Weasley shifted guiltily, throwing a quick glance at the healer, who was making a show of studying the potions he had brought with him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered though he didn't sound the part.

Harry nodded in acceptance before he turned to the healer. "Healer Darton, I'm sure you'll find Severus a much more competent listener in regards to those potions than I could ever hope to be, so if you would? Thanks."

"Well, there's a mild pain relief, and a stronger one for overnight." He held up a small bulbous vial, followed by a square one, opening his mouth to protest when Severus uncorked both of them and brought them to his prominent nose. "Sir, you can't..."

"I will provide my husband with potions from my own stock," Severus declared, pushing the bottles back into the healer's hands. "These are of barely adequate quality. What other potions does he need to take?"

"This is not... I mean, we don't usually recommend the usage of non-hospital-issued potions," the healer trailed of uncertainly, looking at Weasley for help, but much to Severus' surprise it was Granger who spoke up this time.

"Professor Snape has been supplying the Hogwarts Infirmary for as long as he's been teaching potions and in that time saved more than one student's life – including Harry's," she said, wrapping a travelling cloak around Harry's shoulders. "Harry needs to go home and rest now, as I'm sure you would agree."

"Essence of Dittany," Severus noted, eager to speed this affair along. "To be applied once more in the morning, correct? And another Blood-Replenishing Potion with his next meal, though I don't see why you have not brought a blood-type specific potion, which would be far more effective and less likely to cause complications."

"We don't have those in stock," the healer admitted sheepishly before he conjured up a copy of the list of prescribed potions and handed it to Severus. "Do you need Dreamless Sleep?" Severus declined and listened with half an ear as the healer warned him about possible addiction and cautioned against prolonged use of Sleeping Draughts. As if he didn't know. "Here are all the dosages and treatment instructions and if you have any questions, we'll be glad to help. Mr. Potter, no strenuous activities, lots of water and sleep for at least one week. Your check up is next Monday at three p.m."

"Thank you, Healer," Harry said softly, gratefully accepting Granger's help as he made his way over to the door. "Is there a fireplace we could use?"

The healer was surprisingly gracious as he showed them to his own office and offered them his personal pot of Floo powder before Granger pulled him aside, presumably to ask some more questions about Harry's injuries and treatment, and then showed him the door.

"Sure you don't want us to come home with you, mate?" Weasley asked immediately after the door closed behind Darton.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be resting anyway. Not much you can do." Harry shrugged, pushing half-heartedly at Weasley's chest when the redhead ruffled his hair. "Go."

"We'll come by tomorrow to check on you," Granger declared, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead. "Professor Snape, you'll contact us if something should happen, won't you?"

"You have my word, Miss Granger," Severus agreed, throwing a bit of Floo powder into the crate. "Harry?"

"You best go through first," Weasley advised, still looking mildly constipated. "Unless you want Harry to hit his head when he tumbles out of the fireplace and be sent right back here." The glare that accompanied his words made clear that he would expect nothing more from the Potions Master. Severus sneered and snapped out their address, stepping into the green flames. The last thing he saw, as his body gradually took up speed on every spin, were Harry's green eyes.


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