Chapter Text
James swears it’s an accident!
He knows the second after the quaffle makes very violent contact with its unintentional target that nobody is going to believe him, especially not with how he was just talking up his aim with Longbottom second before; posturing loudly.
Because it’s Severus Snape who the quaffle hits.
The Slytherin goes down hard between two rows of bleachers—just past the right ring, low in the stands—and to James’ horror, he doesn’t seem to move until Evans, who had shrieked loudly in fright, twists in her seat to grab at somewhere indistinct.
He flies over as fast as he can.
Regulus Black, who was just a foot or two away (looking like he was trying to make his two friend groups get along, good for him) is the one to jump up, racing away to get help, quickly followed by Mckinnon, who may as well be the Gryffindor co-captain at this point.
Of all the places for the quaffle to go…
Of all the people to hit!
Stomach clenching with anxious nausea, James watches as Snape is helped to sit up, grabbing at his shoulder even as blood streams down his face and into those dark eyes. He doesn’t look good. He looks like he’s between passing out and tossing on his shoes.
In fact, ‘not good’ is an understatement.
“Bloody hell.” James breathes out, docking off his broom next to Evans, who’s too busy holding up Snape to glare the way he knows she would, green eyes fierce. “I’m so sorry. I really, really didn’t mean to! I swear I’ll never do this on purpose. Again. I’m, you know I’ve changed. I’m so sorry, Snape.”
But Snape just mutters something truly incoherent.
“Oh my god.” Evans says, voice panicked. “We need to get him to Pomfrey.”
As if on cue, Madam Hooch arrives on James’ left, right in front of Snape. His head is dripping blood onto the wooden bench. Is James going to throw up? Her broom shrinks into her wand, pointed and ready. “What on Helena’s hedge did you boys get yourselves into now? I was gone for ten minutes.”
“Questions later, medical attention now!” Evans snaps.
“Right, then. Potter, I will spell him to be nearly weightless, I want you to carry him whilst Miss Evans here keeps him steady. As Head Students, can I trust you to get him to the infirmary? I need to deal with this crowd and the rest of your team.”
Which she really does need to do, given both Black brothers are loudly arguing on the pitch, wands drawn. James is more concerned with Sirius’ beater bat.
He barely needs an excuse to use it.
Especially when Regulus gives as good as he gets.
“Yes.” Lily says immediately. “And his name is Mister Snape!”
Her hands move to brace Snape to stand—Snape who looks like he can barely hold his head up. His bleeding head.
Merlin, he’s going to have nightmares about this.
Madam Hooch casts the lifting spell and James takes initiative, crouching in front of Snape (who, at least, has enough wherewithal to flinch away from the chaser who just brained him) and has Lily help by wrapping Snape’s arms around his shoulders, dead weight helping to keep him up.
Standing is easy but there’s a pressure in his chest.
Hand slipping—Merlin—under the back of Snape’s slim thighs, he tries not to think about the fact he has to touch his ass given he’s already damaged the other boy enough for today, he lifts him up easily. Securely. Thankfully, Snape’s head tucks safely in the crook of James’ neck, and he is reassured by the tickling breath.
The blood is slick and warm on his skin.
“Get the doors?” James chokes out.
It’s a bit terrifying to watch Snape get placed on an infirmary bed, Pomfrey flitting around him and pouring potions together, pulling out different salves and setting a sling for his shoulder at the foot of his bed. It takes him a while to stop bleeding and after pulling the curtain, she finds more cuts along the top of his shoulder blades and right elbow.
James and Evans, at some point, start holding hands and promptly crush their fingers together.
Eventually after poking and prodding and a careful process of getting the loopy boy to drink potions without choking or spilling, he starts to come to. Pomfrey audibly goes through all the steps with him, which also lets the two Gryffindors know that he’s got a dislocated shoulder and a wicked concussion.
The quaffle hit Snape in the shoulder and he hit his head on the bench going down, which she said they should be grateful for, given how dangerous neck injuries are.
Evans dug her nails in at this part.
“Mister Snape, would you like to take a dulling potion or a calming draught before we set your shoulder?” Madam Pomfrey asks, voice calm. “I know you have had to try a calming drought in your fourth year, I’m sure you remember that class, but you should know the potion will make you drowsy.”
Snape shakes his head.
James would accept both in a heartbeat.
“Want to hold my hand?” Evans asks him.
But he shakes his head again.
Pomfrey turns to James then, motioning him forward and he follows instructions after a moment, almost scared to step towards someone in such a rough shape. “I will need your help, just to hold him still while I pop the joint back into place. I’ll show you exactly where to go.”
“Um,” James winces. “I don’t think it should be me.”
“Potter.” Snape says, voice shaky. “Just do it.”
This leads to him sitting on the edge of the bed next to Snape, one arm crossed over his chest and the other wrapped around to hold onto his back. It’s jarring having Snape so close, smelling of blood and the cut-healing salve, and something distinctly sweet.
Because he really is holding him.
A too-cold forehead from blood loss presses onto his shoulder, soaking the heat out of him through his thin button up—he had to take his blood-stained practice robe off. He’s trembling in James’ arms and it’s shocking to realize he’s feeling protective of the other boy.
James just… he used to treat him so terribly.
He’s never hurt him like this before.
But sometimes mental stuff is worse than physical, can’t it be? He can’t believe he used to be that kind of person; the kind of person who would be a bully just for the hell of it. It was such a gut-punch to have to evaluate his whole life at the age of fifteen, standing between a werewolf and the boy he thought he hated because his best mate thought it was funny.
There was nothing funny about it.
Snape could have died.
A disturbing, bone-crunching and tendon-snapping crunch-pop! is what breaks him out of his thoughts with a flinch, arms tightening around Snape. To his left, he hears Evans gag. He lets out a hard breath and is amazed that all Snape did in response was clench his fist into the waist of James’ shirt and inhale audibly.
What kind of pain tolerance does he have?
This isn’t anything that his bullying would have caused. Not in the slightest.
“There.” Madam Pomfrey says, stepping back. “You’re lucky you’re in the minority with that left hand of yours, Mister Snape. Not many students are able to so much as scribble down a legible word after injuring their right side. A silver lining, I’d say.”
“Hm.” The Slytherin makes a noncommittal noise.
Neither of them pull away from the other.
James is kind of scared to, like Snape would fall apart.
And he’d fall apart because of James.
“A quaffle to the head, Potter!” Is how Professor McGonagall announces her presence, dark green robes flowing behind her as she rushes into the space, not even phased by how James is holding Snape or the fact that Snape is letting him. Which means she’s right pissed.
“Shoulder.” Snape mumbles into his shoulder.
James winces as the professor’s expression sours. “It was an accident.”
“It was an accident, Professor.” Evans adds on helpfully. “I saw the whole thing. He and Longbottom were aiming for the third ring and missed. We were just sitting in the perfectly wrong spot—Sev would say the same thing if he wasn’t able to toss.”
Oh bullocks, is Snape going to toss on him?
Well, it’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it.
“This is still inexcusable as not only a seasoned quidditch player, captain of the Gryffindor team but also as a Prefect, Mister Potter.” McGonagall says. “I simply cannot believe you’d be so careless on the pitch, and the fact that it was around Mister Snape you were that makes me question how intentional this was.”
James opens his mouth, feeling the blood drain from his pitch. “Professor, I swear it was an accident. I really—even when I was messing with Snape, I never did this. I mean, maybe I knocked him with a few light ones, but those were intentionally not meant to hurt him.”
Pushing lightly on his chest, Snape pulls away.
He tries not to let his anxiety rise whilst shuffling away to the edge of the bed, standing as he breathes deeply, gathering his thoughts the best that he could. “I wouldn’t do this. I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Mister Snape,” Professor McGonagall addresses him. “Do you believe that Mister Potter lashed out at you?”
Dark eyes dig into the side of his head thoughtfully and James is relieved to find that it doesn’t take much time at all for Snape to shake his head. “He did not.” He says simply, voice still shaky and sounding coarse, deeper than he normally is. “It is not up to belief.”
Evans steps closer to his side, hand coming up to rest on the back of his head.
“Snape doesn’t lie.” James comments, nervously smiling. “I’m not—this isn’t funny! I’m just freaking out!”
Out of all his professors, he thought that McGonagall would trust him on this. She knows exactly how much time it’s been since she’s had to give him detention, since she’s even so much as heard a whisper about how much the Marauders and Snape are at each other’s throats.
It’s not a thing anymore.
She knows that.
“Mister Potter, you know that I have petitioned for you to be Head Boy. Which, you also know, is a very delicately chosen position here at Hogwarts. Two students get this title per year and it is an amazing opportunity to be given, something that will help you throughout your career path.”
“And I’ve done everything right in order to be worthy!” He protests. “This was an accident.”
“Accident or not, I simply cannot have my nomination behaving in such a reckless way without rectifying it with equally drastic consequences. Your underclassmen and peers need to feel safe with you.” Her voice is completely no-nonsense. “You and Mister Snape need to get along more than ever. You are the responsible party in my eyes; you being the catalyst for your shared history. This will not, as a supposed accident, go on your record only if you meet my terms.”
“Off record is good, Potter.” Evans says.
Terms? The professor just got here!
How’d she have time to think of terms and conditions of some obscure punishment?
James gulps at her sharp tone, struggling to meet her eye. “What’s your terms?”
“First you must know I am including Mister Black and Mister Lupin in this as well, as I know their behaviour influences yours, often for the worst. I am unwilling to take chances. We will discuss this more in my office once your parents arrive.” She announces, turning around. “Pomfrey, is Mister Snape in good condition?”
“Anemic but functioning!” The healer chirps.
Snape grumbles something under his breath.
“Excellent. I do believe the two of you boys remember where my office is?” With that, Professor McGonagall turns on her heel and stalks out of the infirmary.
The hair on the back of his neck stands up in the same way it would if he was genuinely in danger, causing James to jolt and snap his head to the right to find Snape glaring at him, face impossibly paler than normal. “If I am dragged into a mess three weeks before summer holiday because of your shit aim, Potter, you are going to have a very bad experience.”
James nods, not trusting his voice.
He’s really done it now.