I've never truly read a fanfiction before, however I enjoy writing stories.

Summary-No pairings Severus is injured and thrown uncaringly into the woods of Surrey where he is found and healed by a seven-year-old Harry Potter. What would life have been like if Harry had grown up under the influence of Severus Snape?

Disclaimer- I do not claim any rights to Harry Potter nor am I gaining money from this fanfiction.

Guarding Harry

Prologue

The warm glow of the suns brilliant light filtered into the clearing peaking promiscuously through the leaves of the trees and splayed purposely down on the pale face of a certain dark haired man. The man seemed out of place in the forest clearing, bloodied and beaten. He seemed broken, not only in body but in spirit as well. His long dark hair was matted in the spills of blood, and his eyes swollen shut. Dried cuts littered his body like a garbage dump, and a foul odor, that would need a weeks worth of washing to get rid of resided around him.

All this was being observed by the curious emerald eyes of a small child. The boy hadn't meant to stare, and he knew he was wrong for it as well; his aunt always said not to stare at people to long, but this man looked too awful for the boy not to stare.

The boy stepped farther into the clearly as he had been standing at the edge of the trees surrounding the area before. Cautiously he crept forward trying his best not to make a sound, something a boy his age should not be able to achieve, or even thought of achieving. Under the circumstances, however, he did a fare job of it. Considering the fact that he had worked and strived to walk around these woods soundlessly everyday, in order to escape his cousin and his cousin's friends when they initiated the worst game (and only) he had ever player. Harry Hunting.

He continued forward until he was two steps away from the man. Most children his age would be too frightened by the blood and the foul smell to come this close to a stranger stranded and injured in the woods. But Harry couldn't leave the body here, nor could he run off and tell his family, for they would surely think he had a play in the man's injuries.

Harry watched the body intently looking for any sign of life. Harry was a bright child, and had suffered enough bruising from his Uncle to know the extent of this mans injuries could easily result in death. He hoped the man was alive though, but the man's chest did not rise or fall; neither did it look like he was struggling to breath. Harry felt his shoulder shaking, his breath coming in gasps. What if the man was dead? What could he do? Would his aunt smack him around again if he tried to talk to her? Would his uncle belt him across the face this time for finding something 'freak like?'

'Grhhhhmmm.'

Harry jumped as he heard the soft grunting that left the thin lips of the man. He wasn't dead! How could he be? A dead man doesn't grunt. At least, Harry didn't think they did. After all he was only seven, how many dead men could he have seen?

Harry almost whimpered in happiness. The man was alive! But he held in his gratitude and excitement. The man was still hurt, and unless Harry wanted to be faced with the man actually dieing this time, he would have to do something about the injuries himself. And he felt him self coming to a loss, what could a seven year old do for a man, who looked like he was on the brink of death?

Harry racked his eyes over the damaged body. He had to stop to wonder what could have been capable of the damages inflicted on this man's body. Harry could honestly say, as he trailed his emerald colored eyes calculatingly over the large slash on the man's upper stomach, that he had scars on his scars. No amount of beating from his Uncle could ever amount up to the wounds the stranger bore. Though Harry was sure he'd come close a few times.

Slowly incase the man was still conscious and able to move Harry knelt down and leaned a little closer. His shoulders remained rigid and his muscles strained. He was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, and would not hesitate to do so. Harry wasn't stupid. He knew quite well how foolish he was being. Trying to help an injured stranger that could be a killer for all he knew. But his compassion would not let him go.

Harry scanned the body looking for any flesh wounds, those he knew he could heal. Those were simple. It was the internal and private wounds that worried him. He was sure the man would no enjoy being harassed by a seven year old as they checked his more private areas for any damage. He felt embarrassed just thinking about it.

Harry leaned forward on his hands and knees trying to look at the bruising of the pale face with close scrutiny. There was a small red mark that stood out angrily on the man's left cheek. He leaned closer to get a better look at it. Perhaps to see if he would need some stronger disinfectant, and almost had an early heat attack when coal black eyes shot open. He gasped and fell ungracefully backwards onto his butt, His Elbows dug into the dirt as he used them to quickly scramble backward, doing a rather awkward crabwalk.

Harry was sure the man would shoot up from his incapacitated spot on the cold hard ground. Oddly enough the man did not shoot up and murder him. And yes, Harry admitted, his imagination got away from him for a while. He was sure that as he trailed his own pale fingers over the scars on the man's face, he for a frightening second saw coal black eyes flash open and stare directly into his own. But when he looked back at the scared face, the strangers eyes were closed and covered by wispy strands of dark hair. Harry just played it of as his fear taking over him.

A/N: This is in fact my first fanfiction. I only wrote it cause a friend said I should write fanfiction when i'm bored.