Title: Reluctant Savior (Chapter 4)

Author name: venus4280

Category: Drama

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

A/N: Sorry for the wait- you know how pesky real life can be! Thank you to all of my reviewers (all 7 of you, right? Lol), particularly Blessing of Earendil, who is not only a talented writer in her own right, but extremely faithful in her reviewing. Well, as usual… let me know what you like and what you don't- I always entertain reasonable suggestions.

Happy New Year!

Drink this," the nurse ordered, tutting and shaking her head over Harry's criminal negligence when it came to his health.

"But…" he protested, eyeing the vial suspiciously.

Madame Pomfrey interrupted, "No arguments. You are far too thin, and you look like you haven't slept in weeks! Have you looked in the mirror lately, Mr. Potter?" she reprimanded.

"No," he replied, somewhat sheepishly. "Would it be alright if I took a shower and changed first?" he looked so desperate to get out of his oversized garments that she couldn't refuse him.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt, but you must have an escort."

"Madame Pomfrey, I am certainly old enough…"

She cut him off, "End of discussion! Professor Snape will accompany you, and that is final. You look as though you might collapse at any moment… by yourself, indeed!" she clucked her tongue in disapproval, muttering to herself about how thinking he was invincible was going to put him in an early grave.

Interrupting the private diatribe of the disgruntled school nurse, Severus drawled, "I don't suppose I have any choice in the matter?"

"Certainly not! Now go before I decide to remind Albus that you still haven't received your mandatory faculty physical," she threatened, shooting him a menacing look that rivaled the patented 'Snape death glare' in its sheer intensity and ability to inspire fear.

Resigning himself to his role as chaperone, Snape sighed. "Come!" he beckoned Harry, as he turned toward the door, his black cloak sweeping dramatically behind him.

Following Snape closely out of necessity, Harry stumbled, his palms scraping along the rough stone as he put out his arms to catch himself.

Snape turned to the sprawled Gryffindor, "There is a step there."

"Yeah," Harry retorted, sarcastically, "Thanks for the warning." He hauled himself back to his feet, continuing along the path, displaying a bit more trepidation than before.

Snape stood at the top of the staircase, tapping his foot impatiently. Harry briefly considered showing Professor Snape a choice hand gesture, but successfully restrained himself. Plus, he thought irritably, though the Potions Master seemed remarkably well-versed in muggle colloquialisms and terminology- he wasn't sure that the professor would fully appreciate the cultural implications of his upturned middle finger- and that wouldn't be any fun.

The pair finally reached the washroom, with Snape agreeing to wait outside while the boy conducted his business. After disrobing, Harry walked toward the shower, banging his hip on the edge of one of the lower wash basins. He gripped the sink, cursing, as pain exploded through his body- that was going to leave a mark. When the searing agony had dulled to a persistent throb, he got into the shower, finally achieving his objective. Letting the warm water wash over him, he knew that this goal, unlike many others-trivial and otherwise- that he had set his sights upon over the years, had been worth the struggle. Harry felt better than he had in weeks, relaxed, he succumbed to the beckoning darkness.

It had been a long time, and against his better judgement, while at the same time because of it, Snape went into the shower room.

"Potter, if it hasn't come off by now, it's probably supposed to be there." Snape pronounced, dryly.

Snape ventured farther into the steam-filled room, "Harry?" he called, practically choking on the boy's given name, a cold block of fear settling in the pit of his stomach.

Receiving no answer, he pointed his wand at the shower, turning off the water. "Harry?" he called again, knowing his inquiry would again meet silence. He really didn't want to open the shower curtain, but, he reasoned internally, the boy could be injured or worse. Several nightmarish images flooded his mind as he sharply pulled away the plastic veil.

There, before him in a crumpled heap, lay the Boy Who Lived. For a moment Severus could only stare. The boy was far too thin, seemingly only skin stretched over bones. Although several bruises marred Harry's otherwise smooth skin- most notable among them a large purple mass of broken blood vessels on his right hip and one on his chest- the Potions Master also saw a few smaller marks on his arms and at his collar bone- there did not, however, appear to be any blood. Without further delay, Snape grabbed the towel that the younger man had draped over the shower rod and scooped him out of the tub. Still holding the unconscious wizard, the Professor performed a simple lung clearing charm (just to be safe) "expectoratium!" and then revived him, "enervate!"- It took a few seconds for Harry to respond to the second spell, but he did ultimately awaken, coughing and sputtering.

Snape probed deeply into the slightly glazed green eyes before roughly depositing Harry in the corner. "You do what you need to do, quickly," the professor ordered sharply.

Harry nodded feebly, "Thanks."

"I'll be outside," Severus informed him before departing the humid enclosure.

At this Harry leaned his head against the wall, contemplating how in the world he was going to get up. He thought his clothes were laying across one of the sinks, but he wasn't completely sure. Sighing, he closed his eyes, resting- it had all finally caught up to him, and Merlin strike him if he wasn't utterly exhausted-- Mediwitch be damned!

10 minutes passed, 15, then 20. Severus burst into the lavatory, only to see Harry sleeping in the corner.

"Are you narcoleptic, Potter?" Snape growled.

Harry jerked from his slumber, regarding the angry Potions Master wearily.

"Get Up!" snarled Snape, walking over to the sink, grabbing Harry's clothes and tossing them in his direction.

"If you are not outside, fully clothed in ten minutes…I promise, you will regret it!" With that, he once again retreated to the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

Severus Snape was angry, not at Harry, not really, but there was a general feeling of frustration building in him. He was certain he had had Potter all figured out, but today…well, it seemed every minute heralded the discovery of some new dimension in the ever shifting paradigm of his relationship with the Boy Who Lived. He didn't understand it, what the hell was his problem? Was he actually concerned, even slightly, for the child of his late school-yard nemesis? More importantly, why was this realization throwing him so off-balance? Suddenly, he felt like kicking something, but as Severus was a man possessed of a great deal of self control, he merely glared at the door, imagining something horrific befalling the school nurse- of all the things she could have suggested!

The one thing that could have made his mood more foul, aside from Voldemort appearing in front of him in the corridor that is, sped toward him, singing a jaunty, but dirty limerick, "There once was a slimy git of a Potions Master from Nantucket who's d…"

"Peeves!" Snape snapped, interrupting the lewd and insulting verse, "What do you think you're doing here?"

"Just out for an evening stroll, Snapey!" with that, the poltergeist floated away, commenting about how much happier Snape would be if he got a little action.

Fuming silently, Snape continued to wait. Where in the seven levels of Hell was Potter?

Finally, a full ten minutes later than he had been instructed, Harry emerged from the shower room. He was dressed- sort of. His pants were buttoned crookedly and his shirt seemed to be both inside out and backwards. He was carrying his shoes.

Snape's critical eye devoured the pitiable form, saying only "Nice socks." One was red and the other was green.

They had traveled a little ways before Snape noticed that Harry was limping slightly. Sighing, "What have you done to yourself now?" He then remembered the pronounced bruise on Harry's hip. Maybe the boy had been limping before too, and he just hadn't been aware of it.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, irritated.

Snape just smirked, "You are just a regular picture of grace, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry froze and looked straight at the Potions Master. There was something about not being able to see properly, something that targets your personal will…this feeling of vulnerability had left Harry's temper rather short. Feeling his control slipping, raw magical energy filled the air causing the torches lighting the hall to flicker violently. Snape looked curiously at boy, but said nothing, as the calm had once again descended before the storm had even erupted.

As the pair continued down the hall, Harry finally responded to the professor's jesting question, "I am not exactly at my best right now, okay?" The younger wizard realized that if possible his headache was actually worse than it had been before the foray to the washroom.

"Clearly," Snape replied icily, once more turning his back on Harry, as they made their way back to the hospital wing.

"There you are," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, "I was about to send the cavalry!"

Harry blushed, suddenly very interested in the trainers he was carrying.

"We had some... ah... difficulties," said Snape, diplomatically.

"I see," Poppy said, her eyebrows raised, taking in Harry's disheveled appearance.

"No more fussing out of you, drink this and get some sleep."

Harry grudgingly obliged. He barely had enough time to properly settle under the blankets before a blissfully dreamless slumber overtook him. Tomorrow, as always, looming before him- horrors and pleasantries likely to be bestowed in equal measure, for Thursdays Child had far to go.

TBC