Agonizing Company and Burning Realizations
“Golden child,
Lion boy;
Tell me what it’s like to conquer.
Fearless child,
Broken boy;
Tell me what it’s like to burn.”
— oh darling, even Rome fell II p.s (via madzie-bane)
***
He shouldn’t have gotten caught. Severus Snape was a spy, and a damned good one at that. How had he messed up? A crimson blast shot at him again, Crucio. Pain was too light of a word to describe what he felt. Agony wasn’t cutting it either. All of his nerves screamed out in terror, and steaming tears blurred his vision. He was careful, he made sure of it. How had Voldemort found out he was the Elder Wand’s true master?
***
Harry wasn’t sure what he was meant to do with an unconscious wizard, but less a Death Eater. He wished he didn’t have such a guilty conscience. He knew the man had done horrid things in his time, and a rather large part wanted to leave him on the playground, and let the man get out of whatever situation he had gotten himself in alone. But Harry knew that wouldn’t make him much better than the Death Eaters, and he had spared the man who ratted his parents out, hadn’t he?
None of the Dursleys were home at that time, which let Harry get the man to his room without much trouble besides the transportation part. His body ached by the time he got Snape on his bed, wishing he had the key to wherever Vernon had locked away his wand.
Snape was practically dead, still as a rock and bloodied. A cold realization hit the boy. His nightmare hadn’t just been a simple nightmare, but rather a vision. He let out a small cuss and paced around his small bedroom, muttering to himself over and over. How many of his night terrors real, and how many lives did he see end to the hands of Voldemort because of it? That was a thought he didn’t need in his mind. What was he supposed to do? Normally, Harry would’ve owled Dumbledore, but since Snape had decided to kill him, that wasn’t an option. Owling anyone would take at least a few days, if not longer. Maybe one of the Order of the Phoenix members? But he didn’t know their location at the moment, and the Death Eaters may be able to tract Hedwig.
He halted his pacing and forced himself to turn back to the half-dead potion master. He wasn’t even sure how to treat wounds, his accidental magic had always healed cuts and bruises the Dursleys had gifted him. Harry knew he was utterly worthless when it came to this.
Despite his better judgment, he decided to at least get Snape out of his Death Eater’s robes. Removing the dark fabric from the man, he saw that his Mark was a pulsing midnight color, the skin around it scarlet and burning. He let out a small wince at the sight, and thought maybe Petunia would have some lotion for it, like Aloe Vera. But would it even work for a normal magical burn, much less a dark magical one? The boy groaned in frustration, gripping the fabric of his battered up jeans tightly. He despited how utterly useless he felt. He buried his head into his knees and closed his eyes. He felt a bundle of emotions: Anger, grief, guilt.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard a pained noise coming from beside him. He rose to his feet and saw that the man was waking up. The two stared at each other, like they were in a staring contest duel.
“Potter,” Snape’s hoarse voice spoke bluntly. “Where am I?”
“You told me to go home, did you not?” He grimaced, all his hatred for the man rising within him again. The man blinked at Harry, frowning as he saw the bars on his windows. Snape propped himself up on his elbow, but let out a loud grunt before plopping back down on Harry’s bed. Knowing the Potion Master, he most likely thought Harry hadn’t bother to heal him on purpose. But despite the boy’s better lack of judgment, he would have at least try to levitate the pain to some extent.
”I suppose it’d be too much at ask why I don’t see any form of magical item within these walls, hm?” Snape’s bloodshot eyes fell upon the still grimacing Harry. It took every last nerve in Harry not to snap and yell at the murderer in front of him. The boy paused for a second, looking away from the man for a moment, before turning his attention back to Snape.
”I’ll tell you, but first, you’re answering to me.”
***
With the help of Harry, Snape as able to sit up against the wall, albeit not with a little bit of pain. The boy excused himself for a moment, leaving the room. When he came back, he had a simple first-aid kit in his possession. The look of confusion and disdain on the man’s face was hilarious to Harry, and if it wasn’t for the dire situation, he would have laughed even.
“Muggle supplies,” He said simply. The Slytherin’s expression only deepened.
“Pray tell, why a wizard such as yourself would use Muggle inventions, rather than magical ones?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If I had access to my wand, I would use healing charms, sir.” Harry scoffed, pulling up a chair and sitting besides Snape. The look of utter disbelief on Snape’s face was priceless, and oh how he desperately wished his friends were here to see it. He opened the kit, not sure where to begin. After a moment of having to watch the boy fumbled with the supplies, Snape scowled and snatched the medical kit from the boy.
”Give me that!” He snapped, already soaking a cloth with disinfectant. Harry wasn’t sure how to respond.
“How do you know how to—“ Harry was cut off mid sentence by an irritated voice.
”BOY!” Uncle Vernon’s voice boomed throughout the voice, causing both wizards to jump. “WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SKIPPING OUT ON YOUR CHORES?”
“Shit.” Harry cussed. He was so caught up with Snape and his thoughts, that his chores completely disappeared from his mind. He looked back up at the man, whose eyebrows were scrunched together. “Stay here. Don’t make a sound.” He commanded Snape. The idea of Harry Potter, the boy who the Potion Master had dedicated his life into making the Chosen One’s life hell, commanding the cold and bitter man was nearly unimaginable. But the boy didn’t have the luxury of lingering on it for long. He opened his bedroom door and closed it behind him, making sure it was locked from the inside before he left. He prepared himself to face the devil as he treaded down the hall.