Vipera Morsus

Warnings: Snape/Harry pairing, explicit language, some upsetting scenes and eventual slash.
Setting: Post-War, canon-ish (up until the epilogue), the seventh years return for an eighth year.

A/N:- (Update 18/03/2020) Hello there! I have recently been completing this story over on my AO3 account, jayquinox. I realised that there are actually still people reading this here, so thought it might be polite to those people to begin updating it in its original home! Here are the five chapters it has so far. I brought it over from here to AO3 a few years ago, to polish and continue it, but when I had a wonderful comment about how a lovely reader had found it HERE originally, I thought there may be more of you who have no idea I picked it up again... sooo, enjoy I guess! It's all been re-edited, so you may want to read it from the start :)

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In the cold light of morning, Harry Potter glared at the cup of tea set upon his coffee table. His green eyes penetrated the innocent porcelain as if the cup was to blame for the inevitably exhausting day ahead.

With a long-suffering sigh, The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, heaved himself from his comfortable position on the living room settee and resigned himself to his fate.

He bent to pick up his luggage and made his way to the front door of Grimmauld Place; setting him on the first leg of his journey back to a castle in the Scottish Highlands he had always considered his first home.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry awaited Harry Potter to welcome him back for his seventh year.

"Mr Potter! Is it true that you're running for Minister of Magic?"

"No -"

"Harry Potter, what is your opinion concerning the current political climate in France?"

"What? -"

"I heard you found the cure for Lycanthropy, Mr Potter, is this true?"

"What? No..."

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Can I have your signature?"

"I'm sorr- oh..."

Harry backed away from the over enthusiastic woman urging Harry sign a tabloid cut-out of his own face with a pink quill. She batted her eyelashes at him and he blushed violently, shaking his head at her before turning and all but running from the gang of reporters and adoring fans.

Harry weaved his way through the familiar King's Cross Station, dodging muggles, witches and wizards alike in his mad dash to get away from the crowds.

He had dreaded this day for months, the day where he would have to venture out in public alone for the first time since the end of the war. All of the attention he was getting left a bad taste in his mouth; he'd always had more bad press than good, and now everyone wanted to shake his hand and sing his praise. He understood it, but it didn't stop him from feeling a little betrayed.

When he had first received the letter inviting him back to Hogwarts, he had been more than happy to except; after all, Hogwarts was his home. The war had been hard on everyone, but life moved on. The students who'd been directly affected by the chaos had been given the choice to re-sit their N.E.W.T.S.

Post-war life had eventually gained some semblance of control. Hogwarts was re-built and the remaining Death Eaters were captured. No longer did the wizarding world kneel at the mercy of one dark, tyrannical man; all thanks to one eighteen year old boy.

It was the same eighteen year old boy that fled his fans and took a running-jump at the wall between platforms nine and ten in King's Cross station, forgetting to check for muggle onlookers in his haste. He stumbled onto platform nine and three quarters, catching himself before he fell face-first into the neighbouring wall. Bystanders glanced curiously at him as he straightened himself out and retrieved his luggage bag from the floor where it'd tipped on its side in the rush.

He didn't blame his two best friends for being unable to accompany him on the journey to Hogwarts, but that didn't stop him from sighing when on every street the world seemed to echo his name.

Hermione had gone to look for her parents after the post-war clean up. She'd eventually found them in a remote part of Australia and removed the spell she'd cast on them prior to the war. She'd ended up staying with her parents for the last few weeks of summer and didn't plan to come back until the Wednesday that week.

Ron had chosen to stay at home with his family a bit longer while he and George made plans for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grand re-opening in a few weeks. The Weasleys' still grieved heavily for Fred, and in turn put all of their efforts into re-opening the shop in Fred's honour. Ron had opted to come back tomorrow evening.

Which left Harry to cope with the hordes of undying fanatics and eager reporters alone. He hurried through the crowd of students and parents towards the old steam train he'd grown to love, ignoring the naked admiration and blatant stares he received on the way.

He threw himself onto the train without a backwards glance, ignoring a the wizards and witches who were desperately trying to get his attention. He felt relief spread through his body as he snapped the door on the train shut against the crowd.

But Harry's relief was short lived as he turned to face the corridor. He found himself facing a train-full of bustling students, and the majority were already murmuring his name and reacting to his presence amongst them, eager young faces turning to stare at him expectantly.

Would life for The Boy Who Lived ever be simple?

Harry found himself wedged between Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan during the most awkward Sorting Ceremony he'd ever attended. The majority of new students seemed more interested in shaking his hand, getting his signature or asking him if he was immortal, amongst other far-fetched assumptions.

Finnigan snickered madly into his fist while Longbottom patted Harry awkwardly on the back, attempting to comfort him during the whole fiasco. Harry ignored most all questions and requests, burying his head in his arms and blocking out the world.

He felt somewhat relieved when he heard Headmistress McGonagall called order to the Great Hall, and raised his head just in time to see the first years scrambling into a line at the front of the Sorting Hat. He stole a reluctant glance up the Gryffindor table, only to see his noble classmates staring at him as well. Most of them hastily turned away when they saw him look their way, but others continued their gaping.

"You know, Harry, they're not doing it to wind you up.. they love you for what you did," Neville offered, looking sympathetic. Harry mumbled a sardonic "I suppose" into the table top, not bothering to acknowledge his friend properly. He heard him sigh softly and pick up a conversation with Lavender Brown, who sat across from the trio, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

The ceremony ended and the feast began, leaving each house to greet their newest members. Harry couldn't think of anything worse; new eyes to watch his every step and new voices to question his every motive. He speared a boiled potato angrily and thought of ways he could excuse himself to his dormitory.

Before he could even formulate a plan, McGonagall called the hall to be silent. He glanced to the head table curiously, interested despite his mood to see her interrupt everyone mid-feast.

"Students, if I could have your attention for a few minutes, that would be grand," her usually stern tone was softer than usual, carrying through the hall and silencing the curious chatter that had erupted.

She appeared to steal herself before speaking again, pulling in a large breath. "I would like to inform you that we have found a worthy candidate for the Defence against the Dark Arts position."

The sentence drifted serenely through the hall, leaving a silence in its wake before curious murmurs broke loose and McGonagall held her hand up to hush the students once more.

"I expect you to treat him with the respect he deserves. The perils of war dealt us all a cruel hand, but few so severe as what this man has endured to ensure our safety."

Hundreds of heads immediately turned to Harry and he felt himself pale under the scrutiny. He cast his eyes to the Headmistress and she directed a grim, half-smile his way, before gesturing with a wrinkled hand towards the entrance of the hall.

"Severus Snape will be joining us again at Hogwarts," she uttered, as if commenting on the weather, before turning around and settling back into her seat, her gaze downcast.

The hall once again plummeted into silence. This time, the weight of it caused gooseflesh to explode along Harry's exposed forearms.

What...?

Harry felt himself grow detached, an inner monologue overriding his mind as the rest of the hall stared towards the entrance to the hall, haunted expressions warping their faces.

Surely not? Snape died... Snape is dead... Snape is…

It was as if some meddling deity had slowed down time itself. Harry turned, his body seeming to take hours to complete the simple motion. His bright green irises finally fell to where all of other the students gawped.

A tall, slight figure occupied the doorway. His posture was awkward. His long, black hair lankier than ever. His sallow skin more pallid than usual and his face empty of any emotion but discontent.

Swathed in a long, black cloak too big for his frame, stood Severus Snape.

And suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe.

Harry couldn't sleep.

He tossed and turned under red sheets and the night air cooled the sweat on his body, sending an uncomfortable chill racing down his spine. He shifted on to his other side, tugging the blankets under his chin and shuffling around agitatedly to get comfortable again, but to no avail.

Huffing out a long-suffering sigh, he dragged a hand back through his messy black hair. Today had been - well, today had been exhausting, to say the very least. It seemed Harry's brain was working overtime and he couldn't stop replaying the events of the evening over and over in his mind.

He had felt no amount of joy or relief when he'd first laid eyes on none other than Severus Snape. All his mind could contemplate was barely restrained rage.

Why hadn't anyone told him that the man had survived? Why hadn't Snape told him that he had survived? Why had he been led to believe his hastily administered Essence of Dittany hadn't done its job? Why had he assumed that his honed skills in creating a patronus had failed him, the important message within never reaching its destination?

Last but not least, why did the whole situation bother Harry so much?

He had all but choked on the air around him when the former headmaster had walked slowly past Gryffindor table without even acknowledging his existence. After everything that had transpired between them both. After everything that Harry had seen. After the supposedly futile attempt to save the man's life. Snape hadn't spared him one, measly glance.

The image of Snape, barely standing upright, walking to the head table bounced around his head for the hundredth time that night and he felt a stab of sadness in his chest. Once the rage had dissipated, Harry had been filled with a sickly feeling all evening, a feeling that was a mix of contempt and sadness. How had a man, once so powerful and proud, become the haggard mess Harry had seen sitting down awkwardly at the end of the head table, grimacing in pain and ignoring everyone around him in favour of swirling an untouched goblet of red wine in his hands for the rest of the feast, staring at its contents unseeingly.

Harry turned and thumped his pillow into a more comfortable shape and proceeded to bury his face into it with a deep huff. He was restless but exhausted; never a good combination for a matured insomniac such as himself.

The sun will be bloody rising before I get any sleep at this rate.. Harry thought blearily, his legs twitching in agitation and the sheets seeming all too heavy and stifling to sleep under. Making a rash decision, he ripped the sheets back and sat up suddenly.

A walk. He'd go for a calming walk before sleeping. He snatched his glasses from the bedside cabinet and shoved them on his face, then pulled the Mauraders Map out from under his pillow. He daren't run into a teacher at his hour; Saviour of the Wizarding World or not, he didn't fancy a detention on his first week back.

Harry bent down and reached into his school bag by the bedside and pulled out his invisibility cloak before climbing out of bed. He slipped his trainers on with his grey pyjamas, only bothering to pull a black hoodie on against the chill of the castle. Cloak and map tucked in his pocket securely in case of emergency, Harry tip-toed his way out of the dormitory he had always shared with Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ron and down the long, spiralling stairs to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry beheld the warm, welcoming common room for a fleeting moment before striding past the numerous comfy armchairs and the roaring hearth in the direction of the portrait hole.

When he had clambered out from behind the portrait and promptly ignored the Fat Lady's attempt at protest, he found himself wandering down towards the grand staircase and didn't question it. His feet moved through the corridors knowingly; he didn't need to think about where he was going as by now, he knew the castle off by heart.

By the time he'd reached the entrance hall, he brought himself to a stop to let his mind catch up to his body's motives. The hall was almost eerie in fashion, abandoned and quiet in the dead of night. Candles glistened weakly in their brackets, adding a weary sense to the hour, instead of the usual grand splendour Hogwarts beheld.

Harry's feet began moving again before he'd even decided where he was going. It seemed his subconscious had its own ideas.

He found himself wandering blithely under the archway that led into the dungeons. He found he didn't care anymore and left his body in charge.

Soon enough, Harry found himself standing absentmindedly in the dark, chilly tunnels, just around the corner from Slytherin common room. His body had abandoned its attempt at reading his subconscious and he was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the cold clawing at his face and up his back. A sudden thought struck him and he dug a hand into his pocket and shook out the Marauders Map.

Unfolding the map carefully, Harry placed the tip of his wand to the centre and murmured quietly.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, " a puff of warm air followed the incantation as Harry opened up the map completely and scrutinised it. He spotted himself on the map, standing alone, except for one other presence just to his left…

Harry choked violently on the ice dungeon air for the second time that evening, his widening eyes scanning the fine, script letters over and over.

Severus Snape.

The map showed a tiny pair of feet pacing in tight, stilted circles in a room next to the corridor Harry currently stood rooted to the spot in. His hands shook (whether from the cold or nerves, he'd never know) the map shivering with them as he tore his eyes away from the pacing and turned bodily to the wall directly to his left.

A blank, grimy stone wall stood inconspicuously in front of him and Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat. He had to get in there. He just wanted to know. He wanted to know how Snape had survived. He wanted Snape to look at him. He wanted Snape to talk to him. He wanted Snape to just acknowledge his existence.

Glancing back to the map, the pacing stopped and the feet came to an abrupt stop over the other side of the concealed room. Harry shoved the map back in his pocket.

Swallowing against the dryness that had settled in his mouth and throat, he felt his hands tremble as he approached the wall and pressed the palms of his hands to the rough, icy stone.

To his utter dismay and joy, something happened. Harry let out a startled cry as the bricks in the wall began to separate at his touch, much like the entrance to Diagon Alley in the Leaky Cauldron. He stumbled backwards from the transforming wall, his eyes wide and shining with anticipation.

The last shifting brick slotted itself in place and Harry beheld a small archway. In through the archway was an old, oaken door. Just as inconspicuous as every other door in the dungeons, but Harry wasn't fooled; it was what laid behind the heavy, wooden door way that made his skin prickle with goose pimples and his stomach tingle sickeningly. Harry strode up to the door, his steps faltering as he did. He hesitated, eyeing the door with trepidation and licking his dry lips nervously.

I've far faced worse than an irate Severus Snape in my life... Harry's conscience called out, and he sucked in a brave breath. He'd come this far, after all.

He knocked the door swiftly before he could stop himself and cringed at how the sound echoed dully around the dungeon corridors. Nerves suddenly hit Harry full force, the weight of the situation constricting his lungs and pressing down painfully on his heart. He began to back away from the intimidating door and from the even more intimidating situation he knew he would find himself in beyond.

I shouldn't have.. why did I… Harry's thought desperately, but his panicked internal monologue was cut short when a quiet, gravelly voice sounded from beyond the aged wood.

"You may enter."

Turning back around, Harry gawped stupidly at the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

He couldn't believe his ears. He'd been allowed entrance. No questions asked.

Harry scrambled for the last drags of his bravery and marched right back up to the door. He sucked in a huge, calming breath, then grasped the handle and pushed the door open. It swung in a wide arc, light spilling from the room and into his front in a warm yellow strip.

Blinking against the sudden light after the blackness of the Slytherin corridors, Harry took a small, hesitant step over the threshold, his bravery still intact. He froze in place at the sight of the back of Snape's head. The man was reclined on a settee at the far right of the room, the back of the furniture facing the doorway.

"Minerva, I see no cause for these pointless journeys you've been insisting on every night. If you are so concerned, have Poppy fire-call. Do not waste your time," came the drawl, and Harry suddenly realised why he'd been allowed entrance so late at night, or even allowed entrance at all. He shuffled further into the room, over soft, green carpet and shut the door with a heavy click behind him. He was in it for the long-haul now. No turning back.

"I'm sure she's only worried," he muttered lowly into the room, the illusion broken.

Heavy, strained silence fell across the room in an instant. The atmosphere became tense and suddenly Harry wished he'd never uttered a single word.

Snape whipped his head to the doorway. He was uncharacteristically shocked, the expression marring his brows and leaving his mouth slightly agape. Seeming to catch himself before Harry, he schooled his features and slowly got up from his seat like a rising shadow, his dark, penetrating gaze never leaving Harry's wary, green eyes.

"Potter -"

Harry burst before Snape could even form the second word of his sentence.

"I don't know why I'm here - I just needed to know - I needed to know what happened. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you... I -"

"POTTER!" Snape punctured his rant with a gruff shout, coughing into his fist and Harry had the modesty to look guilty. He sealed his lips against the words that wanted to tumble out in his defence, and Snape regained his composure enough to glare at his student.

He then walked slowly around the settee and came to stand a mere few feet away from Harry, a sort of resignation settling in his sharp eyes. "I knew you'd come, Potter. You never did have the capacity to even consider that you should mind your own business," the way Snape spoke the words lacked the usual sting, and Harry once again felt a stab of sadness in his chest for the man standing before him.

"I'm sorry -" Snape held a long fingered hand up in protest, silencing Harry once again.

"Stop interrupting me. Be silent and you shall get your answers, Potter," Snape paused, his hateful eyes raking Harry's face, the glare ever present. Harry stared back, agitatedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. He nodded reluctantly, pink tongue peeking out to wet his dry lips again.

"As you can undoubtedly see, I am alive and well and I do not take kindly to sympathy from anyone. I live because of your thoughtful actions, so I believe we are, for lack a of better word, even. Do not come to me expecting any sort of reconciliation or apologies; I have risked my own life for you more times than you could ever begin to imagine. Take your passion for saving the world elsewhere, Potter. I do not appreciate heroism and certainly won't be holding the likes of you in any higher appreciation," Snape finished haughtily, looking down his nose at Harry.

The words stung. Of course they did. But they lacked their usual bite, their usual barbed delivery. It gave Harry the confidence to answer back, instead of retreating, or worse, instead of punching Snape in the face.

"Look, I don't know why I tried to save you, but I did. I'd already lost so much in my life... I didn't want to sit there and watch you slip away without at least trying to keep you alive. I know about everything you've done for me and I do appreciate it, every last bit of it. There isn't anything I could physically do to repay what you've done for me. I'm not asking for anything from you, Snape. I never wanted anything from you. I just want to know what happened."

Snape's flint coloured eyes locked with Harry's green ones throughout the admission, unrelenting and steeled.

They stayed like that, locked in penetrating stares for a time that felt like hours. Harry shuffled on the spot nervously, vowing to ride the awkward moment out.

Snape was the first one to break the stare, the passion and stubbornness in Harry's eyes coming out tops. Snape heaved a weak sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Very well. Come," Harry watched Snape turn away a little unsteadily, and make his way over to a glass fronted cabinet at the far side of the room. He followed reluctantly, trying to gauge Snape's sudden change in demeanour and lack of stubbornness.

From scathing and angry to reluctant but resolute in a few minutes. This near death experience appeared to have effected the man more than physically.

Harry watched Snape grasp two tumblers from the cabinet, placing them onto the sideboard below and shakily pouring healthy measures of Firewhisky into each. The glass clinked heavily against the tumbler rim as Snape tried to control his shaking hands. Harry felt his heart clench in sympathy, despite the hurtful things Snape had just accused him of. On an outrageous whim, he reached forward and steadied Snape's hand by gripping his wrist, Harry's fingers resting softly on his professor's pulse point.

He Snape's hand stiffen at his touch, and then a huge tremor reverberated up his arm. He looked up into Snape's face to see the man looking steadily at him, his eyes wider than he had ever seen them.

Something about the stare unnerved Harry and he let go as if he'd been burnt. Snape tore his gaze away and the shaking seemed to increase tenfold as he gingerly placed the bottle back into the cabinet, the glass clinking against the wood loudly. He shut the cabinet and walked away without picking up the drinks he had just poured. He stiffly walked over to the settee and sat down, facing away from Harry.

Well, that went well... Harry mused, staring at the two amber coloured drinks perched innocently on the sideboard in front of him.

Harry glanced at his Professor then back at the tumblers of Firewhisky and decided to use his initiative. He grasped both glasses and strode over to the prone man, setting them down on the low coffee table in front of him. Harry quickly took an armchair opposite and clasped his hands in his lap, his foot tapping on the plush carpet agitatedly. He glanced at the glazed look that had taken residence in Snape's face and wondered if he'd caused it by being so callous.

"Professor…" Snape's eyes snapped to his face, a glare instantly apparent. Harry was slightly taken back but ploughed on; he wouldn't miss an opportunity like this, Snape was being terribly compliant for Snape. For all he knew, the man would be back to his usual petulant self tomorrow.

"How come… How could I get through... you know... the wall outside? Why did it let me in?" Harry saw Snape's knuckles whiten where they were gripped at his knees and the glare intensified.

"That is for me to know, Potter, and for you to keep your nose out of. Stop asking such menial questions and get to the point, I don't have all night," came the snapped retort.

Harry shifted awkwardly in the armchair and nodded jerkily. Snape reached a still shaking hand for the tumbler in front of him and gestured impatiently for Harry to do the same. Harry gratefully picked up his glass, tipping it to his lips and letting the drink burn down his throat, the amber liquid soothing and warming as it hit his stomach.

"Right. I'll get to the point then," Harry murmured, wiping the excess whisky off his lips with the back of his hand. Snape glowered at the act, turning his nose up at a behaviour that he obviously considered piggish.

"Do," Snape answered curtly with an impatient motion of his hand. Harry cast the man a half-hearted glare.

"How did you survive? I didn't think what I'd done would even work... with the venom and all... and the amount of… blood... I don't know how -"

"Your timing was impeccable, for once in your life." Snape started, closing his eyes against the memory. "When you administered the Essence of Dittany and I fell unconscious from blood loss, the potion managed to seal the most of the wound and kept me barely alive until Poppy received your message. I assume she saved me on a whim, or to cast me to the dementors once she'd made the effort to bring me back from the brink. Either way, she seemed to trust you."

Harry stared, considering, re-enacting the scene in his head the best he could. He wanted to push for more details, but considered himself lucky for getting this much out of Snape in the first place. So he took another sip of whisky instead, nodding his head slowly.

"I was in an induced coma until a month ago. In that state my body was pumped of the venom over a long period. Instant withdrawal would have caused my body to go into shock and your heroic efforts would have been put to waste, Potter," Snape's eyes opened, and he met Harry's stare plainly but without the malice that his words seemed to imply.

"Is it… is the venom gone now?" Harry muttered, his eyes never leaving the black-stare that kept him captivated.

"I am to take Essence of Dittany to heal the wound and specially brewed antivenom for the next couple of months. Dittany helps to re-seal my wound and the antivenom will purge my body of the substance that keeps opening it. They will work in union so that I shall have no trace of the venom by Christmas and my neck will be perfectly healed," Snape finished dispassionately, seeming to spit the words at Harry. It was evident he hated sharing his personal affairs.

Harry ran the rim of the tumbler against his bottom lip, considering his Professor and asked something he knew he'd instantly regret.

"If you need any help at all in the meantime, I'm more than willing -"

"I DO NOT require any assistance!" Snape snapped viciously, suddenly thunderous. "Especially from the likes of you," he added rather childishly, making Harry start.

"But..." Harry protested, placing his glass down on the coffee table.

"NO buts! It's about time you took your leave, Potter!" His flinty eyes transformed as anger caught up with him, their depths condescending and viscous.

Harry snapped at the look, his mouth betraying him as anger swirled in his chest. "You are one ungrateful bastard, Snape!" Harry growled, rising quickly from the arm chair and standing over Snape, fists clenched.

"Get OUT! I do not tolerate attention-seeking, self-righteous Gryffindor brats in my quarters, OUT!" Snape shouted, also rising and towering menacingly over Harry. After that, things got out of control far too quickly for Harry's liking. But his anger told him otherwise; red obscured his vision and blinded him against any sense.

"After everything that's happened, how can you still treat me like this?!" Harry shouted into Snape's face in return, his frustration bubbling viciously in his chest. He stepped smartly to the side when Snape appeared to take a step towards him, avoiding coming chest to chest with the man in the narrow space between the coffee table and chairs. Harry stepped further back again from his Professor as the man took another step forward, but he suddenly stumbled weakly with the gravity of the movement.

Everything appeared to happen is slow motion then.

Snape didn't regain his footing in time before his leg caught of the low coffee table. Then man fell with all of his staggered weight onto the table. The weight of his fall collapsed the table and as it did, Snape's head struck the stone adorning the nearby hearth rather loudly.

Then there was silence. A deafening silence. It rang in his ears as his professor lay still in the ruins of the table.

Harry felt a blinding panic overtake his every nerve. He fell to his knees where Snape lay, barely conscious from the nasty strike to the head. He cupped the man's head gingerly and felt a rush of sympathy and concern course through his veins.

"Snape? Can you hear me? Professor..?" Harry stammered, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the man's temple in a soothing motion. An idea struck Harry and he quickly cast a patronus charm, relaying it with a message and sending it straight to Madam Pomfrey. The stag cantered straight through the wall, leaving a glittering silvery residue in its wake.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean…" Harry trailed off and brushed the man's lank hair away from his face, his heart getting heavier with guilt by the minute. Deciding he should try to move the man, he stepped closer and hooked one arm under Snape's shoulder and another under his thighs, supporting him bridal style and lifting him, but not without difficulty. Snape mumbled something incoherently and Harry's arms shook with the weight of lifting the man to the settee behind them.

By the time Harry had positioned Snape on the settee and had grasped his hand tightly, angry, guilt-ridden tears welling reluctantly under his eyelids, Pomfrey had burst into the room, clad in a nightgown and slippers.

"Harry... how!?-"

"He just fell, I don't know!" Harry exclaimed as Pomfrey bustled over and knelt beside Snape to examine him. She began to run her wand over various parts of his body, muttering something that sounded distinctly Latin. She paused and gave Harry a weary look.

"You may leave now, Harry. I don't know how you always get caught up in these situations, even after everything, but I can deal with Professor Snape. Off to bed with you!" Pomfrey exclaimed, giving Harry a pointed look. Harry went to protest but stopped himself when the woman rose sceptical a brow at him and began her examination once again, turning away from him completely.

Harry sighed and reluctantly let his Professor's hand slip from his grasp. He rose slowly and began to make his way to the door, feeling awkward and chastised. He stopped and turned back a few steps away from the door when Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. She looked up at him and wearily shook her head.

"You were never here. Now keep yourself from any more trouble!" she exclaimed, a soft look crossing her features. Harry inclined his head morosely and pulled the heavy door open in front of him.

He allowed himself one last glance back at the settee before he crossed the threshold. Snape had begun to regain consciousness and question his whereabouts and Pomfrey was soothing him with murmured things Harry couldn't hear at this distance. He shook his head at his own stupidity.

He let the door swing back on itself as he left Snape's room. As it did, he mentally vowed to help Snape throughout the next two months.

He owed the man more than his life.

And Harry wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

TBC