Harry Potter and the Guardians of Power
Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to the Harry Potter Universe except the twisted plot, a few original characters, and a desire to share my weird obsession with others
AN: I will not respond to individual reviewers on this story site. If you really need a question answered please send me a review and I will respond.
Chapter 3: And Into the Fire
Snape knew he was dead. He had failed Dumbledore and now both he and Potter were dead. But if he was dead, why did he have a blinding headache and why was it so bloody hard to breathe? He felt like he had a hundred pound dead weight on his chest. No wait. He did have a hundred pound dead weight on his chest! Potter's body was draped across his back making it impossible to draw a deep breath. Now he was really dead. He had survived and Potter was dead. It was only a matter of which 'master' killed him first!
He felt a shallow breath against his back, followed by another one. Potter wasn't dead either! He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and listened as hard as he could. No sounds of death eaters, no curses being thrown, no—nothing; but the sound of Potter's painful, ragged breathing and his own heartbeat pounding in his chest and the top of his head.
He forced his eyes open, expecting to still be in Voldemort's throne room, only to be surprised with the view of a meadow bathed in early morning sunlight. He was vaguely aware that it had been the middle of December when he and Potter had been kidnapped and the air now felt like early morning of late June. He was aware of the feeling of dewy wet grass under his face and the sound of birds in the dense forest that encircled the meadow. So they were safe at least for now. No birds would be singing if there were death eaters tramping through the forest looking for them.
He could find out where they were later, first he had to assess the boy and heal him as much as he could. He had a few potions secreted about his person because he was never without them, but not the normal stash of emergency stocks he had stashed in his death eater robes. He only had his normal heavy wool teaching robes. At least he still had his wand, the death eaters hadn't removed his wand from its pocket before the Dark Lord, hmm, and he would never have to call that sadistic bastard that again! Dumbledore and Potter called him Voldemort, or even Tom. Hmm, he really liked the idea of calling the insane idiot Tom! Blast, but his mind was wandering badly as he forced his thoughts back to the situation at hand.
His head was pounding and his whole body was trembling and shaking from that bloody curse. He gently ran his hand through the hair at the back of his head. Feeling a disturbing amount of wetness, he gingerly touched the large lump he found. Ouch, he could barely brush his finger across it without blinding pain. He was aware that his vision was blurry and he was having a terrible time catching one thought long enough to act upon it. He brought his hand forward and found a disturbing amount of blood upon it. 'I hope that's only because scalp wounds bleed so freely!' he thought cursing Voldemort again.
Forcing his mind once again back to the immediate problem he returned to thinking about the boy. He pushed himself up on his arms while moving Potter as little as possible. Using his chest for leverage, he managed to turn over onto his back while wiggling to a sitting position under limp child. He gently picked up Potter while holding his head and neck as still as he could. He scooted out from under Potter and laid him down in exactly the same position on the wet grass. Well, that couldn't be helped. He couldn't put a pillow or even a robe under him until he had assessed the boy's injuries. Albus would kill him if he saved the boy's life only to kill him while trying to heal him. Though to be absolutely accurate, the boy had saved him, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone if he didn't have to. Maybe the child wouldn't remember what had happened? Blast, his mind was wandering again.
He used his hands to gently feel the boy's head and neck. Too bad he wasn't very good at healing charms and diagnostic spells. There was a reason he had been drawn to potions instead of that 'silly wand waving' as he told his students in their first classes with him. Truth be told, he wasn't very good at anything except dueling and Madame Pomfrey wouldn't appreciate him doing that to her Golden Boy. His father had made sure he could do all kinds of dark curses and hexes but everything else he discouraged his son from practicing. He had of course mastered Transfiguration and Charms while in school, but that had been a long time ago. After school, he had promptly forgotten most of what he had been taught. After all, how often is the knowledge of how to transfigure a rat into a water goblet needed? 'Bollocks!' he thought, 'my mind is wandering again!'
He cast a quick undressing spell and sighed with deep relief when he found no major injuries to the boy's head and neck. Too bad he couldn't say the same for the rest of him. Between Malfoy's brutal attack and then Voldemort's even more brutal attack, the boy's body was a mess. 'Thank Merlin, the torture had only just gotten started and Voldemort hadn't thrown cutting and slashing curses. I couldn't handle massive bleeding in a bloody meadow all by myself.' He thought.
Both arms and legs were broken in several spots and he was a mass of bruises and cuts, but the most dangerous injuries were to his ribs. Snape could tell at least 5 ribs were broken, one even poked through his skin just below his left shoulder, and he hoped none of them had punctured his lungs. Snape knew he wasn't prepared to treat that kind of devastating injury while in the middle of a meadow. He could be a mile from Hogwarts or a million miles away because it made no difference if he didn't know where they were. The boy could not be moved at all because of the risk of perforating his lungs and the probable internal injuries that he had no way of diagnosing. And he couldn't apperate with his own head injury even if he had been willing to leave the stupid brat.
After a long and stressful two hours he had the boy bandaged as much as he could. He was glad for once that the boy remained unconscious. He had kept one eye on the boy as he searched for any thing that might help him as he scrounged for suitable sticks among the surrounding underbrush. He had been able to set the broken limbs and splint them with the sticks he found, and bandages he conjured from his wand. He had carried just one vial of bone set salve which had moved the broken rib back under the skin when he had rubbed it into the skinny chest.
He stopped a moment, deep in thought, as he realized from Potter's memories exactly why that chest was so skinny and the boy was so small. 'Even Death Eaters feed their captives, and this was their own nephew. How could you starve your own nephew for days at a time while you lock him in a dark cupboard?" It just proved not all sadists were Death Eaters, some were Muggles!
With the rib back in place, he tightly wrapped the boy's ribs. He rolled up Potter's shirt and used it to make a pillow for the boy, making his breathing ease somewhat, and wrapped him up in his own heavy wool cloak for warmth. He was wearing the boy's threadbare cloak which obviously didn't fit, but he was moving around enough to keep warm and he didn't think he was in danger of going into shock like the child was. It was getting warm enough in the sun that he wouldn't need it much longer anyway.
He took a couple of deep breaths to calm and center himself before taking stock of their situation. He knew he had injuries himself since he was having a hard time concentrating on a single thought. Though his mind wasn't wandering as much as it had been when he first woke up. At least he hoped it wasn't. He noticed his vision was no longer blurry. That was something to be thankful for. It probably meant his own head injury wasn't getting worse, thank Merlin. It was difficult to properly diagnose one's own mental status after all. His headache had dulled so he was no longer seeing double, but he was still made painfully aware of it if he moved too quickly or tried to bend over.
He continued with his mental assessment of their predicament. No one had come looking for them while he bandaged the boy; therefore they were not likely to be rescued any time in the near future. He had about 3 days worth of pain potions, 4 days worth of strengthening potions, 2 days worth of fever reducer, and 5 days worth of nutrient potions but absolutely nothing for internal injuries or blood replenishing. He had only had the one vial of bone set salve and had no post cruciatis potion at all. And he could really use some right about now for both of them. At least, Voldemort hadn't held the blasted curse for very long before Potter had done whatever he had done. Snape still didn't know exactly what he had done.
Now that the child was stable, Snape gathered firewood and several herbs and pieces of bark he had found and returned to the brat's side. He used his wand to clear a space and surround it with rocks, start a fire and conjure a small cauldron. He filled it with water from the small stream that flowed through the side of the meadow and started the water to boil. He could make a mild pain and calming tea from the herbs and bark he had found but he had found nothing to make it very strong. He could also make a salve to ease the numerous cuts and bruises on the boy's body with the ingredients he had scavenged along with the few he had in his hidden robe pockets. Luckily he had several boxes of his favorite tea that he had been carrying from his quarters to restock his office supply. Potter really didn't want to be around him without his tea in the morning! Thank Merlin he didn't like it with anything added to it or he would be out of luck.
Catching a stealthy movement out of the corner of his eye, he quickly cast a stunner at a rabbit that was too slow to run to safety. Good, he could make a broth to feed to his patient and some roast rabbit would be fine as his evening meal. He could add those wild carrots and onions that he spotted earlier too and make a fine stew for the morning.
The surrounding country looked familiar to him; at least it appeared they were still in Scotland and perhaps not too far from the castle. He had no way of explaining the apparent change in the time of year or the climate. But no one would know to look for them here and he didn't dare risk apparating, the boy was too badly injured and between not knowing how far from Hogwarts he was and no idea how bad his own head injury was it would be too dangerous for him too.
No, there would be no one looking any where close for the two of them. If anything, the Order would be searching to rescue them from Voldemort's current hideout; where ever that was.
Snape took a moment to relish his freedom from spying. He never had to grovel at that insane idiot's feet again. As far as anyone in the Order would know, he had blown his cover to save their Golden Boy and he would bask in their admiration and praise. Then he could just retire to making his potions and terrorizing Griffindors like he liked. And he would never have to suck up to the likes of Malfoy and pander to the Death Eater's idiot children any more. Now if he could just be rid of the responsibility of caring for this pampered brat-who-would-not-die-and-was-continually-a-pain-in-his-arse his life would definitely be looking up. Oh, and get rid of this pounding headache!
Snape still sat in the blasted meadow three days later. The only thing that had changed was he was finally rid of the headache, as long as he didn't forget and try to scratch the itching scab on the back of his head.
He took a small bowl and spoon he had conjured out of some twigs and dished some squirrel broth for the boy. He sat it beside the herbal tea he had already cooling in the shelter he had made from Potter's old cloak draped over the string the boy had been using to keep up his humongous pants. The string and his two shoelaces tied together had been long enough to tie between two trees and drape the cloak over.
Time to try to wake Potter and get him to swallow something. Potter didn't really wake up, but at least he was aware enough to swallow if Severus took care to dribble the liquid down the inside of his cheek. He had gently picked up Harry's head and shoulders, then slid his long legs down either side of the boy's body so that Harry's shoulders were supported against his own chest. Potter's splinted arms were supported by Severus' thighs and his broken legs were between Severus' own long legs. He had the boy's head draped over his left arm with his neck tilted back so he could drip the last of the potions down the boy's throat without choking him. He had the bowl of meat broth cooling beside him to feed him next. Luckily, the stream drew small game to it and he hadn't missed yet with his stunners. Neither of them would starve; though he was getting pretty tired of rabbit and squirrel.
"Come on Harry. Just a little bit more and you can rest again. Merlin, when did I start calling the boy, Harry? And talking out loud to him?" Of course, three days tending to a semiconscious child gave you ample time to digest all those disgusting memories that the boy had blasted into his mind. "How had he gotten past my mind shields?" He didn't think even Albus could do that and he knew Tom couldn't. For all the evil one's bragging, he really wasn't that powerful an Occlumens or Legilimens.
With nothing but time to think, he had realized he really had known nothing at all about the boy. "I thought my father was cruel but he had nothing on Harry's family. And I had my mother and grandmother to love me. Father was a terrible task master and brooked no disobedience but he didn't break bones and burn me; the house elves made sure I always had plenty to eat and did all the household chores. Even as much as I hated the stupid child, I wouldn't have locked the boy in a blasted cupboard for years bringing him out only to work as a house elf! How has this child remained so loving and caring? He should be the next Dark Lord by his upbringing alone."
"No wonder he never goes to an adult with his problems! I wouldn't trust them either. And he certainly has no idea how to express any emotions. Any time he expressed anything his aunt slapped him and his uncle beat him. Was I as cruel as his memories of me? If I am going to be honest with myself, yes I was. I am going to have to change how I treat him if I am going to be able to help him... Do I want to help him...?" Severus mused, quietly talking to himself while spooning broth and herbal tea into the slack mouth of the child he held tenderly in his arms. Severus never noticed the pain dulled green eyes open and staring at him.
Finished with his task, Severus continued to cradle the broken child to his chest as he pondered his disturbing thoughts. He didn't even realize he was gently running his right hand through Harry's unruly hair while murmuring nonsense soothing sounds at the child. He continued out loud "Yes, I do want to help him. I have been pushing him away all these years because I was afraid to care for him. He looked so small and helpless at the sorting feast. I can't believe Hagrid had to tell him he was a wizard and how his parents died! But after seeing his memories I believe the truth is more horrific than anyone could have even guessed."
"I can't let Albus return him to those brutal muggles! And now that my spying days are over I can reinforce the wards on Snape Manor so that no one can enter without my express permission, Albus will certainly be my secret keeper. I haven't been there in ten years so I don't think any of Voldemort's idiots will think to look for us there. I'm sure the house elves have kept everything in working order. I don't think Fudge will let me file for official guardianship, how am I going to get custody? Well, maybe I can have Albus just not inform the Ministry that I have Harry. We don't have that long until he's 17, I don't think, and then he can stay with me forever without anyone being able to stop us. " Snape continued to muse softly to himself as he gently stroked the boy's hair.
Harry held back a soft moan as he closed his eyes. He must be having hallucinations; he hadn't just heard his most hated professor, the evil git who hated him, talking like he wanted to take him home! He curled into the man's warm chest, relishing the feeling of being held and comforted. No one had ever held him and cared for him when he was hurt, well except for hugs from Mrs. Weasley, Hermoine, and Ginny, but no one had ever just held him in warm comfort. He thought 'I could get used to this feeling! Is this what a parent feels like? Why does Ron push his Mum away if it feels like this?' was his last thought as blackness overtook him once again.
Severus gently laid Harry back on the bed of fresh rushes covered by Harry's old clothes in the makeshift shelter that protected them both from the gently falling mist in the meadow. It had been almost a week since they had escaped from the Dark Lord. Harry still only woke up long enough for Snape to spoon his herbal pain reliever and a few spoonfuls of broth into him before Harry would pass out again. Snape was very thankful that Harry appeared to have escaped puncturing a lung but he still couldn't move him anywhere yet. He knew the herbal tea wasn't keeping much pain away and it hurt him to look at the child and know there was so little that he could do for him. And now he had developed a fever.
Snape had found Echinacea and Goldenseal to brew with his other herbs, but he would soon have to give him one more of his precious fever reducer potions and he had only had 10 doses of them to begin with and no way to brew any more. He was bathing Harry with cold water and dosing him with tea whenever the boy showed any signs of consciousness but he was afraid it would not be enough. He was stretching the remaining 6 doses by administering them every 6 or 8 hours instead of every 4 like Madam Pomfrey would but that would still only be a couple of days worth. He hoped that would be enough.
"Harry, Harry I need you to wake up now and take some potions and eat. Come on my stubborn child, you can do it. Wake up. Wake up! " Snape was concerned that there seemed to be no response at all. Snape felt Harry's forehead again and knew he would have to be more aggressive in dosing the child or the fever would get out of control.
Snape took his knuckle and rubbed it harshly against Harry's breastbone trying to miss any healing ribs or bruises. It might be a crude Muggle method but it did work, and it was a lot easier on the body than an enervate spell. Harry moaned and tried to move away from the pain. With a sharp gasp and a soft groan, Harry opened his eyes.
"Professor?" he croaked. "Where are we?" He asked this question each time he regained consciousness. Snape knew he would have to keep repeating information until Harry was aware and well enough to actually remember information from one awakening to the next, but he didn't mind. He didn't know why he had so much patience with this child. Well, he really did have nothing else to do.
"Hush, Harry. I need you to swallow this potion to bring down your fever. I am sorry; child, but I don't have any pain potion left. I have some tea with herbs for you that should dull the pain some and then I need you to drink as much of this broth as you can. You really need the liquids to help you heal." Snape said gently as he lifted the boy's shoulders and slid his body behind him so he could rest Harry's upper body against his chest. He didn't even notice any more how naturally and easily he cradled the child against him, "This should help you breathe better and help you to swallow."
Snape felt himself choke up as he noticed the tears of pain running down Harry's cheeks. 'What kind of monsters taught a child to cry completely silently? And why did Albus return him year after year to their care? Surely the old coot had checked on him from time to time, hadn't he?' He absent mindedly brushed the tears off the cheeks of the boy as he contemplated different tortures that he could vest upon the Dursley's.
"Professor? Are you all right?" The quiet croak startled him from his increasingly black thoughts.
"Yes, Harry shush now. Here, drink this and then I'll feed you some tea and broth. I know it tastes bad, but not as bad as skele-grow." He chided.
After drinking the vial, Harry whispered, "Or polyjuice potion… "
Startled, Snape hissed, "When did you taste that, Potter?"
Harry unconsciously cringed at the Professor's harsh tone and the return of his surname.
"Uh, I just heard about that from… Moody." He stammered quickly. Neither of them was satisfied with that answer but Snape let it go.
It took almost 30 minutes of slow spoonfuls of tea and broth before Snape let Harry stop swallowing. He had told him of their predicament and where he thought they were and what injuries he had and how he was going to have to treat them once again. Snape could tell that the boy was tiring but in too much pain to sleep. He was secretly happy that Harry had made no motion to leave his spot leaning against his chest. Harry started to squirm uncomfortably in Severus' arms.
"Its okay, Harry. I kind of like you right where you are. And I think you are breathing much better propped up."
"It's not that, Professor. I need to… you know… um… use the loo?"
Severus took out his wand and made a quick motion with a softly spoken incantation and Harry felt instantly better.
"What?" Severus smirked, "Surely you have had Madame Pomfrey perform that spell many times in all of your stays in hospital?"
"Well, yeah. I just didn't expect you to know it. And I usually don't stay in the hospital wing once I regain consciousness, sir."
Severus actually smiled, well sort of. "I had noticed that about you. But think. It's not possible to leave the Dark Lord's side just to use the loo. And there are many times that brewing potions involves very long hours of precisely timed brewing. I would hate to have to begin again just because I had to leave for a few minutes. They teach you that spell when you begin making complex potions that require more than a couple of hours to brew. I also know that most professional Quidditch teams use that spell too. Some of their games can go on for many hours or even days with breaks few and far between."
"Oh, well, yeah. I guess I never thought about it. It would be rather bad to lose your potion or explode the dungeons because you were, well, you know. And I would certainly hate to lose a match because you needed to pee. Plus I guess it would piss off old Tom enough that he might kill you himself." Harry had to stop for a breath between every couple of words but he seemed to be able to talk better after the herbal tea.
"Glad you realize, Mr. Potter. And even if it is just the two of us, watch your language."
"It's Harry, sir. Just Harry. You were calling me that earlier. "
"Then you may call me Severus when we are alone… or in front of Professor Dumbledore. I can't wait to see his face the first time you call me that in front of him! But if you call me that in class or the halls, I will pickle you and use you for potion ingredients." He smirked at Harry, but there was no malice or anger in his face and there was a smile in his dark eyes.
"Uh, okay sir. I guess, boy, that's weird, uh, Severus. " Harry almost turned as bright red as Ron's hair.
Severus couldn't help himself now and actually smiled while he gently hugged Harry tighter to his chest. He even laughed when he heard Harry mutter, "No one is going to believe this!"
Severus gently rocked Harry against his chest; talking softly about nothing as the boy fell back to sleep. This time he was actually sleeping.