Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all who reside therin belong to the woman whose name is on the side of the books: J.K. Rowling. And certainly not to me.
Title: Making Peace
Author: Aeryn Alexander
Summary: Harry and Snape are forced to spend some time together ... and for some strange reason, it isn't that bad, or is it? I bet the title gives it away. This story is of the non-slash variety.
Rating: PG (for drama and because G sucks -- can I add language now?)
Genre: General/ Drama (Angst)
Year: (as if it matters) 5th
Author's note: I've been reading and writing fan fiction for a while now, but this is my first Harry Potter fiction. I would appreciate any feedback readers have to offer. Constructive criticism is most welcome. Flames ... will be used to defrost my air conditioner. Read? Review?


Chapter One

A cave- ... er, dungeon-in

"Arragh! Five points from Gryffindor!" yelled Professor Snape, following up the outburst with another, although quieter, howl of pain and frustration.

"For what?" asked Harry, wiping the sweat from his brow. He could not help but to sound cross.

"For unnecessarily torturing your potions master." said Snape, leaning back and breathing heavily.

"For a moment I thought you were going to accuse me of causing this." said Harry, sitting down catch his breath and nodding toward the pile of large stones and rubble that had the professor pinned.

"If you weren't serving a detention, Potter, neither of us would have been down here when the construction charm wore off this dungeon." spat Snape venomously.

That statement, though perhaps a bit malicious in its intent, was quite true. Harry Potter was serving yet another detention with Professor Snape. Therefore it was technically, perhaps, his fault that they had been in Snape's dungeon classroom when one of the age old charms that held Hogwarts together finally gave up the ghost. The result of this minor catastrophe was that they were trapped, Snape under the aforementioned pile of debris and Harry, unscathed though he was, there with him as the door had been more than adequately blocked by large pieces of masonry.

"What do you want me to do then?" asked Harry.

"Try using your wand. Maybe you can levitate some of this off me." suggested Snape.

Harry glanced at a pile of rubble that contained part of what was once a table. His wand was somewhere in the conglomeration, probably near the bottom. Severus Snape followed the young man's eyes and groaned. Didn't the boy know any better? No, of course not. He was Harry Potter. He had no need to look after his wand.

"Five points more from Gryffindor for not keeping up with your wand." said Snape.

"And where's your wand then, professor?" asked Harry in a sharp tone.

Professor Snape's right leg from ankle to hip was completely buried by hunks of stone and powdery dust that had turned his robes from black to gray. From the angle, it was difficult to imagine that the leg was not broken. His shoulder had somehow become wedged between two large slabs of aging stonework, but at least they kept him propped in a relatively comfortable position given the circumstances. A small cut next to his right eye was bleeding just slightly, and although it stung, Snape would never admit that the little trickle of blood tickled too. It had been a miracle that the potions' professor had not been crushed.

Severus shifted slightly and noted with some annoyance that something with a pointed tip was boring into his right thigh under the pressure of the heavy debris that had him pinned. It was his wand ... in the wrong pocket ... and out of reach.

"Never mind that, Potter. We'll just have to use our heads ... such as they are." he said.

"You know. I could live without your insults, especially since they aren't getting either of us anywhere." replied Harry.

Snape started to take an additional five points from Harry's house for impertinence, but stopped himself as he grudgingly and silently admitted that the boy was right.

"Have you a brilliant plan to get us out of here then?" questioned Snape.

"Can you apparate like that?"

"You can't apparate or disapparate on Hogwarts grounds."

For a moment Snape sounded something like Hermoine. The effect was quite chilling.

"Right ..." nodded Harry, mulling over the problem.

"Well, it isn't as though we are trapped in a mine or something. Someone, Headmaster Dumbledore for instance, is bound to notice the collapse of the dungeon or your disappearance in a few hours if not by morning at the latest." said Snape, shrugging his unimpaired shoulder.

"And in the mean time?"

"We wait." answered Snape stiffly.

"What about your leg?"

"That's my affair."

"I dare say it is, professor, but mightn't you want something for it?" questioned Harry.

It was difficult to ask the question. In all honestly, Harry hoped the leg hurt like the devil. Snape deserved it. The greasy git had caused him nothing but trouble for almost four and a half years, not to mention what he had done or nearly done to Remus and Sirius. But then, Harry was a Gryffindor through and through and it just wasn't in him to sit idly by while someone else suffered, even if Severus Snape was that someone.

"I have had worse, I assure you, Potter." said the professor.

"Well, yeah, haven't we all? But that doesn't mean that ..."

"I will say it again. It is my leg and my affair." growled Snape.

"Suit yourself then." replied Harry, genuinely sorry that he had asked.