Misconceptions

Okay, I’m here to make up for that lame chapter I left you with last time. =D
Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter, and sorry to Dark Gothic for the mention of pus in this chapter. ;)

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Drip. Drip. Drip.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, and he groaned softly as his hand ached. Lifting it to eye level, he grimaced when he realized that it had swollen to about twice its normal size, and the makeshift bandage was plastered to his hand with pus and blood.

“This has got to be one of the worst days I’ve had by far,” he grumbled. He stood up slowly, and walked the short distance over to where Snape lay. He sighed in relief when he noted that some of the colour had come back into the man, and he appeared slightly healthier.

Harry pulled his water basin toward him again, going through the process of cleaning his most-hated professor’s wounds to prevent further infection. He then moved the cloth from Snape’s forehead, tossing it back into the bowl.

“Well, it looks as if he broke through the fever...” Harry studied the man’s face, lightly prodding at the bruises. “No broken bones aside from the nose,” he gently felt up the side of Snape’s nose, flinching back when he heard a rather raspy groan of pain. Forcing himself to continue, he was able to determine that the break was clean, and could be shifted back into place by hand.

All in all, Snape was in a far more stable condition than he had been. Harry stood up slowly, and walked over to his web door. He couldn’t see any light behind the white silk. ‘So it’s still night...I wonder how much time has passed.’ He placed his ear closer to the door, and listened intently. He could still hear the snow and wind beating on the trees outside. Not safe to try and make it back to the castle.

With a soft sigh, Harry made his way over to the fire that was still going. “Okay, so I can’t have been sleeping for more than a few hours, the fire is still going and I didn’t have that much wood to begin with.” He tossed a few more small sticks into it, and glanced over at Snape.

Harry was well aware of what he had to do, but he was equally aware that there would be hell to pay later for seeing Professor Snape in such a vulnerable position.

Resigning himself to what he had to do, Harry marched over to Snape, ignoring the twinge in his burnt hand he began shredding his robes until he was left in muggle clothing. Long black strips of cloth were then soaked in water, and he scourgified Snape’s injuries one last time before dressing them.

When all of the man’s visible injuries were covered, Harry braced himself and moved closer. Grabbing a wad of material he rested it on Snape’s chest, before reaching out to place his slim fingers delicately on the side of Snape’s nose.

With a deep breath, Harry clenched his fingers tight over the cartilage, lifted, and snapped the offending bones back into place with a sickening crunch.

At first he thought the scream that rang through the cave came from Snape, but he soon realized that it had been from himself, as his injured hand was grabbed so savagely he felt the bones cracking in them. The cloth around it was within an instant wet with blood and pus, and his half-hearted attempt to wrench away from the vice-like grip only worsened his situation.

He felt the air leave his lungs as he was tossed against the nearest wall, his head careening from the motion and making contact hard with the stone. As stars burst into his line of vision, the only thing he was able to make out was the wand pressed against his throat, and the dark mark glistening on a pale arm.

Then darkness.
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When Harry woke up, he woke up in segments. The first thing he felt was his hand, throbbing incessantly in pain. The next thing he became aware of was the crackling of the fire somewhere close to him, off to his left. He then began feeling the pounding headache and sticky patches of blood soaked hair resting on the cool floor. By the time he opened his eyes, his whole body was humming with pain.

As the blurriness faded from the corners of his vision, he noticed a few things. He was laying on the dry slab of stone that Snape had previously been occupying. This led to the conclusion that Snape had a) run off somewhere b) was planning on sacrificing Harry in some dark ritual or c) that he was in the cave somewhere, watching Harry.

This possibility had Harry jolting upwards within a matter of seconds, clutching his head and cradling his hand to his chest protectively. He looked frantically looked around, automatically glancing in the darkest corner of the cave first. No success.

He almost allowed himself to relax, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His vision shot to the entrance, where Snape stood, glaring at him.

“Potter” Snape spat, as if it were the most vile word in the English language.

“Pr-professor Snape...” Harry murmured. He took in Snape’s dishevelled form, noting that at least the bandages were still on, the black a stark contrast to the man’s ivory white skin.

“Just what do you think you are doing, on a little camping trip? Hmm? The Gryffindor Tower no longer good enough for you Potter?” Snape’s eyes were dark slits, and he began advancing on Harry.

Harry scrambled as far back as he could without hitting the wall behind him. “Sir, you were hurt, I found you in the snow and I just figured-“


“You just figured what? That you would help a known death eater? The greasy bat of the dungeons? Well?!” Snape had reached Harry in only a few strides, and had him backed up against the wall.


“Y-yes! Sir, look at yourself, you’re still injured,” Harry retorted “Surely you don’t think so little of me as to leave someone in the freezing cold, totally unconscious!” Harry stood a little taller, willing himself not to collapse as his head protested the movement.

“You.Did.This.” Snarled the potions master.


“What?! You think that I did this to you?! Are you kidding?!” Harry was livid. “And how on earth would I go about doing this much damage to you? As you said, you’re a death eater, a spy! I couldn’t have done this much damage to you by myself!” Harry had started wheezing by the end of this, trying to suck air into his exerted lungs.

Snape got directly in Harry’s face, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke: “Obviously you are not capable of this on your own! But I dare say that you have more than enough influence in society to convince others to do it for you. The boy-who-fucking-lived would have no problem mentioning to the minster that he was upset with the Potions Master. “He pushed Harry against the wall violently, ignorant of the fact that Harry was gasping for air and trying to reach into his jeans for something.

“You stupid boy.” He gave Harry a shove, sending something flying from the boy’s jeans and scattering onto the floor.

Harry stared at Snape, transfixed on the rage he saw in those glittering black eyes, and then everything started to spin, his eyes rolled back in his head, and Harry Potter collapsed on the floor in a limp heap on the floor.

Snape stared at Harry, breathing heavily, his eyes wild and bulging. He wanted to strangle the little whelp, shake him until he had a permanent rattle in his head, punch him, kick him and make Harry feel as helpless as he himself had felt over the last couple of hours.

Snape sat there for a few minutes, glaring at the small mass on the floor whilst thinking of all the ways he could get revenge.

And that was when Severus Snape realized that Harry Potter wasn’t breathing.

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Okay, I was going to split this into two chapters, but after that poor excuse for a last chapter I figure you all need a bit of plot as opposed to stage setting. Hope this was to your liking.

Review! :D