First Steps

by: Whomping Willow

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

***

Chapter eight: The Homecoming ~


Hogwarts was silent but for the steady stream of vulgarities tumbling from the mouth of its only occupant. Professor Snape was in quite a foul mood. He had torn apart his private quarters for over an hour before he finally found the ancient tome he was searching for, the one that contained the potion formula for identifying blood. Another two hours passed before he confirmed his suspicions that one of the ingredients he had in storage was unsuitable for use in the potion. When he added the questionable items to the steadily simmering brew, it belched forth a thick shimmering cloud of purple smoke that hung in the air burning the back of his throat.

It appeared that due to an unfortunately short shelf life he would have to visit Hogsmeade once the shops opened and see if they had fresh vampire bat eyes. In order to waste as little time as possible he began preparing the ingredients he had on hand, once he cleared the smoke that is.

While he waited for the unpleasant cloud to disperse, he used the floo in his chambers to call the Headmaster and let him know not to expect any answers until mid afternoon, at the earliest. If the Apothecary in Hogsmeade didn't have the fresh ingredients, he would be further delayed by the subsequent trip to Diagon Alley.

He had just settled in at his work station when a noise deep in the castle caught his attention. During the summer months the castle's front doors were spelled to squeak loudly, it was a way of alerting anyone in residence to the arrival of visitors or trespassers. Snape's presence itself was proof that it wasn't unheard of for a professor to visit the castle during the summer break, but he had a nagging feeling it wasn't a colleague returning to retrieve an essential book or forgotten parchment.

With as much stealth as he could muster, Professor Snape exited the dungeons in search of the trespasser. If there had been any doubt in his mind it was removed when the front door creaked shut followed by a resounding thud.

He slipped through the dim corridors to the entrance hall, finding an equally shadowed form leaning in the doorway. He watched cautiously awaiting the moment when the purpose for the intrusion was revealed. The visitor seemed in no hurry to explore the castle further, choosing instead to lean casually against the door which puzzled the Potions Master.

Curious, Snape approached staying concealed within the shadows near the dungeon stair. The shadowed figure was of a slight build, too slender to be fully grown, and he pondered if one of the children of Hogsmeade may have snuck in on a bet. It wasn't till the figure turned toward Snape that light reflected off the round lenses of his spectacles and doing so gave his identity away.

Stealth was no longer required so he abandoned the shadows. Snape called out as he strode further into the entrance hall stopping well short of the doors.

"Well, what do we have here? If it isn't Harry Potter – the prodigal son . . . do tell me Mr. Potter – why is it you persist in the notion that you are too good to ride the train with the rest of Hogwarts populous?"

Stepping out from the shadows to approach the boy across the room he affixed his customary sneer. He was consumed by anger, how dare the boy waste their time – his time – wizards everywhere are searching for the boy-who-lived and now he strolls into Hogwarts like he owns it. "Just what kind of game do you think you've been playing? Always so short sighted . . . What's the matter Potter, have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Harry Potter stood leaned against the front door without moving or uttering a word. It was disconcerting to say the least, seeing the obnoxious brat failing to rise to the bait.

Growing impatient with the silence, he called out to the shadowed figure. "Fine, if you do not wish to speak with me you shall accompany me to the Headmaster's office. We will use the fire there to contact Dumbledore. I am sure he would like to have a word with you."

There was still no response from the other to break the oppressive silence, but by this time he was no longer expecting one.

Turning sharply toward the Headmaster's office he stalked swiftly across the entry hall wondering if the boy wonder would be bright enough to follow. He intended to floo the Order and let them know exactly what their golden-boy has been up to.

He smirked momentarily, looking forward to making a fool of Harry Potter just as Potter had always made a fool of him. His anger was rising to a level previously only accomplished by the Dark Lord and the annoying brat's father.

The boy's body language hinted subtly of underlying fatigue, he noted, but that meant little considering the late hour. The cadence of his footsteps suggested the presence of a limp, but it was obvious to him that Potter had been worrying his friends and the Order for nothing.

His musings were interrupted by an unusual sound behind him, perhaps best described as flesh on stone. "Potter?!" he called out without turning, but there was no response.

Whirling around to see what kind of trouble the boy was causing now, privately hoping to catch him in his mischief, he stopped frozen in his tracks at the sight before him.

Harry Potter was now a crumpled heap on the floor. A trail of blood clearly defined his staggered path from the front door to where he now lay unmoving on the cool stone.

"Bloody Hell!" his shout echoed off the stone walls.

***

It was obvious now that Potter was out of the shadows that something had gotten the better of him in a fight. His skin was ashen and breathing shallow. Exactly who or what Harry had confronted since his escape was at that moment impossible to determine. Idiotic Gryffindor . . . why didn't he say something, Snape thought unkindly. "Potter!" Snape called hoping to rouse the boy, but Harry didn't stir. "Must you always make everything so difficult?" Snape asked uselessly his voice echoing in the empty room.

Snape aimed his wand and muttered, "Mobile Corpus," magically levitating Harry into the air. Dim light enhanced the dark shadows encircling the boy's eyes and the professor tried not to speculate. The silent journey to the hospital wing was broken only by the echo of his hurried footsteps up the marble staircase and along corridors. The professor had stopped berating his unconscious companion and instead collected his thoughts before the task of assessing his injuries began.

When they reached the hospital wing, the nearest bed was immediately occupied with the unconscious boy as Harry was dumped unceremoniously on the starched sheets. It allowed the professor's full attention to focus on his task of gathering all he could find in the potions stores. After returning with a tray loaded with vials, which Snape deposited on the bedside table, he proceeded to strip the boy revealing the extent of the injuries.

Snape felt disquieted as the evidence of Harry's struggles lay bare before him. The skin exposed as he removed the soaked garments was pale and bruised, and he was so emaciated that the bones of his slight frame were clearly visible. Several cleansing spells had to be cast before the source of the bleeding was determined, blood had seemed to come from everywhere until the bites and scratches were revealed. His breaths were shallow, and even in unconsciousness Potter gave the impression of enduring great pain. It was not what the professor had expected at all, and he was left wondering if the Dark Lord's minions had somehow found him and done the damage before allowing him to escape.

Seeing Harry looking small and pale lying on the hospital bed made Snape long for the presence of Madam Pomfrey. Despite her meddling and mothering she is a competent Mediwitch and Potter's condition was troubling. Snape wrapped himself in his carefully constructed facade to hide any sign of concern. He knew coddling would do nothing to help Potter's condition, and seeing his greasy git of a Potions Master worried would most likely make him fear the worst.

Professor Snape could do nothing to heal Harry till he was awake and alert enough to drink healing potions, so he wasted no time in reviving him. "Enervate," the Potions Master said with his wand pointed at Harry. A few quick gasps were heard and to the professor's relief green eyes fluttered open. Before a word of protest could be uttered, a vial was pressed against Potter's lips and he was ordered to swallow. His body shook as he coughed and choked on the foul tasting potion that burned all the way to his stomach.

When his coughing died down Harry tried to sit up, but he was promptly pushed back into the mattress by a rough hand on his right shoulder. His scream filled the air as tears filled his eyes.

"That confirms my suspicions of a broken collarbone, shall I check for more injuries or will you lie still?" Snape jeered as the stars cleared from Harry's vision.

Had Harry been closer to his right mind, he might've seen a hint of his professor's concern and held his tongue, but pain and fatigue had fogged his reasoning. "Youuu . . . utter bastard," he croaked and slurred slightly between gasping breaths.

"Now, now Mr. Potter, whereas I am not a trained Mediwitch I needed to confirm the particulars of your condition somehow," stated the professor as he forced another foul tasting potion down Harry's throat. "If you have any further complaints I could contact St. Mungo's . . . I am sure that Lockhart might be available, he did such a commendable job healing you last time . . ." his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Harry was too weak to rise to the bait or resist the professor's ministrations, but made his feelings clear with a look that would freeze fire. It brought the professor some relief to see the boy as impudent as ever, but a pained breath from the bed hastened his efforts.

Broken bones and bruises were low priority as potions to stop the bleeding were administered first, followed immediately by those to replenish the lost blood. He hoped the pain would help keep Potter conscious long enough to get a few more healing draughts down. When his eyes fluttered shut repeatedly, it became uncertain how long he would remain alert enough to continue swallowing the healing potions and Snape simply did not have appropriate training to attempt it with spells. The bites for instance were far too deep for his limited medical charms skills.

It occurred to the Potions Master that the viscous bites could have come from any number of different creatures, perhaps even something venomous that would require an antidote. Perhaps answering questions about them might force him to focus enough and prevent him from slipping away once more. "You're a mess Potter, what was it that mauled you?" he asked trying to gain Harry's attention.

Harry's eyes rolled unfocused for a moment before turning on the professor once again. "Ggrrrrnnnylwssss," he slurred worse than before, eyes fluttering shut.

"What the bloody hell, speak up boy," he snapped in an effort to pull him back from his approaching slumber. He hadn't expected it to work so well, as Potter's eyes flew open tinged with fear. Snape arched an eyebrow but remained silent.

The discarded clothing piled on the floor stank of stagnant water and was enough to confirm the slurred word, but the longer he kept Potter awake and taking healing draughts the more likely he would recover. The professor employed every tactic he could think of to keep Potter slipping from consciousness. Every time Harry's eyes lost their focus and lids grew heavy Snape would ask another question or spit another insult to keep him accepting the potions.

Nearly a dozen potions had made their way down Harry's gullet and there were still several more to go before Snape would even consider leaving him long enough to contact Dumbledore. It was then the professor was granted the unpleasant reminder that after getting them down keeping them down was an entirely different matter as Potter began to shake and heave up the contents of his stomach into an ugly pool on the blankets. The swearing fell on deaf ears as Harry drifted off once again.

"Perhaps a bit of warning next time, Potter," Snape chided, but there was no response. "Potter!" he barked and was relieved as the boy swallowed thickly and forced his eyes open once more.

The spell to calm his stomach was too late and Snape cursed himself for not anticipating its necessity, considering how many potions he had forced on Potter's empty stomach. He would need to start the cycle of potions all over again and it was obvious that it would be difficult in Harry's weakened state. He examined the wounds noticing that the bleeding had slowed, but his pallor told of his profound blood loss. Before another moment was wasted, he began the chore of administering another series of vials.

Harry knew exactly who it was that was tending him and he felt rather divided on the issue, as though there was something he couldn't quite recall. Perhaps it was that the professor's attitude seemed a bit different, unusual. He tried to focus, but without his spectacles the room was a swirling blur and his mind conjured images that he vaguely recalled from his dreams . . . 'How are you preparing to stand against the Dark Lord?' the familiar voice had asked, standing dark and foreboding in front of him. 'Do you think he will take one look at the famous Harry Potter and simply fall down dead at your feet?' Snape's voice, the words echoed so clearly in his memory they almost seemed to have been spoken . . . almost.

'Perhaps Dumbledore is right after all. You aren't your father . . .' Harry knew those words, they weren't real . . . just a dream . . .

"Just a dream . . ." he murmured aloud, unaware he spoke until Snape answered.

"I assure you Potter, this is no dream," Snape answered, but Harry remembered the dream and knew the tentative peace they had forged would never be real.

***

It was some time before the bleeding had stopped and Harry was stable enough to leave alone while Professor Snape made a call to the Order. All sense of time had been lost in the commotion and now Professor Snape was sure it was well past time for him to speak with Dumbledore.

"If you are sure you're all through dying, I must go speak with the Headmaster." Snape spoke harshly while staring at where Harry was tucked in the hospital bed, as though awaiting some argument that never came. He considered giving Harry a dose of Dreamless Sleep to ensure he would remain safe until his return, but the lack of reaction to his last jibe coupled with deep steady breaths reminded him that Potter's own exhaustion should ensure he wouldn't wander.

He left the hospital wing knowing it was well past time to inform the Headmaster of Potter's reappearance.

***

When the fire flared in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and his head appeared in the grate, it was Molly Weasley who greeted with a smile he rarely saw directed at himself. He was bombarded with a slew of questions which he ignored instead ordering that she fetch Dumbledore. Her eyes flashed coldly but she left as ordered in search of the Headmaster.

"Severus, are you all right? We've been most worried about you," Dumbledore said as he entered the room.

The Potions Master opened his mouth to speak but was immediately interrupted as the Headmaster spoke again.

"Dementors attacked Hogsmeade this morning. When you hadn't contacted us, we feared the worst."

That statement caught Snape off guard. The dementors had been ordered to search for Potter and Hogwarts is about the last place he would have imagined the boy to be. Was there something that caused them to search this far from the boy's home or was it mere coincidence? The headmaster continued despite the Potions Master's wandering thoughts.

"They have reported two villagers received the kiss before they could call the Ministry for help."

That boy has more luck than brains, Snape thought.

"No one could remember seeing you in town this morning – were you able to get the supplies you needed? Have you confirmed the source of the blood?" Dumbledore asked looking most anxious.

"I was unaware of the dementors in Hogsmeade, and did not venture to town this morning . . ."

"Severus that information is very urgent," Dumbledore interrupted. "We have a precious few clues and every moment we delay is putting Harry in greater danger."

"If you will give me a moment to explain Albus," he interjected impatiently. The professor was becoming irritated after being repeatedly interrupted when he had such important information to convey. "I have done better than confirm the source of the blood, I have located it, although precious little remains . . ."

The Headmaster stared in disbelief. "Severus?" he asked hoping it was enough to express his question.

"Yes Albus, it seems Mr. Potter has made his way to Hogwarts."

The Headmaster breathed a deep sigh of relief, pushing aside the memory of nightmares that had been plaguing him since Harry first disappeared. "How is he? Is he awake?"

"It has taken me many hours and nearly Poppy's entire stock of potions but I do believe he is going to live. He was resting when I left him to speak with you."

"Step aside, Severus. I am coming through."

Professor Snape disappeared from the grate and awaited the Headmaster's arrival. He was displeased with Dumbledore's attitude toward him, but brushed it off knowing how worried the old wizard has been.

The kitchen in Grimmauld Place stirred with life as everyone had started to gather in search of news. Dumbledore held up one hand to silence them and then spoke. "Harry has been found alive . . ."

His voice was lost amid the whoops of joy and he held up his hand to silence them again so he could continue. "He has been injured but I don't yet know the severity of his wounds. I am going now to see him. We will wait to inform the Ministry and the press until after my return."

The room was abuzz with voices, all clamoring to be allowed to see Harry, Molly Weasley's being among the loudest. The Headmaster requested silence once more and hoped to explain himself without adding too much to their worries. "I do not yet know the severity of Harry's condition and cannot in good conscience allow all of you to see him until more is known. Remus, would you care to join me?" Surprisingly there were no arguments from the other occupants of the room.

All weariness and worry left Remus at that moment and he rushed to the Headmaster's side. He had been so worried about Harry even before the attack, and he was eager to see him again.

When they stepped through into the Headmaster's office Snape sneered at Remus before he began filling them both in with what little information he'd managed to glean from his patient.

When they reached the corridor to the Hospital wing, Remus noticed the trail of drying blood that led down the hall and through the double doors. Realizing what had drawn Remus' attention Snape decided to explain, "As I told you before, he was bleeding quite heavily when I found him."

His companions nodded grimly, unconsciously quickening their pace toward the doors. When the doors opened their eyes were drawn to the small form lying in the nearest bed. Professor Snape had left Harry tucked in the same bed where he had tended his wounds, the sheets were stained with his blood and the sight startled a gasp out of Remus.

Harry was still asleep unaware of his audience. They gazed at his pale face and examined his body looking for clues to the source of the damage. Remus pulled the blanket away from where it was tucked carefully beneath Harry's chin exposing a ring of bruises encircling his neck. Their eyes followed the trail of bruises as far as could be seen till they once again disappeared under the covers. He glanced over at Albus. "How do you suppose he got these?" he asked.

"Perhaps we can ask," the Headmaster replied calmly as he watched Harry's eyes flutter open. "Welcome back my dear boy," he said softly, as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

The room was not near so bright as he remembered it from his past visits, but even in the blur without his glasses he recognized the hospital wing. "Mmmade it," he slurred sleepily.

"Yes Harry, you're safe now," Remus encouraged and placed Harry's newly repaired spectacles on his nose.

His eyes first focused on the Headmaster widening in disbelief. "You you're nnnot dead?" he said uncertainly. His mind was flooded with memories of their meeting in Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death. He remembered the pain and anger, but now all he could feel was relief.

"Of course not Harry – and neither are you," he added. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head. He lacked the energy to explain his earlier line of reasoning. He was safe and he was home, at that very moment nothing else really mattered.

***

tbc . . .

~ Whomping Willow ~