After reading over this several times, and changing many things, I've decided to upload it here. I don't know why I like to torture Harry, nor do I know why I do it in the way I do. Maybe, somehow in my mind, it makes him stronger and is a good way to bring Snape and Harry closer together. What better way to become closer than by learning to trust? I hope you enjoy my story, and tolerate it.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I just enjoy creating my own fantasies :)
Warning: Some language here and there; implication on abuse.
Fresh and Calm
Harry awoke with rain hitting his face, still lying on the pitch. The scattered remainders of the rogue bludger were steaming under the pelting rain. Wet footsteps hurried in his direction, gasps and whistles and noises of all sorts. He saw shapes and blurs in front of his eyes. One looked like Hermione and the orange blur, he decided, was Ron. He heard something like, "easy mate," as he tried to sit up. He groaned shamelessly at the pain in his broken arm, and slumped wetly back into the mud.
"Fucking good catch, Potter." That was Wood.
"Bloody good match." Some Gryffindor.
"Oh please, Harry could have died, it's hardly worth celebrating." That had to be Hermione.
"Lighten up, he's fine. Aren't you Harry." And Ron, bless him.
"We're going to get you to the hospital wing, Harry. Hagrid, help me out."
Then Harry heard loud squelching strides resonating through the ground, and what sounded like an exceptionally rich cloak flap through the rain. "Move aside! Step aside!" The voice said. "Gilderoy Lockhart, coming through."
"Bloody fucking hell," Harry croaked.
"There you are, dear boy."
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the crowd of onlookers. "Not to worry, Harry, I am about to fix your arm."
"About as likely as Voldemort buying me chocolate frogs," Harry said painfully.
Colin was snapping pictures eagerly. Harry made a massive effort to sit up, pushing against Lockhart as he did, causing the man to stumble slightly backwards.
"Try not to move Harry, I've done this countless of times."
"I said, no! I'm going to the Hospital Wing."
He stood, his friend's arms under his shoulders, and cradled his injured arm against him. His world spun, sending bright spots of light in front of his eyes. He stood as still as possible while his body adjusted to being upright again. Massive blood flow through his limbs made his arm ache terribly, and it was all he could do to keep a whimper from escaping. Hermione and Ron, as well as the rest of his team, made to follow him. But Harry nudged them off, saying he'd go alone.
"But Harry," Hermione protested. "You're injured and in no fit state to walk all the way there by yourself."
Harry shook his head and started his painful march to the castle. He heard Ron mumble to let him go.
"Ah, very well," came Lockhart's drabble. "Meet you in the Hospital Wing then, Harry! I'm sure I can show Poppy a few things on mending bones."
"Not likely," Said Fred and George.
Harry, however, had no intention of visiting Poppy right away, and risk being marooned by Lockhart. He was freezing by the time he reached the changing rooms. His muscles ached so horribly that he mused he couldn't tell the difference between his good arm and his broken one. The rest of his team would surely follow him into the changing rooms quite soon. So Harry wasted no time attempting to peel his Quidditch robes from his body. With only one arm, which hurt at every move he made, it was agony to get undressed. He left his shirt and arm pads for last. As gently as his numb trembling hand could manage, he undid the arm guard and slid it off. He swallowed his pain, though no one was there to hear him.
He threw it all into a corner and stepped into one of the private showers, cast a locking charm on the door, and ran the water hot. The relief on his muscles was such that he all but moaned in pleasure. He washed slowly and meticulously, wasting as much time as he could so that he wouldn't have to deal with all the students coming back into the school. He heard his teammates come and go, and lost track of time as he stood motionless under the unending shower of goodness. The comfort of it was dwindled by the jabbing thumping from his broken arm. He peered at it forlornly and noted its swollenness and the unnatural purplish colors it had taken. He daren't touch it.
He dressed in much the same sluggishness. He was alone. This was his time, alone; even if it was with a broken arm. Fucking bludger. His forehead pressed into the cool oak door. He should go to the Hospital Wing. He needed to go. He'd been struck on his right arm, his writing arm, his wand arm. There was no way he'd be able to function in classes. He could barely make a fist. But he just wanted to be alone, quiet, and calm. Surely there would be a mob of admirers and taunting Slytherins waiting for him when he got there. And Pomfrey had no doubt been informed of his condition, and would be waiting for him. Would they look for him if he didn't show? Would he get in trouble? Harry almost didn't care. His arm hurt so much that he didn't want anyone touching it.
He walked out. He didn't know how he'd avoid running into anyone for the rest of the evening. Perhaps he'd just head to bed without supper. Surely if he got enough sleep he could feign that he'd been healed, or perhaps claim that there was nothing wrong with him to begin with.
He breathed out when he saw no one in the corridors. By the light outside everyone would already be in the Great Hall. Gryffindor tower. His bed. That's where he'd go.
Harry cringed, and faltered his steps, but walked on, pretending he hadn't heard that voice.
"Potter!" Echoing strides caught up to him. He foolishly kept walking, meeker this time.
A strong hand snatched his shoulder and spun him around. Harry's arm protested mightily. He tried so hard to hide his pain. This was the last person in the bloody Universe he wanted to speak with, or see that he was injured.
"Have I done something wrong?" he croaked.
Snape tightened his grasp on Harry's shoulder. His brow furrowed, his glare was fire. Harry hadn't kept eye contact for more than a second with his professor. He kept shooting his gaze away into the dark corners of the castle, his head tilted away from the hand that held him there.
"So, famous Potter has done it again."
"Done, what, exactly?"
"Don't be snide with me, Potter," Snape spat. "The Golden Boy manages to outshine all others. What a shame the only thing he's good at is riding a broomstick."
"What the hell is this about, Snape." Harry failed miserable to shake Snape off him. The professor had his bad arm.
"Five points, Mr. Potter."
"Watch your tone, or shall I make it another Ten?"
Harry shut his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was sure Snape was watching him with maximum contempt. Harry, however, was hurting, quite badly at this point. All he could think of was lying down.
"Let go of me. Please."
Snape released him with a slight push. Harry turned and started walking.
"Where do you think you're going, Potter."
"To my dorm, I'm tired."
"I daresay you have completely neglected to visit the Hospital Wing," Snape sneered.
"Right. I'll do that first," and he kept walking. What did Snape care in the first place?
"The Hospital Wing is the other way." The silkiness of his voice made Harry shiver. The cold panic he felt from being caught in the act was smothering him.
Dare he keep walking? He walked.
"Now Potter! Or I shall drag you along with me!"
Harry looked at Snape and knew he'd lost. He couldn't think to challenge him at this point. He turned reluctantly and walked to Snape, all the while feeling the man's eyes burning holes through him. Snape spun around to lead the way, and Harry flinched. Snape didn't miss the slight pullback the boy made; how he squinted slightly, as if expecting a blow. He considered him a while. Surely Potter knew that professors did not hit their students? Snape's nostrils flared and he spun around and walked, knowing Harry would follow him.
At first Harry thought Snape would take him to Pomfrey. When they turned into a corridor that lead the opposite direction, Harry's relief was short lived. He was being taken to the dungeons. His heart leapt, and he did his best not to slow his paces, finding it hard enough to keep up with the man, and fearing that any lollygagging would earn him a reprimand.
Harry's heart hammered in his head when Snape opened the door to his office, and stood aside in the entrance, his hand on the handle. The pulsations were so strong that he could see it from his eyes. When Harry didn't react, Snape lost some of the patience he'd willed himself to show.
The door slammed. Snape swept passed him and whirled around behind his desk.
"Show me your arm, Potter."
"Hospital Wing not good enough for the famous Harry Potter?"
"No. I--" Harry winced at how cruelly the man spat his name.
"Playing the Hero, Potter? You're just like your father, pretending, all the while gaining praise for your heroics on the Quidditch field." Snape hissed.
"Your arm, Potter! Lift your sleeve or I will do it for you!"
"There's nothing wrong.."
Snape grabbed a cork stopper from his desk and whipped it at Harry. Instinctually, Harry jumped to the side, trying to block the offending object with his hand. Pain, like nothing he'd yet experienced, exploded in his arm. He couldn't control the gasp that flew from his mouth. He couldn't help himself from hunching forward, gripping his damaged limb. He gaped horrified as hot tears prickled his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, willing them away.
Snap's brow arched. "Clearly."
He tried lamely, "Please, Sir. I just want to get some rest. Sleep it off."
"Stupid boy! – Harry bit his lip – That injury can not be 'slept off.'"
Snape billowed through a small archway in back of his desk and motioned for Harry to follow. He did so quite reluctantly, his arm more painful than ever. The arch led to a door, which lead to modest sized laboratory. Snape's private laboratory, he figured. He shivered as he imagined how many other students had ever been in here, and for what purpose. Snape transfigured a rickety stool into an examination table. Harry guessed that he was supposed to hop on, but stood unmoving by the door; there was still the option of trying to run... There were a couple cauldrons simmering with something Harry didn't recognize. Every wall was covered with jars of ingredients, ladles of all kinds, tools, and to Harry's dismay, a set of knives.
Harry watched carefully as Snape selected a potion from his stores and a jar of something. He turned and seemed annoyed that Harry wasn't sitting on the table. When he turned to him, Harry stepped back against the wall.
"It would not be wise for you to attempt escape. Up."
"No," Harry breathed
Snape seethed. He slammed his potions on the counter.
"You will do as I say," he spat venomously.
Harry became temporarily frozen with fear. Ignoring the horrified look of his student, he grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and pulled him to the table, slamming him down against it. Harry hadn't the wits to react.
"Professor!" Harry squeaked. He pushed against the man with his good arm, alarmed at how weak he was compared to Snape. He tried frantically to reach for his wand. Snape didn't miss this and snatched Harry's wand from him and cocked an eyebrow. He pocketed it and grabbed Harry's hand, now trying to have a go at his face, and held it against the table. Snape expected Harry to cease his struggling when he realized there was no way he could escape. He was annoying persistent, and finally Snape's patient resolve melted.
"Be still!" he ordered. Harry almost laughed. I'm in a back room with you manhandling me and you want me to be still?! Harry heard frantic noises coming from his mouth as he resorted to kicking the air and attempting to buck away from his captor. But his mind was receding, attempting to protect itself, and he could almost imagine that he wasn't really here. But instead of imagining a quiet place, his mind brought forth a potent memory of a large man with whiskey breath, and his own cries as he was beaten and thrown into his cupboard.
"Potter!" Snape warned. Harry continued to fight, choking on his panic. This isn't working, thought Snape. "Potter," he repeated quietly. "I merely wish to examine you. You must be still." Wide-eyed and sweaty, it took Harry several moments for him to calm down. In his panic he'd almost forgotten he was at Hogwarts, and not someplace else…though this particular part of the school was Harry's least favorite. Harry wrung his hand around in Snape's grip and squirmed slightly against the table. He couldn't trust him, couldn't bring himself to stop his struggle completely. Yet something in Snape's voice had sounded almost compassionate.
The adrenaline that had careened through his body just seconds ago was now ebbing away to give forth to the unforgiving pounding in his broken bone. He moaned at his own foolishness; his struggling had made his predicament fouler and the thumping in his arm was creeping upon him with violent intensity. He was close to crying, but he couldn't give Snape the satisfaction of seeing that. Alas but there was no helping it. He let himself whimper, long and soft.
When he was satisfied that the boy wouldn't run, Snape grudgingly released him. Harry brought his legs up to his chest and curled into himself. Somehow it made it hurt a little less. Why couldn't the fucking git just leave him alone? He would have been fine. All fine. Don't lie, Harry.
"Who told you, Snape," he blurted out, sudden with anger. "Who told you I hadn't gone to see Madame Pomfrey."
"What are you bleating about, Potter. Anyone with half a brain would've realized that you were injured. I had passed by the Hospital Wing…"
"Worried about me, were you?" Harry spat.
"Don't be a fool. I was attending Mr. Malfoy."
Snape ignored him. "Pomfrey didn't even know the bludger hit you. When you failed to gallivant into dinnertime, sputtering your post-Quidditch victory soliloquy, I deduced that you were once again playing martyr."
"I don't gallivant." Harry had meant to say that harsher than he did. Though Snape refused to admit that he'd come looking for him, Harry knew his Potion's Professor had been waiting outside the Gryffindor changing rooms for him to emerge.
"Then why didn't you take me to the Hospital Wing, instead?"
Snape sneered revoltingly. "Lockhart," he managed to say. "He was relentlessly spewing nonsense to Madame Pomfrey. I Daresay she looked about ready to hex him. He was waiting for you to arrive," he scoffed. "I wouldn't wish that brainless newt on anyone, not even you, Potter."
"Well…what about Ron and Hermione.."
"Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger, as well as a parade of Potter followers were all outside the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomprfey was in such a state that she vehemently denied them entrance."
"So they have no idea I wasn't there," Harry said incredulously.
"If you're finished your sniveling then perhaps you would honor me with your cooperation. Or would that be too much to ask."
Harry sighed into his shoulder and pressed his eyes together. He couldn't show weakness in front of Snape. Surely the man would use it against him in the future, if not right now. But he certainly didn't fancy being manhandled again, and he was sure Snape would do just that if Harry didn't cooperate. There was no way out but to go along with what his professor wanted. His tired mind could barely grasp the fact that he was lying, defenseless, in snape's private office, about to completely surrender to a man that hated him. A man that made it a point to publically humiliate him, a man who removed house points for pleasure, a man who had bothered to wait for Harry outside the changing rooms to make sure he wasn't hurt…. He prayed that whatever he wanted to do with him he'd be gentle with his arm. He was starting to feel feint from the pain. When Snape's cold fingers met his swollen flesh he muffled a cry, but left his arm obediently where it was.
"What is it, Potter."
"Hurts," Harry admitted shyly.
"A talent for stating the obvious. I daresay it runs in the family."
Harry growled into his shirt and clenched his teeth shut. All his pain and his humiliation brought his brain into focus, and he yelled, "If you're going to stand there and antagonize me then fuck off!"
Harry stared like a deer in a headlight at the wall. He couldn't hear the professor next to him but he imagined him trying not to erupt in rage. Harry heard a strangled sigh let his out as well.
It would be foolish to upset the boy further, Snape thought. If he kept tugging at his strings they'd be here all night. He had, after all, fetched him to make sure he was safe, though he wouldn't admit that, not even to himself. Snape circled the examination bed to where Harry faced. He looked absolutely horrified to be in his presence. Snape suppressed his best sneer, and opted for a subdued glare instead. The boy offered no resistance as Snape carefully pushed up the sleeve of his robes. Snape mentally applauded the brat for not resisting. Harry looked to be in such pain when Snape prodded his arm, and he couldn't help but try to move away.
"Be still," Snape commanded.
"I can't, it hurts!"
Snape held his bicep, knowing that Harry didn't have the power to escape. He looked at the thin forearm, now swollen to twice its size. He frowned at the severe bruising covering most of it.
"Please, professor," Harry pleaded. "It hurts." Harry's breath was strangled and he writhed and twisted pitifully, and gripped the side of the table with his other hand. "Let go of me, please…"
There he was, Harry bloody Potter lying at the mercy of his greasy bastard of a professor. He sneered. A small pang of compassion from he didn't know where hit Snape in the chest. He ignored it and reached for his wand, still keeping a firm hand on the boy. Harry watched him glide his wand over his arm, muttering a melodious incantation.
"As I thought, considerable tissue damage," Snape declared. "You have a compound fracture, Mr. Potter. I daresay this is the worst internal one I've seen. No doubt your foolish neglect and resistance to me has worsened your predicament."
Harry swallowed hard, not daring to retort that the fault did not belong solely to him. Because of the pain or because he knew Snape was partially right, Harry felt tears leave his eyes in earnest. He tried to bring them back, but they rolled copiously into his hair. He swallowed hard. His emotions were quickly escalating out of his control. He was finding it hard to keep quiet. Snape looked up from his examination when he felt the boy tremble under his fingers.
"Don't say it," he strangled. "Don't say it, I know what you're going to say. I'm not weak. I didn't ask for this to happen! I really did just want to be by myself for once." Harry was crying full force now. And since the damage had been done and Snape was witnessing it all, Harry didn't bother holding it back any longer.
"I was merely going to mention that you are very lucky that your bone did not breach the skin. However, there has been extensive tissue damage." Liar. Potter was right, you were going to say something cruel, just for the fact that this is Potter.
"Can you fix it?" he asked timidly.
Snape toyed with the idea of saying no, to watch Potter squirm. At any other time he wouldn't have hesitated. Instead his lips said, "Of course I can fix it. My methods are largely different to Poppy's. It would be best if we went to the Hospital Wing."
"No! No, I can't go there after all this time. She'll think I'm stupid."
"That wouldn't be entirely untrue."
"Please, I don't want to go there now."
"But you should have gone before, Mr. Potter."
"I know," he squeezed his eyes shut, still crying. "I'm sorry, I know."
"I do not require an apology for your lack of brains. It is you whom are needlessly suffering because of your own stubbornness, a trait that I lament to say is fervently Gryffindor."
Snape nodded and strode to get the supplies he'd gathered earlier. He unstopped the vial and pressed it to Harry's lips. "Drink," he ordered.
Harry pulled his head away, looking suddenly rebellious. Damn Gryffindors. I'm trying to help the brat and all he's worried about is if I'm going to poison him.
"Do not make me force this down your throat."
Harry's breathe quickened but he refused to accept the potion. Snape grabbed harry's jaw and forced his head towards him. Their eyes locked and Snape saw the hurt, not just from his injury, but of the mistrust between them. Mistrust and hate that Snape had planted. He reminded himself that just because he was sincerely trying to help Harry, the boy had no reason to trust him; a fact that was Snape's fault. He briefly wondered if it was possible for old pains to pass from parent to child. He slacked his hold on Harry's jaw and let his hand caress ever so slightly. Harry relaxed into him and Snape forced himself not to pull away.
"I shall not hurt you. I did not go through all of this to kill you."
He brought the vial up to Harry's lips once again and the boy parted them, let the liquid seep into his mouth, and swallowed. Almost immediately the sharp knives of pain stabbing through his arm were dulled to a painful throbbing.
"Still hurts," he said.
"That is the strongest pain killer I have available." In fact this was most commonly given to victims of the cruciatus. The boy must have been in agony for pain to linger still. Snape directed his wand over the break point. He was pleased when Harry showed no sign of fear.
"You must remain still. Recarcio."
"AHH!!" Harry jerked violently when his compound fracture snapped together. The pain died down immediately. He heard Snape soothe, "Easy, Potter." He felt Snape pressing around the break, and assumed everything was in order when he hmm'd in approval.
"The bone is completely healed. However I do not know the proper spells to mend tissue as decimated as yours. You would need to go to-"
"As you wish. But I shall not have you leave here without being sufficiently healed."
Harry watched Snape curiously as he rummaged in a drawer. His menacing robes concealed it all, and even as Snape turned to approach Harry, whatever it was, was well hidden in his hand. He knew that if Harry objected to a simple potion then he certainly would protest to this. He eyed the boy carefully as he pulled up his hand, which contained a vile of potion and syringe. Harry didn't look as mortified as he'd expected.
"Wizards don't use needles," he stated in absolute confidence. The boy thinks this isn't intended for him, Snape mused.
"You've lived with Muggles your entire life. How do you know?"
"You use potions."
"Quite astute. Five points to Gryffindor," Snape snorted.
"I don't understand."
"Relax, Potter." He placed a hand on Harry's chest and pressed down lightly, letting him know that running was useless. "Most potions are administered orally. Quite a few more are applied topically. And there are a certain few that must be administered locally, since they affect only the specific area of application. In your case the damage is dermal and subcutaneous. I must inject the potion into the damaged tissue."
"But Madame Pomfrey's never done that. Surely…"
"You refused to seek her expertise. This is my best solution." Snape stared at Harry challengingly. He was right, and Harry knew it. He couldn't argue.
"Be grateful that this particular potion is so thin, or I'd have chosen a larger needle. It was a witch who invented them, actually. Shall I assume that your history with this instrument is not favorable?"
"You could say that.."
Was the damn bastard trying to get his mind off what needed to be done? Harry watched Snape pull the cap off the needle. It was monstrous looking. Most of it was steel. It had three rings for the fingers. The needle was almost as long as the barrel. He licked his lips. "My…my uncle. He had to take me for my shots quite a few times while I was growing up there." Snape unstopped his potion and slid the needle in and sucked all the liquid into the barrel. "He umm. I uhh didn't think it was a good idea."
Suddenly curious, Snape asked, "He did what, Potter?"
"Well. I refused to…to get the shots. He got angry. And he, well, I was struggling. He hit me." Snape looked to Harry sharply. The boy was looking at the ceiling. "I cried. And the doctor - well I had stopped moving at that point. I remember the sting and the ill feeling I had, the burning I felt in the arm."
Snape was rubbing disinfectant all over Harry's arm.
"Ever since then I haven't really liked needles."
"I don't imagine anyone likes them, Mr. Potter. We merely tolerate them when we must."
"Yes, Sir," he forced.
"And you must tolerate me one more time tonight before we're through. I will have to inject you in several places in order to cover the entire area. You shall need to remain unmoving or I may cause you more damage."
"I don't think…." he rattled. "I don't think I'll be able. 'Won't be able to stop from moving." Harry was shaking.
"Very well." Snape took his wand and uttered a spell. An invisible force held Harry's arms and legs down. His panting became whimpers.
"Despite the potion you drank, you will still feel this. You would do well to relax just this arm. It is less painful if you do."
Snape expected Harry to look away the entire time. He was unprepared when Harry turned to stare him in the eye, almost pleadingly. For what, Snape didn't know; perhaps to let him go, perhaps to beg him not to do it. Though he thought there was a fire in the boy's eyes, a rebellion that said bring it on.
The first prick came suddenly. Harry jumped, making the table quiver under his restraints. He couldn't help it, he tensed all over. It made the second prick even worse. Snape waited for the third one as he saw Harry struggle to relax.
"Fuck," Harry sputtered. "Fucking hell…" It wasn't the pain, necessarily, that was causing him all his discomfort, but bad memories, things he didn't care to relive. But Snape was uncommonly gentle with the instrument.
Snape injected the potion into three more places. He set the syringe down and unbound Harry, who immediately slumped onto the bed. His face and hair was once again wet with his tears. Snape placed a hand on his cheek and thumbed the wetness from the corner of his eye.
"You did well."
Harry felt strong hands rub ointment into his arm. It smelled like fresh and calm. This was where Harry had wished to be all along; in this state of mind. He was away from anyone who would fuss over him needlessly. The last person he'd wanted to see was the first person likely to give him what he truly needed. There was no way to accept the brutal remarks Snape made against him. But perhaps, after tonight, they wouldn't cut so deep, as Harry was sure the man didn't really mean everything he said.
He would not ask why Snape said what he did. Not then, anyways. Those were things that could be solved later. As the potion's master cleaned his instruments and stored them away, Harry hoped he'd never find himself in this position in the future. But he reluctantly admitted to himself that his injury had been the only real unpleasant factor of his entire run in with Snape tonight. And he thought he wouldn't mind doing it again sometime.
"Thank you," Harry whispered.
"Thank me by not being a blundering idiot. Next time you are injured you shall go to the Hospital Wing promptly. Is that clear?
"Yes, Sir," said Harry heavily.
"Do not confuse fame with obligation, Mr. Potter," said Snape suddenly. "You may not like the attention awarded to you but it is who you are. I imagine your health takes premise above other desires. You must learn to cope with what life has dealt you."
"Not so easy when all I hear from certain people are remarks that suggest I chose to be famous."
Snape sneered at Harry's obvious accusations. "You must know by now that not everyone will adore you. That is something we must all face in life. You simply have the misfortune of being the Boy Who Lived."
"Why do you hate me? I'm not my father."
"Indeed you are not, though you look despicably like him." Except your eyes, Harry. "If I hated you, Potter, you would know."
Harry looked at Snape wonderingly. Their eyes met and Harry was able to keep his gaze, if not for the lack of utter contempt there. Harry was sure that all would return to normal tomorrow, but at least he knew there was one more person in this war he could depend upon.
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