Chapter Text
The carved words burned like molten metal. Each letter felt like a brand that pulsed with his heartbeat. The pain spread beyond his palm. A slow, creeping throb spread upward, leaving his whole arm stiff and trembling. With every breath, he lost a bit more strength. His legs shook, a tremor traveling up from his legs to his spine, and finally towards his clattering teeth. A cold sweat broke across his forehead as dizziness swarmed his vision, the edges going dark and speckled.
He staggered into the corridor, his mangled hand cradled against his chest. Red smeared against the window when his palm struck frosted glass as his legs buckled. Harry’s jaw clenched as he struggled to swallow a knot that had formed in his trembling throat. His vision blurred, tears burned his eyes, and his breath came out in jagged gasps.
He’d burn the whole fucking school down. He would. One spark. One match. Watch her pink cardigans turn to ash. Or maybe carve “I am a pink toad” onto her forehead over and over again until the words are stripped of their meaning. And then-
“Out of curfew, Potter?” Snape rounded the corner, and his voice cut clean through Harry’s mental tirade. “Does our… celebrity believe himself to be above the rules governing lesser students?”
Snape’s lips curled, his voice dripped with revulsion that one might reserve for rotting potion ingredients.
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, after a pause. “Twenty more if you don’t explain why you are defacing school property,” His gaze flicked to the smeared window. “- with that .”
“Fuck,” mumbled Harry, his voice raw. He took in a shuddering breath and swallowed, “Professor, I am not out of curfew. Detention with Umbridge just ended.”
His injured hand trembled as he pressed it harder on the windowsill. Ignoring the way his muscles shook with the effort. He refused to look at Snape. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to see amusement at his condition or, worse, Snape singing praises to Umbridge’s achievement at ‘disciplining’ him.
Snape took a step towards him, his robes brushing the stone. Harry jerked his head up - and froze.
Snape’s face was etched in fury. His eyes fixed on Harry’s injured hand. Before Harry could blink, Snape’s hands seized his wrist firmly. The abrupt motion startled a hiss of pain out of Harry, and Snape’s hands loosened just a fraction. Snape brought his hand closer to his face, eyes scanning the words ‘I must not tell lies’.
A muscle in Snape’s jaw twitched,
“Who?” he ground out. The word sizzling with its intensity.
“Does it matter?” said Harry, his fingers instinctively curling into a fist.
Snape’s wand was out in a blink, and he waved it at the bloodied window. The stains disappeared as though they had never been there. As though it had never been stained with Harry’s blood, the evidence of his defiance.
“It matters precisely-”
A sharp mrrrroww froze them both.
Mrs. Norris.
The sound echoed down the corridor. Harry’s eyes widened, and his breath hitched. Snape’s eyes locked with Harry’s red-rimmed eyes, his lashes clumped with moisture. For a disorienting second, all Harry could focus on was the man’s eyes, their inky darkness. Too sharp and too close.
And fuck , why was he noticing that ?
The soft patter of Mrs. Norris grew closer. The scuffle of Filch’s feet was louder now. The muttered curses closing in.
Snape sprang into action. One second, Harry was staring into Snape’s eyes, and the next, he was being yanked forward like a rag doll.
“Hurry,” hissed Snape, his grip iron-tight. Harry stumbled, his shoes skidding along the path. His pulse roared in his ears. Suddenly, Snape jerked him sideways, shoving open the nearest door.
A narrow broom closet swallowed them in darkness. Snape shut the door behind him, clicking the latch shut. Harry stumbled back, colliding with Snape’s chest. Snape turned Harry around roughly. Pinning him against the wall of the closet.
Footsteps scraped just beyond the door. Filch’s wheezing drifted along, punctuated by the sharp mrrroww of Mrs. Norris. Snape’s hand clamped over Harry’s mouth, stifling Harry’s instinctive gasp.
“Not a sound.”, Snape breathed against his ear. Harry’s body went rigid.
Filch’s lantern beam bled through the crack beneath the closet door. Harry’s breath stuttered. Every muscle locked in stillness. Each breath he tried to take pressed him into the hand muffling his mouth.
A sharp twinge in his injured hand made him flinch, a jolt Snape must have felt.
Filch lingered outside, muttering about “students out of bed” before shuffling off.
Snape waited another beat, he slowly lowered his hand.
“You test me, Potter,” he whispered.
Harry shut his eyes and let his head rest on Snape’s chest, letting out a shuddering breath. Snape’s arm wound around Harry’s middle. Harry felt a steady beat of Snape’s heart against his ear. He was distinctly aware of the steady rise and fall beneath his cheek.
After a while, Snape shifted, just enough for Harry to feel a silent nudge at his shoulder. The warmth of Snape’s arm against his waist receded. He unlocked the door and moved out of the closet. Snape extended a hand towards Harry, his long, ink-stained fingers suspended between them.
“Come,” said Snape quietly, his voice stripped of its usual ire.
Harry blinked at the hand, then at Snape’s face - unreadable as ever. His palm trembled as he reached out. Snape’s grip was firm, closing around Harry’s. He pulled Harry out of the closet, making sure he didn’t stumble.
Snape cast a disillusionment charm over Harry. Letting go of his hand. Harry missed the warmth of Snape’s hands as the cold air surrounded him. Snape walked forward towards the stairs. Silently beckoning Harry to follow.
Finally, they descended the last staircase. Snape’s office stood ahead. The door shut behind them with a click. Shutting off the coldness of the dungeons. A wave of Snape’s hand cut off the charm sticking to Harry’s skin.
“Sit,” Snape ordered, sweeping towards the potions cabinet.
Harry sank into the nearest chair in front of Snape’s desk, littered with their essays. Draco had, yet again, gotten an O on his abysmal essay. Before he could ponder on that, Snape came back with a few vials and a white bandage.
Snape put them on his desk and knelt in front of Harry. “Hand,” he ordered curtly.
Harry hesitantly placed his hand in Snape’s. Snape’s fingers curled around his wrist, feeling a now familiar heat envelop his hand. The words were crusted with blood, the dried blood standing out against his pale hand. Snape’s lips thinned.
Without a word, he uncorked a vial of Dittany and dripped a few drops along the cuts. It hurt. Harry bit back a gasp, his whole body flinching.
He set the Dittany aside and reached for Murtlap Essence. Dipping his finger in the salve, he spread it over Harry’s hand in smooth strokes. He grabbed the bandage, slowly wrapping it around Harry’s hand tightly. He reached for another vial, a blood-replenishing potion. He pressed it into Harry’s uninjured hand, “Drink. All of it.”
Harry obeyed; the metallic tang of the potion coated his tongue.
“It was Umbridge,” he whispered, after setting down the empty vial on the table. Snape got up, his expression unreadable, except for the slight furrow of his brow.
“You will not be returning for further ‘detention, ’” Said Snape, his voice dangerously soft.
“You can’t stop-”
“I can,” Snape interrupted. “And I will.”
Harry hesitated, “... Thank you,” he managed at last.
Snape’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his features. “Spare me your sentimentality, Potter.”
Harry’s lips twitched, and he slowly got up from the chair. He stood in front of Snape, his heart hammering. He leaned forward on his tippy-toes, pressing a quick, clumsy kiss against Snape’s cheek.
Snape froze, black eyes widening imperceptibly.
Harry pulled back, heat rising to his cheeks. “Er - goodnight, Professor,” he muttered, moving towards the door.
Behind him, Snape stood stiffly by his desk, fingers ghosting over his cheek.