Title: Reluctant Savior (Chapter 1)

Author name: venus4280

Category: Drama, comedy (yes it can be both when one is playing with Severus)

Rating: Pg-13 for language/intensity- subject to change

Spoilers: all five books- sort of

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended, and I get nothing from borrowing them except the pleasure of trying to write a good story.

Archive: If you want, just email me to let me know

Harry heard the commotion downstairs and was shocked. There had been no tell-tale hairs raised on the back of his neck, no gut feeling, and absolutely no warning from his scar. Nevertheless, when he peeked through the door of his bedroom to look upon the scene below, he could see a black blob- a death eater come to claim him for his master.

Attempting desperately to calm himself, he began to reason through his options. Ever the Gryffindor, a potentially fatal combination of bravery, loyalty, and teenage sense of immortality pulsed through his veins. Harry resolved to descend the stairs and make an effort to defend the Dursleys. Cruel and abusive they may have been, but no one deserved to be tortured by the servants of Lord Voldemort.

Trying not to panic during what could quite possibly be the last moments of his life, Harry searched blindly through his trunk- which had mercifully remained in his bedroom (the result of a well-timed shrinking charm designed to wear off after 24 hours)- for his wand. Frantically rummaging, he shouted a triumphant "Ha" when his fingers closed over the wooden implement. After securing the lid to his trunk, he turned toward the door, determined to do what he could to aid his family. He could still hear his aunt screaming, "must be the Cruciatus," he thought grimly, shuddering in spite of himself.

Harry had only reached the bed, when the door flew open and a black clad figure entered the tiny room. With only seconds to consider his actions, Harry drew himself up to his full height- such as it was- and held his wand ready, pulling reserves from places he didn't know he had.

Next, Harry spoke, his voice cold and sharp like the blade of a steel dagger; his tenor was quiet, but deliberate, and coupled with the fact that his wand was poised to strike, the effect was quite threatening. "Know this, minion of Voldemort, I will not go down without a fight! I will never join your master. I would rather die the most horrible, painful death possible than be turned into a weapon against the light."

The man in black stood, unmoving, contemplating the small figure before him. He absently noted that the boy looked painfully thin, almost malnourished. Still, there was a defiance in his stance, and in his eyes, and most definitely in the way he held his wand. His posture spoke miles of his Quidditch training- tense, battle-ready. In him there was a power beyond other magic, and it emanated from him in waves; there was no fear, merely determination. The older man trembled slightly and would of course deny it later, for he himself was a formidable wizard of great skill and not easily intimidated, least of all by a half-trained midget. However, before him was not the shy , clumsy teenager blushing at some social faux pas or at a mistake made unwittingly in class, nor was this even the handsome, more confident star of the quidditch pitch. No, this was the sole survivor of Avada Kedavra, the wizard who defeated the Dark Lord as a baby and who repeatedly thwarted his plans to regain power when he was little more than a child.

The air between them was charged, and the man in the black cloak decided that he had better put an end to the charade before someone was injured. Although it was perhaps not the most intelligent response given his current situation- namely standing before a trigger-happy, sexually frustrated teenager with a drawn wand who was convinced that he was his sworn mortal enemy- but certainly his preferred coping mechanism: he opted for a sneering insult.

"Potter, did you rehearse that bit from before, or are you just crocked out of your ever-living tree?!"

With the pronouncement of this question, Harry's eerie green-eyed gaze faltered; he then proceeded to open and close his mouth several times in quick succession, clearly astonished.

"Professor Snape?" Harry couldn't believe it.

"What? You were expecting Santa Claus?" Snape too was shaking his head in disbelief, but more at Harry's utter stupidity than due to any surprise at their current circumstances.

"Now, come on! We haven't got all day."

"What?" Harry paused, interrupting himself, "Where?" he just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he was holding his Potions Master at wandpoint in his bedroom… He pinched himself, just to make sure this wasn't some sadistic nightmare. It's not like it would be the first time Snape had appeared uninvited in the boy's dreams.

"Honestly Potter, don't gape; and put that thing away," Severus Snape said, gesturing to Harry's wand, "you might hurt yourself."

"But…" he didn't move, his posture still rigid, his wand still raised. A minute passed, then two, and finally he brought the wooden stick down to his side, stunned. "I could have killed you!" Harry seemed shocked by this reality, almost deploring his reactions, though Snape couldn't tell if the sudden sorrow etched on Harry's face and in the tilt of his shoulders was a result of a perceived missed opportunity or because of a revulsion towards violence and death. Frankly, the Potions Master didn't care.

"Don't flatter yourself," Snape countered nastily, not wanting to get sucked into an emotional moment with his least favorite student, "As if I couldn't handle anything you could throw at me." The older man's disdain was palpable.

Still, Harry remained rooted to the floor, looking rather distraught, "Professor, I am so sorry… I thought you were a death eater… I… I mean…. I don't have my glasses and all I could see was black. I…I heard my aunt's screams and just assumed that Voldemort had finally breached whatever protections and wards Dumbledore erected here," all of this came tumbling out of his mouth in a great rush, he appeared flushed and quite exhausted, but the story continued, the need to justify himself, to Snape and to himself, was clearly written on his face. "I was going to try and help them when you came in here…"

Snape interrupted him impatiently, "and here I thought this was the way you expressed your gratitude." The words were harsh, but the expression on the Potion Master's face belied the rancor in his voice, but as Harry couldn't see much of anything at this point, the contradiction was lost on him.

"Oh, and I assure you, your disgusting relatives are still very much alive and unharmed."

Snape added as an afterthought. Harry just nodded; his eyes staring at some point on the floor beyond his feet.

"I do believe that you have wasted enough of my time with your drama this afternoon. Are you ready?"

Again Harry looked surprised, as if his emotional outburst had wiped the memory of the professor's earlier requests for departure.

"Merlin's owl!" Snape's patience was clearly wearing thin. He stooped down until he was roughly at Harry's height and then spoke very slowly as if to a mentally deficient child.

"Dumbledore told me to come and get you, to take you to Hogwarts- I don't know why, so don't ask!" He paused, observing Harry's reaction to his speech. "Enough, now come!" he beckoned.

Finally, Harry moved from his position by the bed, stumbling in the general direction of his trunk. Kneeling on the floor beside it, he made sure the latch was tight before rising again to survey the room. Scanning the area, he found that the quick motion of the blurry surroundings coupled with his horrendous headache made him quite dizzy- he reached out to the bedpost to steady himself, and Snape shot him an appraising look.

"Do you see anything I might have missed?" Harry seemed to wince at the sound of his own voice reverberating in his skull. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub his temples in hopes of alleviating some of the throbbing pain behind his eyes. He continued, softly, "If I leave anything behind they are not likely to send it to me."

Snape tried to squash the rising tide of sympathy within him, appeasing the emotion by grabbing what appeared to be an owl cage from the desk and a book on quidditch from the windowsill.

"Thanks" said Harry, sincerely, struggling with the trunk.

"Back off!" Snape responded sharply.

Harry looked bewildered, thinking rather uncomplimentary thoughts about where Snape must have been raised based upon his lack of manners. He managed to limit his response to a mere perplexed, "What?"

Again Snape shot him a death glare, accompanied by a sneer that said, "you really are a stupid git," all this was lost on Harry, though, as he reluctantly stepped away from his possessions.

Snape proceeded to pull his wand out of the billowing sleeve of his robe and cast a spell- "reducto" he muttered, causing the trunk, cage, and book to become small enough to fit in his pocket.

"Are you finished dawdling now? I really do have some pressing things to attend to that do not involve the fetching of the ungrateful and idiotic 'Boy who Lived.'" Severus really had a talent for making even the simplest question into an insult.

"I think so," Harry replied.

"Good." With that, he pocketed Harry's things and turned toward the door once again. Harry followed the professor down the steps unsteadily, only to meet with the sight of an enraged Uncle Vernon. He loomed menacingly: a purple-faced, thick-necked, seething mass, bent upon punishing Harry.

"Boy, what is the meaning of this…this… intrusion?" The vein in his forehead seemed ready to burst. Harry faltered in the face of such anger, unsure of how best to defend himself.

"It's bad enough," Vernon continued, "that we have to suffer under this roof with you and your abnormality – but to invite one of your kind…" he was so mad he was spitting, his rage building by the second. His cousin Dudley was snickering in the background- though it should be noted that he had his back, and thus backside, firmly against the wall, and his hand covered his mouth when he laughed.

Vernon, continued his tirade before moving to brutally strike Harry, who was at this point bracing himself for the pending impact. Clearly this had happened before.

Snape took this opportunity to intervene. Seeing that foul muggle raise his hand to the Boy Who Lived… really, it was enough to make even the most unfeeling of wizards quite livid. The Potions Master snatched Harry from the line of fire and said in a voice that permitted no argument, "that will be enough of that." He fixed his death glare, a look quite renowned and feared among his students, upon the three Dursleys and placed his hand on his wand to emphasize that he was not to be trifled with. The trio looked on in fear. Harry, by contrast, looked stunned, but grateful. Shaking his head, Severus thought, "God, what does Potter think of me? That I would allow him to be smacked about in my presence in retaliation for something over which he had no control. Sure I don't like the boy, but I certainly don't condone child abuse."

At this, Snape propelled Harry to the front door, and both strode from 4 Privet Drive without looking back. Once in the driveway of the offending abode, Snape stood thoughtful for a moment. He had planned to apparate with Harry to Hogsmeade, but as he gazed critically upon Harry, he didn't think they would make it. He noticed the lines of pain around Harry's eyes, from a headache- or perhaps something else, Snape thought darkly, reliving the scene from the Dursley's sitting room. Not to mention the fact that it looked as if he hadn't eaten or slept in the five weeks since he had returned home from Hogwarts. All in all, he was rather surprised Harry had remained upright this long.

Snape directed Harry to the curb and stuck out his wand. Suddenly, the Knight bus appeared and the two boarded the vehicle, as Harry shot him an apologetic look that said 'I am not sure I have any wizarding gold with me and I can't see well enough to find it right now even if I did.'

The silent communication between the two was suddenly interrupted by the annoying attendant.

"'Ey Ern, it's 'Arry Potter, it is!

"Yes Potter," Snarked Snape snidely as he ushered him down the aisle, "Perhaps you should sign a few autographs; I wouldn't want you to disappoint your fan club on my account."

Harry turned and fixed a death glare of his own on the Professor, the potency of which was all but eliminated by the fact that Harry's knees chose to buckle under him at precisely that moment, forcing the Potions Master to grab him around the waist to keep him from collapsing to the ground. It was then, as Snape tried to inconspicuously ascertain that Harry was okay without embarrassing himself or the boy further, that Stan noticed the man accompanying the Boy Who Lived was none other that the sarcastic Potions Master with the caustic wit, Severus Snape.

Stan stammered a greeting, cowering in fear, "P-P-Professor…- Uh, 'ow y-you been?"

"Considerably better since you graduated," Snape retorted icily, all traces of any kind emotion exorcised from his being. "We want to go to Hogwarts, how close can you get us?"

"To the 'ogwarts' Express Station, I expect" answered the driver.

Snape nodded his approval and joined Harry on a bed toward the back of the bus, wondering idly how often they washed the sheets. When he approached Harry, the boy had his eyes closed, and was absently massaging his temples, gritting his teeth.

"What happened to your glasses, Potter?" Questioned Snape, softly, not wanting to exacerbate the young man's condition.

"Dudley" Harry answered shortly, unwilling to elaborate.

Snape nodded, feigning interest in the discarded copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the bed next to them; meanwhile, he observed Harry- his black hair was disheveled as usual, but he couldn't see the emerald eyes, as they were closed. Snape couldn't help but think that Harry looked so young and innocent, even more so, without the distinctive, albeit unflattering, spectacles.

Snape snorted derisively, the boy, even at 15, going on 16- of age in the wizarding world- was no more than 5'3." Thin, frail looking, he couldn't believe he had actually been afraid, even momentarily, of the person now sleeping next to him. If this was the only hope for the future of the wizarding world, Snape couldn't help but think, 'Merlin help us!!'

TBC