Title: As the pain wanders
Word count: 762
Rating: Mature themes.
Pairing: Harry and Severus.
Pre-severitus. Post-War.
"Harry...we found him."
Those words sunk deep the pit of Harry's chest like an expectant, cold dread. His mind drifted with visions of the newly departed; through its painful haze, they would not settle.
Hours passed since Voldemorts' end, while the survivors wandered aimlessly across the bloodied battlefield and rubble of horrors barely past. Some students solemnly rounded up their dead. Some huddled in shattered corners of stone, weeping away the sorrows that grappled them. Some stood, mind blank, at the ghost of a courtyard once brimming with life, now consumed in death.
They found him drowning in blood and dust in the corner of the Shrieking Shack where Harry had last seen him. It took all of his energy to refrain from bolting in against all reason, before Minerva made the hasty dash in his stead. A strangled wimper tore through the woman's lips, as she raced towards the body of a man with so much more yet to answer for.
Fueled by guilt, they found him with barely any life left. How he was able to hold onto those last few breaths as Harry was almost certain he witnessed his last; they could only wonder.
But they had him; he was safe within what remained of the Hospital Wing. He was too critical to be moved, and instead, Poppy had sent for urgent Healers from St. Mungo's to aid in the tragedy that befell the school, and those still clinging to life.
Especially Severus.
Between Harry's task of rebuilding the school with the others, attending devestating funerals, and figuring out where to go from there, he sat with the man crucial to his own survival.
Words heavy in his throat, held down viciously by guilt.
...For hours. Days, even.
On the second day, they thought they were going to lose him. Not even the most skilled Healers could slow the bleeding, but with a small shard of luck, they were able to save him. His own blood dried in every crevice of his face, flooding the wrinkles told of years of such a heavy burden.
Healers moved around him in unspoken duty, knowing exactly what to do and when. A silent, desperate waltz around the injured, easing their pain, and in some cases - retained their dignity until their very end.
On the third day, the Healers found Harry gently wiping away the stubborn dried blood from his face and hands, in his bid to made himself useful. With every careful brush of a damp flannel across the man's pale skin, he made sure to do it as softly as he could whilst avoiding the purple bruises that had now formed around the horrendous gash at his beck.
The man's steady rise and fall of his chest with every heaved breath, was enough to ease their fear.
...The waiting was always the most challenging, especially for the Boy Who Lived.
On the fourth day, the man stirred. Poppy could have sworn he heard a sarcastic mumble, but the wheezing of his throat sent them panicking once more. False alarm, thankfully.
On the fifth day, Severus finally opened his eyes.
Harry was sent an immediate owl from the Weasley's as they made preparations for Fred's funeral.
"Go to him, Harry. We'll be okay here, " Ginny had whispered to him, allowing Harry to slip away from the wailing cries of Molly as they mourned.
Harry's heart raced. He cursed himself for the one time he wasn't at the man's side
"Oh, for goodness sake, Severus, " Poppy sighed; a conversation was taking place beyond the man's partition, "Merlin forbid you have any visitors."
Harry watched as Poppy wandered back to her office, flustered, yet stopped in her tracks once her wary eyes locked onto Harry. Her eyes dulled given what she had to witness in the few days following the War, but he could sense the relief on her face. Her frazzled, greyed-brown hair framed her aging face.
He made it through.
Harry smiled - tired, but now renewed in hope.
His walk sped to a sprint as he peered from behind the partitian.
Ashen eyes glared in exchange, but he too, saw relief on a man he thought would not make it. Severus' neck was heavily bandaged, with crusted blood still mildly seeping through. And yet, his breaths now far more measured and at ease.
A devastating weight now lifted, and paved the way for healing.
Harry's voice tore from him - all that he wanted to say, still embedded into his heart. Instead, he could only nod respectfully.
"W-welcome back, Professor."
