Title: Reluctant Savior (Chapter 2)

Author name: venus4280

Category: Drama, Snape mentors Harry…

Rating: Pg-13 for language/intensity- subject to change

Spoilers: all five books

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended, and I get nothing from borrowing them except the pleasure of trying to write a good story.

Archive: If you want, just email me to let me know

The Knight Bus jerked to a stop inside the Hogwart's Express terminal. Miraculously, the unlikely duo had arrived at their desired destination safely, despite the roaring incompetence of both the driver and attendant helming the wizard transport.

Harry was still sleeping rather soundly, his head perched delicately on a grungy pillow. Snape frowned, concerned eyes threatening to disturb his otherwise cold and brooding visage. He was quite reluctant to wake the younger wizard, but it was necessary.

He shook the boy gently, "Potter, wake up." In response, Harry's body jerked violently from its sprawl as he inhaled sharply, his hand clutching his wand. He opened his startlingly green eyes that flashed the Jade of the Chinese Middle Kingdom or the rare malachite of the Russian Empire. "A little jumpy, Potter?" inquired Snape, grimly amused at Harry's instinctually defensive posture.

Harry merely looked on confused, still not entirely aware. He absently rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other patted the seat, methodically hunting for something that it would never find. "Your glasses aren't here, Potter," Snape said gently, immediately recognizing the boy's search pattern.

Finally, Harry looked up at Snape, comprehending the situation. His gaze once again focused on his feet as he blushed, running his hand through his sloppy hair. "I know, sorry," he mumbled, though neither he nor Snape were entirely certain as to why he was apologizing.

Harry wanted to go back to sleep. For whatever reason, his slumber on the trip had been peaceful for the first time in weeks. Knowing full well that he had to accompany Snape to Hogwarts, he braced himself against the bed rail and rose to his feet, despite his reluctance. As the world swam before him, he regretted the move instantly. Nonetheless, he stepped forward cautiously, noting that his professor was no longer beside him. Hoping the Potions Master hadn't decided to leave him at the station, Harry trudged toward the exit. He believed Snape was quite capable of such an act without any provocation, but worried that the man might feel especially motivated to strand his ward by the fact that he had been kept waiting by none other than 'Harry Potter,' his least favorite 'celebrity.'

Unbeknownst to Harry, Severus Snape was actually beginning to feel guilty for leaving the younger man on the bus. He fleetingly considered re-boarding the monstrosity to make sure the boy was okay before reality reasserted itself. "Damn," Snape swore under his breath, Albus would have a field day if he were privy to Snape's musings. At last, Harry's thin, pale form appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Bye now, 'Arry," grinned Stan, waving foolishly.

"Goodbye," Harry responded, politely, turning to the source of the voice. 'Bad move, Potter,' he thought to himself, wondering if anyone would catch him if he were to tumble down the steps.

Pushing aside his worries, he descended from the vehicle, landing awkwardly in Snape's arms as he reached the bottom. Clearly exasperated with his unwanted role of white knight to Harry's damsel in distress, the professor spat, "Would you kindly refrain from collapsing every few feet? I would like to make it to the castle some time today." Harry, ashamed at his weakness, sighed as he noted the disgust in the Potions Master's voice before following the other wizard to the thestral-driven carriage awaiting them.

Once inside, the pair began their journey to the Hogwarts' gate. They rode in silence. Harry, seemingly fascinated by the blur of the passing scenery, was filled with curiosity and self-loathing. Why was he being brought to the castle now? He was terrified that something else had happened, something else for which he was to blame because of his foolishness and immaturity. For, now that the adrenaline had worn off, the damage Harry had done to himself- first in anger and then in grief- was manifested. In his listless state, at the Dursleys', it had been so hard to force himself to go through the daily rituals. Life had seemed irrelevant. He had been so lost; unable to sleep, forgetting to eat. At first, he had willfully courted his uncle's and cousin's anger- seeking punishment, both because he felt he deserved it—people were dead because of him!-- and to feel again, anything… even pain, even rage. Now, in the light of day, he saw this behavior that he had indulged in while drowning in the darkness for what it was: self-defeating, selfish, and not just a little sick. Now look at him! Certainly no match for Voldemort, Harry was wasted, tired… useless; and he hated feeling so powerless, especially in front of Professor Snape, who, Harry knew, expected him to fail.

Thinking of Snape, Harry risked a glance at the tall Potions Master, pondering why the man was still at the school. "Doesn't he have a home, a life, maybe even a family outside Hogwarts?" Harry tried picturing the greasy professor with a wife and kids, and found he had to bite his lip to avoid laughing at the absolute absurdity of it. After all, Snape obviously wasn't overly fond of children, and to have kids, Snape would have to have had… "Whoa, not a mental picture I need at this point," Harry thought to himself, shuddering slightly.

Snape looked up, noting Harry's tremble. He hated to admit it, but he was concerned for the teenager. As Harry stared out the window, Snape took the opportunity to observe his student once again. As the boy fiddled with his hands, Severus noticed several, tiny, crescent-shaped scabs mottling each small palm. "What in the world?" Snape thought…"Fingernails, Of course! But what would cause Potter to dig his fingernails into his palms hard enough or frequently enough to draw blood and leave such permanent marks?" Then, it clicked: the uncle. As the most horrendous scenes flashed unbidden before his eyes, Snape vowed that Vernon Dursley would get his, soon.

But Snape had, as the late Sirius Black accused some three years before at the Shrieking Shack, once again put his keen and penetrating mind to the task, and reached the wrong conclusion. In reality, the scabs were a legacy of Harry's frequent and quite horrific nightmares, yet another reminder of Voldemort's reign of terror.

The silent carriage slowed to a halt, while each of its occupants remained lost in their own thoughts and wondering what the Headmaster had planned.