Sweet\'s Little Collection

A/N: Oddly enough, this one goes out to kristenbabe who requested this very pairing the day it was due to arrive for your reading pleasure!

Day Thirty-Seven:

"Potter," Snape called softly, refraining from touching the boy.

Harry was seated, exactly as he'd fallen, staring at the pile of ash that the wind was slowly blowing away. Everyone had long since retreated to the Great Hall to tend to the wounded and grieve for the dead. The final battle had depleted their numbers, but the Death Eaters had been wiped out. Their leader had turned to ash before them, and those that hadn't been killed, had turned to flee. The surviving members of the Order had chased after them to hunt them down. The only ones who they had not caught up to were Greyback and the elder Goyle, and even those were just a matter of time.

Everyone had a job to do, and they were doing it well. Everyone, except Severus, it seemed. Severus, and Harry Potter. The hero of the war sat amidst the battlefield, tracks from his tears trailing through the dirt on his face. His tears had long since stopped, but the evidence remained. Snape reached a hand tentatively toward the boy. He hesitated a moment before resting his hand on the bloodied arm before him. He expected some sort of reaction at the contact, but the boy's blank stare never faltered.

He shook Harry's arm, lightly. "Potter!" Snape exclaimed. He had been sent to retrieve the boy. Retrieve him... Like he was some sort of discarded, forgotten item in the corner of a room somewhere. He shook him again, harder this time. "Harry," he tried. Harry blinked slowly, his head turning slightly. "Severus?" His voice was gravelly and hoarse. Snape was surprised, but took it in stride. "Come, Harry, we must get you inside." He watched those deep green eyes widen in fear. "No, please! Please... I can't face them. Not yet. Not now. Take me anywhere. Just, not in there."

Severus could understand where the poor boy was coming from. He gathered him up in his arms and apparated to his own Manor. He stepped away from the boy, straightening his robes. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the silence. "The washroom is through there," he said, indicating a door to his right. "I imagine you might want a bath." Harry nodded, and Severus made his way out of the room. He walked down his stairs, heading into his kitchen. Nothing calmed his nerves like a bit of green tea. He heard the shower start, and smiled slightly. Perhaps they could both find a way to get past this.