Chapter 10
It was late into the night when Harry had finally made his way back to Snape’s chambers.
His mind and heart were silent as he passed through the threshold, even as the Potions Master threw an accusatory look at him.
"You're late." Snape said, with an impatient edge to his voice.
"I'm sorry." Harry replied automatically, his feelings of emptiness slowly morphing into anger.
Snape scanned Harry intently, taking in every fiber of the young man, hoping that the cause of his prickly mood had nothing to do with the Dark Lord's influence.
And of course, that was when he saw it.
Snape's eyes narrowed, honing in on Harry's hands which he tried to casually hide behind his back.
"Come here, Potter." Snape beckoned.
Harry was annoyed at the demand, but stepped forward anyway, curling his hands into fists behind his back; as if that would prevent Snape from learning more.
The hawk-eyed professor stood, and with every step the man took towards him, Harry's resolve faltered.
He didn't want to show any more weakness, didn't want Snape to think him so fragile, and he had hoped he could keep it a secret. So desperately hoped.
But that was not an option.
Snape reached out and grabbed at Harry's arms, pulling them in front of him by the wrists.
He inspected them expertly, and dropped Harry's right arm, holding his left now with two hands.
The red, angry marks on Harry's skin still bled, the blood slowly rolling from his hand onto his keeper's thin, refined fingers.
Snape was completely still, and his eyes betrayed a glimpse of fury as his voice cut through the room, low and dangerous.
“What is this?”
Harry gulped, temporarily stunned to silence and frozen in place.
“Who did this?” Snape demanded, his voice rough and edged with pure wrath like Harry had never seen. “Answer me, Potter!”
He didn't know how to respond - didn't know what would happen if he told the truth.
Snape's ferocity was completely unbridled, and though Harry did not want to take the blunt of it on himself, he also did not want the professor to raze Umbridge's office to nothing but ash.
Although everyone would have liked to see that, he thought, it would only cause far more problems.
“It's nothing,” Harry finally said, trying to take his hand back, but Snape held firm.
"This is not nothing, Potter." Snape said incredulously. "There is a great deal of difference between a slap on the wrist and torture."
"It really isn't a big deal." Harry said, quickly becoming tired of the discussion - he didn't want to focus on his ineptitudes any more.
"I'm... fine!" He articulated as he jerked his hand free from professor's grasp.
"Harry." Snape breathed, and the young man went rigid.
"Who."
“I-it..." Harry was almost too stunned to speak, but had completely bent under the Potion Master's will.
He fumbled to find his words, and said in the quietest of breaths, "It was Umbridge."
Snape's eyes bored into Harry's which were still wide with shock, and he grasped his ravaged hand. This time, with a gentle, almost caressing touch.
"I need to tend to this." Snape said, determined that his priority now was to ease Harry's pain. But he would not forget this moment, nor his firey rage. There would be vengeance, even if it could not be in this moment.
He led Harry to his desk, fingers wrapped carefully around his wrist, and directed him to sit.
Harry hardly watched as the man collected numerous pieces of equipment and vials of various substances and laid them on the hard wood surface.
All he could think of was one thing.
"Harry."
It was the first time... Harry's thoughts drifted as Snape worked, and soon the sound of his pounding heart was the only thing he heard in his ears. It grew louder and louder, threatening to escape from him and expose itself to the world outside.
A cool sensation brought him back to reality and he winced as a thick, wet substance was applied to his hand.
Harry watched as Snape meticulously worked the salve into his skin. Everywhere he touched left a tingling sensation, like tiny firecrackers left in the wake of where Snape's slender fingers had been.
"In the future, do not attempt to hide these things from me." Snape said, breaking the tentative silence between the two.
Harry nodded, slightly abashed by the situation. It wasn't until now that he realized the true depth of Snape's concern. Because in this moment, he knew he wasn't being admonished - the fact of the matter was that Snape was pleading.
Please come to me, rely on me. Trust me.
"I'm sorry." Harry said, and he truly meant it.
He realized that all this time he had been relying on the professor, there was still some part deep within that feared Snape, perhaps still treating him as the enemy. But as the man tenderly treated his wounds, he knew that now was the moment he would squash those thoughts for good.
"Your bleeding has stopped." Snape said, a reassurance directed at himself more than Harry.
"I will apply more of this tomorrow." He stated, slowly collecting his tools and placing the salve away in a desk drawer.
"Thank you." Harry responded as he flexed his hand, noting that the pain was greatly reduced.
"You should rest, Potter." Snape said. And for some reason Harry felt a pang of disappointment to hear that his professor had reverted back to his usual way of speech.
"We'll discuss this all another time, but for now, it is late."
Harry nodded. He was right, Umbridge had kept him far past sunset, and this interaction had withheld sleep for too long.
Snape extinguished the candles as the two of them made their way into bed, but a great weight hung in the air.
It was something new, a different kind of tension compared to the silent nights they had shared before.
Harry held his hand in front of him in the darkness, mind racing with all that had happened.
He inspected where Snape had touched his skin as if looking might show him something new. And under the dim light of the moon that peaked through the singular barred window on the wall, Snape watched the young man's silhouette, looking for the same thing.