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Fading Scars	By : silmelinde Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I make no profit from writing fics.

Chapter List
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A Misstep
The blow never came. Another wizard stepped between them, conjuring a defensive shield in front of him. The assailant's dirty boot crashed into the cracking barrier full force that sent a shock through his body and threw him back. The man landed on his behind in the middle of the road with a thick column of dour smoke rolling off his coat and hair that stuck up from the charge. The experience was akin to kicking an electric fence. The wizard's massive jaw hung wide open as an angry voice sent out a warning that was not to be taken lightly.
"You should be careful what you wish for, especially if that wish is to meet an Auror. Any of them would give you an intelligence test if you think for a moment that anyone would believe your ludicrous claim. It's engraved on your forehead that an isolated prison cell is begging to meet you. That's where you'll end up, unless during the next minute you pickup the cane as a sign of apology and then get out of my sight."
Severus didn't hear, he rather sensed a magic burst of expelliarmus being cast and the offender's wand went sliding down the sidewalk. The hog man looked sullen that his thoughts of further violence hadn't bailed him out this time.
Carefully observing the source of the threat that reluctantly got to his feet, casting murderous looks his way and cursing filthily under his breath, Severus subtly considered the person who interfered on his behalf. The wizard's back was turned to him. He was dressed according to muggle fashion in the blue jeans and a coat that stretched over the broad shoulders. The clothes seemed a natural fit over the athletic figure and the dark hair in disarray were down to the shoulders. The way he appeared baffled Snape who had never expected someone to defend him. He didn't know how to react to the rare bouts of kindness and suppressed those feelings of gratitude defensively, expecting that any protection aimed to use him somehow. He had once signed up with his entire soul to be indebted and that was never to happen again.
Yet, what alternative motive could a stranger possibly have kept hidden? The wizard stepped between them once more when the grumbling assailant picked up the cane and threw a look at Snape that communicated his intent to slam it into his teeth under the guise of returning it. The wizard jerked the cane out of his hands.
"I believe you were on your way," he stated coldly.
The man turned on his heel, muttering under his breath that this wasn't over. Both Snape and the stranger watched him mistrustfully as he picked up his wand and scurried away, throwing a malicious glare over his shoulder filled with enough hate to make the bruises flare with pain and snap the Potions Master into awareness that he was still on the ground. Violence, Snape understood, the feelings towards the other man were more complicated.
"I'm sorry, I wish I still had my Auror license to send him camping in jail during the next week for misconduct."
Unsettled by the stranger's initiative, kind as it was, Snape jumped at the contact when a strong hand settled around his waist to help him up. He wasn't sure whether he should scowl at the man for not minding his business and the arrogant assumption that he needed help or be pleased that after wishing often enough in the past that those who tried to assault him would get what they deserved, had at last received the retribution not from himself but from the responsible authorities, even the former ones. The wizard also took the initiative to restore his possessions. The broken glass shards reassembled back into the vials and slipped back into places. Unfortunately, their content was irreversibly lost as it soaked the ground between the cobblestones.
"I hope you're not injured."
"I'm fine," he looked at the man who was facing him at last, to judge his intent from the facial expression and carefully choosing a neutral answer that prompted no other questions. "Than... POTTER!"
The Potions Master bolted backwards abruptly, throwing off the arm like it scorched him. He hadn't realised that he had subconsciously shifted his weight off his foot and leaned onto the man during their brief exchange until his ankle flared up in pain. The irritable Gryffindor's brain hadn't always been in place in the potions class, but the seeker reflexes remained excellent. To his alarm, the wizard grabbed him again, this time with more discretion, and the grip settled on his elbow, not risking to go around his waist again.
"Uh... I... Sorry Professor. I mean hello."
"Eloquent as ever, Potter."
In truth, he was shocked that he hadn't recognised the boy immediately, even if the traces of the skinny teenager were in fact gone. His initial reaction towards Potter had been to regard him as an adult. They hadn't seen each other in four years. The sounds of the street around them faded into a distance. The awkward silence sizzled with memories that were too many and too bitter to wish to remember them. Potter frowned and ran his hand through the dark hair, messing up it even more.
"We're right next to St Mungo's. They can attend to your injury," Harry suggested at last. "It won't take long, I mean you won't have to tolerate me long if we go there, that is if you want my help. I would feel better if you would allow me to walk with you."
"I don't want your help, but if you let go I'll end up with my face against the cobblestones," the Potions Master admitted crossly.
The Gryffindor didn't move and didn't insist on playing the dazzling hero who had to be worshiped for the feat. Snape almost expected some childish quip like, 'the cobblestone won't mind.' The wizard said no such thing either. Potter seemed subdued, waiting for Snape to either accept his suggestion or tell him to sod off. Much to his horror, the Potions Master considered the offer. The walk wouldn't take more than a few minutes. Hopefully, that was long enough for Potter to initiate no conversation. Reluctantly, Severus motioned them towards the hospital without admitting out loud his consent.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked irritably when the man tried to guide them towards the central entrance.
"Huh?"
There really was no comprehension in those green eyes.
"I'm heading for the backdoor."
"Why must you use the backdoor?"
The anger he sensed during the confrontation returned. So, the backdoor was beneath the Harry glorious Potter to use? He should have declined his help earlier than having him throw a tantrum over it and leave.
"Because," he explained silkily like he was addressing a three year old, "I need to deliver these potions to St Mungo's. Such business is not conducted in the reception area."
The Gryffindor didn't leave.
"I've seen Professor Slughorn use the front entrance to conduct his business," he said indignantly. Miraculously, the man may have gotten a bigger jacket size, but retained a delusional part of his imagination where the world was a fair place.
"Professor Slughorn's former student is one of the most respected mediwitches at the hospital," he called out to the distant common sense.
"While your dunderheads have achieved nothing spectacular, unless blowing up the cauldrons counts. It's all their fault of course," Potter finished for him with a hint of a faint grin curving his lips.
"While your self-criticism might be the right step towards moving to some form of intelligence, sarcasm doesn't suit you. You should leave it to bitter old men."
"I see none present."
Snape looked down at him sharply and his lips thinned. If the previous comment had a humorous undercurrent, the last claim had no hints of a joke nor did he find any traces on an insult where he was ready to find one. That baffled Severus enough to silence him. How did he get coerced into the conversation regardless of his intent to discuss nothing? He turned away as much as he could, indicating the conversation was over.
As much as he wanted to ignore Potter, his thoughts stubbornly returned to the man by his side who refused to release his elbow, supporting him more than he was willing to admit, just like that arm did when it had encircled his waist. Its steadiness must have developed during the Auror career, along with the muscles and a tan. The telltale scar had faded, not that much of the forehead was visible beyond the long bangs. The dark hair framed a much stronger structured face after the sharp teenage angles faded from it. For the first time, he hadn't recognised much James and a question what Potter's grandparents had looked like entered his mind. The missing round glasses that were a near copy of his father's also contributed to the change. Only the green eyes remained the same. In them reflected the only good that remained in him.
The young man was studying him too in a manner the wizard must have imagined was subtle. He didn't know what Potter was searching for, but Snape felt like his soul was getting turned inside out.
"Is there a reason you're staring at me so intently like you're choosing a blushing bride?" Severus snapped, becoming unnerved by those probing looks.
The man blushed and looked away quickly.
"It's unusual seeing you wearing the glasses."
"I've gotten a full collection of the war souvenirs - scars, curses and an ill repute. That doesn't turn me into a shop window for the idler onlookers. Find something else to stare at."
The blasted Gryffindors had no sense of discretion. He thought Potter would have understood that no one wanted their scars pointed out. That trice accursed snake and her poison made sure to cripple what he valued the most, his arm and his sight. With those impaired, he couldn't dedicate himself fully to brewing. The only thing he loved doing had been diminished as well in the aftermath.
As if to mock him, his foot shot a bolt of pain through his body when he stepped on it carelessly to put a greater distance between himself and Potter. The wizard must have sensed the jolt because his grip tightened and he stepped even closer than he was before. Snapping at him meant initiating another conversation.
At least they were almost there. Curved around the hospital, the narrow path led them to a steep staircase with a set of wooden doors at the bottom that had the St Mungo's symbol engraved on each half. Just looking at it made his sight darken with pain. Severus tensed, preparing an inward string of curses for each step in advance.
"Please hold your potions box securely."
"WHAT?!"
Snape nearly dropped the container when Potter's grip shifted away from his elbow and that arm went around his back while the other looped underneath his knees. The other's body heat enveloped him as he was pressed unacceptably close to the man's chest. The wizard's breath grazed his neck when Potter adjusted his hold and the dark hair brushed across his cheek. A sent of apples and cinnamon invaded his senses.
"Put me down at once!" Severus hissed.
Although the street was empty, he was mortified to be effected by a public display that revealed his weakness. He should have known that Potter was out to humiliate him and trample the last shreds of dignity he had, that was being regarded as a strong and self-sufficient man, into the ground. The brat ignored his demand, swiftly moving to the bottom of the stairs before setting him down.
The impudent grin was back. "Sorry, Sir. I was just practicing carrying my blushing bride down the isle."
The Potions Master's pale features flushed red. This was the end of The Boy Who Lived. Snape was going to kill him.
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Fading Scars