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Wounds	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11814 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off writing fanfiction for it. That's what makes it FANfiction, obviously. So leave me and my slashy little plot bunnies alone.

Chapter List
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II.
The Renegade Snitch

Two
weeks had passed sine Severus's slip-up. He hadn't slipped again.
His limited color had returned, and if he was still wearing bandages,
Harry couldn't glimpse them past his collar. But Harry hadn't
forgotten that detention though. He wanted to hear the potions
master call him 'Harry' again. It had become a sort of obsession and
he'd been trying to find ways of subtly making him crack without
earning himself another night of servitude.

His
most recent attempt involved tossing the man his most charming smile
and greeting him every time they passed in the hall. He'd be lying
if he didn't admit to going out of his way to purposely cross paths
with Severus Snape--at least once or twice ...per day. This strange
behavior meant that for the past three days everyone in the castle
had been looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Well, that was
nothing new. He was on a mission, and to hell with what other people
thought of it. Even Snape, lately, had been giving him subtle
glances like he thought he'd been hit in the head by a bludger one
too many times.

Ah,
speaking of Snape, he just appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry
noticed the way he paused for a moment when their eyes met, as if he
was seriously considering turning around and going back for something
they both knew he hadn't forgotten so that he could take the long way
around and avoid 'the chosen one'...who hadn't been chosen for much
of anything but Gryffindor's summer seeker lately, which wasn't
exactly a surprise to anyone.

Snape's
gaze seemed to harden marginally. He would not be detoured by a
teenager, least of all one who was intentionally trying to drive him
insane for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom. He moved down
the stairs, ignoring the way Harry's eyes followed his progress so at
exactly the appropriate moment he could throw that ridiculous smile
at him and say...

"Good
morning, Professor Snape."

Well,
Harry wasn't going to win this time. He'd planned ahead and knew how
to react now. He gave Harry a curt nod and replied tersely,
"...Potter," before continuing past him.

Harry's
eyes widened. That had been the first time Snape had acknowledged his
efforts. He grinned stupidly, and hadn't managed to wipe it off his
face entirely by the time Snape had disappeared around the corner.

Ron
stared at him long and hard before saying, for probably the tenth
time in two days, "You're mental."

Harry shrugged it off.
"It's going well, I think," he answered. "He
acknowledged my existence that time. Give it three more days, and
maybe he'll even stop twitching every time I call him 'Professor'."
It was funny, really. Dumbledore had so often corrected him from
calling the man just 'Snape' over the past seven years. He'd always
echoed 'Professor Snape' as if Harry's omission constituted a
dirty word. Now that he was actually calling the man what he should
have been calling him all along, Snape didn't seem very pleased by
the change.

"He knows you're
up to something," Hermoine pointed out.

"Well,
yeah," Harry replied. "I should think I'm making that
bit rather obvious."

Ron and Hermoine
exchanged a look like they wanted to discuss in detail exactly what
might have made their friend so incredibly unhinged, but didn't
because it would be rude when he was standing right there.

"Right then,"
Harry stretched a kink out of his back and changed the subject.
"Wanna go to the Quidditch Field and practice for tonight's
match?"

Ron blinked owlishly,
but shrugged. "...yeah, sure."

Severus raked his
fingers through his hair. If Poppy Pomfrey said the word 'check-up'
one more time, he thought he might actually scream. He had enough
problems without the woman poking at the tender flesh at his throat.
It was as good as it was going to get for quite a while--didn't
bother him much anymore. There was still pain, yes, but it was
sporadic. Intense, but brief. The wounds were sometimes itchy--a
blotchy, irritable red, but he could manage them with only a large
square of gauze now that they didn't bleed much anymore. The rest
would have to be left to time. "I assure you, Madam Pomfrey,
that if I have any further complications, I will let you know. Now,
if you'll excuse me." He gestured to the door of his office that
she should be going. "I am sure you are eager to be on the
Quidditch field in case of injuries, are you not?"

Snape would never admit
to liking Quidditch. He would never admit, either, that he might
have liked to try playing when he was a boy if he hadn't been so busy
with his studies. He always attended matches, careful to appear as if
he was simply doing his duty as head of Slytherin House. And he
would most certainly never admit, he reaffirmed to himself as he
locked his office door while listening to Madam Pomfrey disappear up
the dungeon stairs, heels clanking distantly until he could no longer
hear them, that Harry Potter was damn near one of the best Seeker's
he'd ever seen play. No, it was a bitter enough pill to swallow in
the privacy of his own mind without anyone else finding out he
thought so.

It wasn't a Slytherin
match, but to root for Gryffindor would, of course, be sacrilege.
Snape hoped those idiot Hufflepuffs somehow managed to scrape a
win--no doubt by sheer chance--and improve the odds for his own house
down the road. It wasn't really an official season, just a handful
of games to take everyone's mind off of the work on Hogwarts, on
classes, on being sequestered in the dungeons most of the day while
the upper levels remained in a state of disrepair that it seemed, at
times, would never be remedied. Snape had to wonder how wise it was
for the students to be exerting themselves so rigorously when the
scorching sun hadn't given the grounds any reprieve in weeks, but it
would be uncharacteristically caring to admit to such concerns. His
more immediate concern was how he was going to survive an
entire match sitting out in this heat. The sun beat down on his
black cloak like it were a magnet for UV radiation. Most of the
other teachers and students had adopted cooler, muggleish clothes for
the event, but he was Severus Snape, and therefore, appearances must
be maintained. The teams, he realized as the strode out to the
pitch, were not wearing their customary uniforms, but had donned
shorts and t-shirts in their team colors instead, with names and
numbers hastily spelled onto the back. He couldn't say as he blamed
them. He tried to think cool thoughts--iced lemonade, his dimly lit
dungeon office, but at Madam Hooch's first whistle, he could already
feel sweat glistening on the back of his neck. His gaze remained
calm and steady.

Harry was circling the
pitch. His gaze flitted about as he went, searching for some hint of
the snitch. The sun cast a golden halo around his shoulders.
Blimey, it was hot. It hadn't felt this hot down on the ground. He
would simply have to keep his hopes up that he would be able to
locate and catch the snitch quickly. He had a feeling that everyone
was hoping the game would be highly entertaining...and also
incredibly short.

His eyes flit over the
crowd. He spotted Luna's silly old lion hat, but it was tilted back
from her brow, as if even she thought it had been a bad idea in this
weather, though her listless and dreamy expression remained fully in
tact.

Professor McGonagall
was wearing a hat with a much wider brim than usual today--he
presumed for the shade it offered. His eyes landed on Professor
Snape and he couldn't help but think 'how does he even breathe?'
His customary black cloak and robes looked positively stifling. The
dreadful sun seemed to bleach the outer strands of his ebony hair a
stark white in contrast. His pale complexion glowed, ephemeral.
Harry shook his head. Now was no time to let the heat get to him
like this. He had nearly been taken out by a bludger in his
daydreaming and gave a sheepish and vague wave of thanks in the
general direction of the bludger bat that had missed his nose by a
mere six inches.

He shot his gaze around
the field again. The Hufflepuff seeker was sharply attentive, but
hesitated to move. He followed her gaze. Sure enough, the snitch.
It was acting in a most peculiar fashion--peeking in and out of the
crowd. He caught sight of it first behind Ron's ear. Then it
disappeared in the startled crowd and reappeared by Professor
Flitwick's shoulder. He gave only a moment's thought before deciding
to go for it. He was skilled at abrupt stops and turns. He was sure
that the reason the other seeker hadn't gone for it yet was because
she didn't want to hurt anyone, but Harry couldn't afford to
hesitate. No, definitely not. He swerved toward it, much to
Professor Flitwick's surprise, but just missed as it soared away
again, flitting through the open jaws of Luna's lion hat, swooping
twice around Hermoine's head. He'd never seen anything quite like
it.

The Hufflepuff Seeker
followed suit. If Harry was going for it, she would have to do the
same, but taking extra care around the audience left her three broom
lengths behind. Harry had decided he would just have to trust the
people around him to duck.

The snitch shot back
out to the field and he turned abruptly to follow. Hufflepuff's
seeker wasn't quite as fast and careened head-first into the stands.
It took her a good minute to right herself and get back on the trail.
And a minute ahead was often quite a lot when it came to Quidditch.

The snitch veered
toward the sun and he lost sight of it. Harry cussed under his
breath, squinting. The sweat beading on his brow made his hair mat
uncomfortably against his forehead and he wiped it away, careless of
the odd angles it stood up at from the moisture. It was hardly
important at the moment.

He barely registered
the announcer calling out "Forty to twenty, favoring
Gryffindor!" All he could think about was where that blasted,
unruly snitch had off and disappeared to. He spun about again, making
rounds. This time, he made sure to glance around the crowd, just in
case, and sure enough, he'd spotted it, of all places, floating about
an inch to the left of Severus Snape's ear. He didn't think. He
barreled right for it, sure somehow that if he let it slip away this
time he'd pass out on his broom before managing to catch sight of it
again.

Snape's eyes widened as
the Firebolt came straight for him. He had the presence of mind to
lean to the side before the broomstick could crack open his nose, but
the renegade snitch flitted about to the other side of his head.
Harry made a sharp turn, reaching, reaching, nearly taking out
Professor Trelawney in his efforts, who at this point decided that
the safest location from which to watch the remainder of the match
was from beneath her seat. Professor Flitwick, luckily, was small
enough that even without moving much Harry had missed him on his next
turn--if only barely. The snitch had somehow decided it wanted to
circle the potions master's head. He could do nothing but sit
stiffly and pray it would flit away soon, or Harry, who he had just
thinking was a rather good seeker, would clasp his fingers about it.
He'd take a Gryffindor win over a concussion, certainly. Poppy
Pomfrey was trouble enough without adding another injury to the
roster of complaints she had for him.

Harry's hand brushed
his right shoulder, reaching, but the broom's incline was too
extreme, and as he wrapped his fingers around the snitch, those
bright green eyes widened in surprise as he slipped right off of and
crashed clumsily forward.

Snape fell back under
his weight, eyes widening, and...as if in slow motion, Harry's head
came forward until, quite unceremoniously, their lips were locked and
Severus's head was colliding with the bench behind him. Professor
Trelawney scurried away with a whimper before she could be crushed,
and Severus had to blink stars out of his vision for an extended
moment before he realized the mortifying way Harry was straddling his
hips. They grappled a bit to free themselves of the tangle of limbs
and awkward, accidental kiss. The crowd around them was frozen.

On the one hand, Harry
had caught the snitch, the game was over. On the other, no one was
quite sure yet whether or not he was about to be murdered. Their
hands were suspended in mid-air like a bunch of mimes stuck inside
invisible boxes for a few seconds before a lion's roar could be heard
coming from Luna's hat.

Cheering erupted.
Harry scrambled back onto his broom and, with one last glance at
Snape, decided not to stick around long enough to find out what the
professor would do once the initial shock wore off, taking off back
toward the pitch, making a round of it with the snitch in hand. It
was quite some time before the crowd calmed down and they headed back
to the locker rooms. Harry knew his first order of business: a
shower followed by something to wear that wasn't coated in sweat.
'I hope he didn't hit his head too hard,' he thought,
mind wandering. Ron was talking to him, but for all that he noticed
of what was being said it hardly mattered.

"Harry..."
Ron complained at his best friend's vacant look.

"Sorry, what?"
Harry asked.

"I said, if
you'd been listening the first time, what do you think made the
snitch act like that? I've never seen anything like it."

"Oh, couldn't
say," Harry answered with a shrug. "Sort of more worried
about Snape than the snitch, really."

"Yeah, see your
point. Going after the snitch when it's near Snape of all
people like that. I was sure you'd lost it. He's going to kill you
next lecture, if he doesn't find a good reason beforehand."

"Yeah, I guess,"
Harry replied.

"...seriously
mad," Ron continued mumbling with a slight grin on his face--a
victory was still a victory, after all--"chasing it through the
crowd like that." And just as suddenly declared, "Bet you
can't wait to wash your mouth out, huh?"

"What? Why?"

"Harry, you
freaking kissed Snape!"

Harry colored a bit.
His brain hadn't quite let that sink in yet. "I...well, it
wasn't really a kiss, you know. My mouth just sort of...fell on top
of his, that's all. Doesn't really count as a kiss...does it?"

"Well, if you say
so..." but Ron didn't sound terribly convinced.

Harry sighed. Somehow,
more than what Snape would do to him, Malfoy's gloating sense of
humor is what he was really dreading.

Stepping into a shower
stall, Harry shuddered a bit, the full weight of recent events
finally hitting him, and his fingers unconsciously touched his lips.
He'd taken Snape in over the years--all the things he knew about him,
all the things he expected to know, and had seen in Snape because
he'd expected to see them. But Snape's lips, which he somehow
realized now he'd assumed must be chapped and rough, had been
surprisingly soft and yielded when he fell against them. He wasn't
going to call what had just happened a kiss, but he would have no
choice but to admit that the illusions he had about his Professor
were falling away. All that remained was a sort of vague outline
filled in by countless question marks, or a puzzle missing dozens of
pieces. Who exactly was Severus Snape, once the outer layers
were peeled away? It was a question he tried not to think about
much, especially since his forays into the pensieve, but it was a
question, too, that demanded an answer.

A thought entered his
mind. Single, solitary, all-consuming. He finished bathing quickly,
dressed, and ran at full tilt--not stopping even as Ron asked what in
the bloody hell had gotten into him--toward the infirmary. His
sneakers slid on the tile as he entered, and he stopped panting. His
eyes darted around the room. No Snape.

Madame Pomfrey gave him
a quizzical look. She opened her mouth to speak, but he started
before she could. "Professor Snape...is his...er...head okay?"
Now that he was saying it, he realized how foolish it sounded about
halfway through the sentence.

The woman made a
somewhat annoyed clucking noise. "That man is impossible. He
wouldn't let me anywhere near him to check. But then, I suppose if he
was well enough to get up and outmaneuver me, he must be quite well
enough." She shook her head. "Hasn't changed one bit since
he was fifteen in that regard. Always thinks he knows what's best
and what a registered healer has to say be damned." She seemed
rather put out over it. "Oh, never mind it," she sighed,
"Never mind. I'm sure he's fine. He's rather durable. In his
office brewing something for a headache, no doubt."

"Right, uh,
thanks." Harry back-pedaled out of the room. Of course, he'd
just hit his head. What had he been thinking? It was only a lump,
and... maybe Ron was right about him and he was a little
mental. If Snape had been there, what would he have done?
Apologized? Snape probably wouldn't have a word of it before giving
him another detention.

A lightbulb went off in
his head. Detention! Of course! Getting Snape to give him detention
would be simple, considering how many detentions he got without even
trying. "Brilliant!" he declared, heading back towards
Gryffindor Tower with a spring in his step. He had a feeling that if
he could somehow break down Snape's defenses when they were alone, he
might get some of his questions answered.

As he reached the Fat
Lady's portrait it dawned on him that getting detention was going to
be the easy part.
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Wounds