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Fading Scars	By : silmelinde Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8071 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
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This is SS/HP story. Mpreg much later in the chapters. (Severus preg.)

Survivors
If he had gotten a rusty knut for every dazzled look of admiration shot his way because he was the man who finally forced You-Know-Who to kick his seventh bucket, there would have been enough gold to eliminate all poverty in the wizarding world. As it stood, the only deal he had gotten out of this arrangement was frustration. Perhaps, there had been sense in choosing Slytherin after all if only to learn how to get the best of each situation, Harry considered ruthlessly, knowing full well that he'd have chosen Gryffindor again a hundredfold.
The young wizard almost grinned at getting a doze of an equal treatment, when a bulky oaf gave him a hefty shove, squeezing through a crowd at the St Mungo's entry hall. Wrapped in a brown overcoat and with a brush-like sideburns menacingly sticking out, the man resembled a disgruntled hog that methodically snorted curses at everyone in his path, while he pushed to the front reception window. Harry supposed he was lucky to have a regularly scheduled appointment, so he could avoid getting mauled in the same crowd as him.
The healer already waited with the update on the cure and in turn Harry submitted a page of notes on describing his symptoms during the month. There was nothing new there and he felt increasingly unwilling to waste ink on the observations about his pains. Ellie seemed to realise that nothing new was coming both ways and put on a cheerful smile since they had to spend half an hour discussing something.
"Hi Harry," she chirped, conjuring a nicely frosted can of Coke and tossing it to the wizard. A few months ago they've gotten sidetracked into a conversation about muggles and he showed her the refreshment, which the young witch had taken a liking to. It became their ritual to share this drink every time he came in for an evaluation on a curse that plagued him.
"Hey, thanks," he grinned. "Glad you've volunteered to see me." The mediwizard in charge of his treatment was senior to Ellie, but he was strictly professional and their discussions tended to be a river of terms he had trouble keeping a track of that all came down to one formulation, a blast ended screwt had the same chance as them to get to the cure. It may have been worth a try sitting on one to rule out the possibility that that won't fix it.
"How are your little hellions?"
The personal question didn't surprise him. He supposed Ellie was becoming somewhat of a friend after she had gotten over the besotted look in her eyes since the first time she'd seen him. It drew him in that she was optimistic just like a fountain of small, brown curls that sprung around her head and fell on her shoulders.
"I've managed to get them to the end of the term in one piece," Harry grinned. Playing professionally may have been off limits since he couldn't risk having a fit mid air, but his health was good enough to get a contract with a club that taught pre-school witches and wizards flying and Quidditch. "Now, most of them will be Hogwarts' problem. I pity the oblivious victims who are going to teach what's coming to them next September."
"I take it Holly and Jolly made their last day memorable."
The pair of girls, one besieged by the bright purple hair and another glowing green, were twins that gave the Weasleys a run for their money. In secret, Harry was the fondest of them maybe because they've reminded him of the former good days when Fred and George were still together. He still tried to be as fair as possible in training, having had first hand experience of favouritism. Thinking of Snape sent a pang into his stomach and he quickly changed track.
"Nothing too extravagant," he quipped, "they've merely turned the Quidditch pitch into dolphinarium with the help of turns out to have older brother." They were also turning eleven in August and awaited the Hogwarts owls most eagerly.
Ellie laughed.
"It must be a real chore to keep up with them. Has the potion we've devised helped any?"
"Sort of," Harry sobered. The potion dulled the pain somewhat. Every month, the hospital modified it slightly based on his notes and observations. At best, they've succeeded in blocking some of the pain, but it was no cure for the curse he had been hit with. He regarded sceptically a new vial Ellie put forth on the table and slid towards him.
"This is fairly potent," the mediwitch informed him. "Try not to use more than three drops, every two days. Contact us immediately if there are any aggressive side effects."
Harry pocketed the item along with the instructions. The bottle's label had the ability to read them out to the blind patients.
"I think I'm going about this the wrong way and I need a dark arts specialist," the wizard told her.
Ellie's eyes got big. "You can't do that. That may not even be legal!"
"Just kidding," Harry grinned and ruffled his hair to loosen up the tension inside that he wasn't showing.
Ellie was a nice person, but sometimes she seemed too young, though ironically she was a year older than him. The war spared her and she was inclined to see no evil in the world, nor discern that obscure line of grey that blurred the borders of what was moral and immoral.
"Leaving already?" she hadn't been able to hide disappointment as he rose. "We still got fifteen minutes for this appointment."
"Wish I could eat up your time, but you really got quite a crowd downstairs. I'd feel guilty staying," he smiled apologetically. Ellie could read his notes. They really didn't require his verbal input, having been almost the same for nearly a year.
With a friendly promise to see her later, he slipped out of the office and headed outside, briefly shutting his eyes at the bright sunlight once he moved down the sidewalk. The thought about the dark arts hadn't left him, if anything it recurred over the past few months. Since the curse wasn't registered in the textbooks, it had to be either extremely rare and not to mention illegal, or self-devised. The remnants of Voldemort's army they've hunted after the battle certainly hated him enough to come up with one. Had Mad-Eye Moody been alive, he may have been able to reverse the hex better than the healers. Then again, the Aurors who were with him when he got hit hadn't a clue what it was. A dull ache in his back told Harry he had to do something about it.
A crash nearby that had a sound similar to a jinx alerted him to a confrontation on the other side of the road that involved a quarrelsome character he had met earlier in the day. Whoever had the misfortune to cross paths with him was on the ground getting abused profusely. Harry recognised him at once and his heart plunged into his stomach. Before his mind caught up, his body already carried him across the road to interfere.

The door to the Potion Master's shop was presentably neat and laconic if a bit dark, but the later was fairly expected of that type of establishment, which maintained an element of danger and mystery.
Well aware of the ill-wishers who had no qualms about destroying all he valued, Severus Snape heavily warded the door before leaving to make a delivery. St Mungo's didn't bother sending someone to pick up the orders from the small shop owners, whereas his finances to hire a personal courier were quite lacking, not that anyone would have tolerated working for him regardless. Thus, Snape had no choice but to deliver the orders on his own, even if he wasn't a welcome visitor. That hardly bothered him, given he wasn't welcome anywhere. The mark of Voldemort may have faded from his arm, but never from his reputation even if legally he had been cleared of all charges. He tried not to feel indebted to Harry bloody Potter, but that too kept haunting his conscience, which for unfathomable reason demanded to acknowledge some gratitude. Severus pushed the thoughts about the boy away because they reminded him of and made him desire the things he could never have like love and companionship.
Irked by ridiculous wistfulness, he hobbled along, growing increasingly morose the closer he got to St Mungo's. The hospital was located in a presentable neighbourhood along a wide street of impeccable taste and cleanliness with bright flowers growing along the sidewalk. Another words, he loathed going there because it made him feel like a large, black spider dropped onto a dazzling white field like an ugly, out of place speck of dirt that ached to scurry away into a murky corner where it would feel at home.
Wrapping the shreds of dignity around him like a cloak, Severus showed none of the inward discomfort, except his hand was tense when he clutched his cane tight. He may have survived the battle, however, Nagini made sure to leave poison in his system and he had yet to find a cure capable of flushing it out entirely. He didn't understand why the mediwitches bothered to save his useless life when there were so many in need of aid. A part of him whispered that he didn't deserve it. Yet, he lived with the constant reminder of his past mistakes as the poison coursed through his veins and the few places the snake struck were partially paralyzed. With the afflicted arm he clutched tighter the container that held the vials. Shrinking them would have slightly affected the quality. He was too proud to let his work suffer for a minor convenience.
Absorbed by keeping an eye on the fragile package and used to people usually giving him a wide berth, Severus was startled when something smelly and massively resembling a ticked off bear crashed right into him. His ankle twisted painfully and his leg gave in. Snape had the mind to land in such a way as to avoid breaking every vile. A couple of them smashed anyway, bearing no better than the potions master who was protecting the package rather than himself as he fell on the cobblestones. The impact robbed him of breath and of whatever vicious reprimand that was always prepared at the tip of his tongue. Nor did he expect a torrent of curses that beat him to his remark.
"Watch where you're going! You slimy son of a slug! What shit hole have you crawled out of where you got to be deaf, retarded and blind to run into people like that! I ought to screw your head off and shove it up your ass."
The man loomed above him in a threatening stance, which anyone who had met unchecked bullies was well aware of. Snape pointedly ignored the bulged eyes and salvia spat out of the ape's mouth in favour of reaching for his cane to get up before making a scorching retort. Coming down from the ground the words lost some of their effect. A huge, muddy boot kicked the cane aside, nearly crushing his hand with a stomp.
"You better start saying how sorry you are for your stupidity and licking my boots before I resort to kicking the shit out of you till you bleed all over," the wizard bellowed.
Snape's mouth curled into a nasty snarl and his eyes narrowed into obsidian slits. He would have loved nothing better than to hex the bothersome cockroach back into whatever dump he had crawled out of, even though with his luck the snake's poison impaired his wand arm. The problem wasn't the power, it was who would eventually be perceived at fault. The Auror's wouldn't bother to solve who was wrong in the brawl. They'd instantly assume the former Death Eater to be guilty even if he only defended himself. Snape felt irritable resignation at about to be getting trampled by an overgrown hog, during an already miserable day.
The man must have figured that something was off since his victims usually threatened a legal retribution because his grin turned ugly, revealing a set of rotten teeth. "Or maybe we should take this directly to the Auror's. They ought to say something about you skulking about attacking honest citizens like that." Getting no reaction was pissing him off because the next words were a warning before he acted. "Are you going to lick my boots or no?"
The retort came smooth and silky. The mockery placed into one syllable was like a venomous bite.
"No."
Snape wearily raised his arm to protect his head as the man grunted and charged like an enraged beast.
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Fading Scars