Harry watched as Severus cut a piece off of his robe and poured some rubbing alcohol into a small bowl that he had transfigured. That act alone tired the Potions Master, but the boy needed to be healed as soon as possible, and they had no way to get back to the castle at the moment.

Hogwarts had been under siege from Voldemort and his Death Eater for the past year. There were currently 200 of them camped outside the wards, waiting for someone foolish enough to stray outside, or the day when the wards fell because they weren’t able to be maintained. The most magically powerful and physically healthy of the inhabitants worked on the wards. In the beginning, it was all of the professors except Hagrid; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Vector, Sinistra, Pomfrey, and Snape.

While there was good food to eat, all of them were able to cast the spells easily. Soon though, famine began to spread. Food was being controlled by the Death Eaters, as was the mail. Unsurprisingly, very few owls made it to Hogwarts. They began to ration their already limited supplies, but all too soon they were relying on what they were able to hunt in the forest. Tiny professor Flitwick was the first to fall, attempting to keep up his part of the wards. Hagrid had carried him to the infirmary, and the others had taken over for him, but he wasn’t the last. Next Sprout, then Vector, then Sinistra. Pomfrey needed all of her strength to heal whenever possible and with whatever limited supplied they had. McGonagall and Dumbledore were stubborn, but they were also the eldest among the staff, and eventually they too had stopped. Everyone was relying on the castle’s natural defenses, and whatever spells Severus could cast. He was the youngest of the professors, and he was the only one used to going without food, so the first few weeks of little food meant nothing to him. It had been months now, and slowly, like everyone else, his reserves were dwindling.

“What happened Potter?” Severus asked, dipping the torn cloth into the bowl. He had found Harry lying motionless on the floor of the cave in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

“I thought I saw a deer,” Harry replied, watching as his teacher examined his arm. It was badly cut, and still bled sluggishly. “I followed it, and ran into a chimera. I got away, but it wasn’t pleased.”

“I can see that,” Severus muttered, glancing at the deep cut on Harry’s arm and the burn on his leg. “Foolish boy, you should know better than to wander off in search of phantoms. There haven’t been deer in these woods in a long time.”

Harry’s reply was on the tip of his tongue, but all that escaped was a hiss as Severus applied the cloth soaked with rubbing alcohol to his wounded arm.

“I have no potions to heal you Potter, nor any ingredients to make any,” Severus said tiredly, “And I must renew the wards soon.”

Harry looked at the emaciated Potions Master, black eyes standing out even more prominently in his thin face. “You should rest sir.”

“That wound needs to be healed before it becomes infected,” Severus replied, “And you can ill afford an infection in your current condition.” The students were as affected as the staff, only slightly better off since none used magic much anymore. Magic used energy, energy nobody had.

Harry said nothing as Severus cleaned the wound, cutting another strip from his black robes to bind it.

“That will hold it until it is safe to go back to the castle,” Severus murmured, glancing outside before turning his attention to Harry’s burn. It was sunset when Severus had found Harry, and only fools traveled through the forest at night. With everyone so weak, there was no way anyone could fight.

Harry felt bad that his professor had been forced outside to find him regardless. He had never liked Snape, but he had found a new respect for the grim professor in the past months. He did everything he could to keep the students safe, whether it was healing them or strengthening the wards. Harry had seen him giving his rations to some of the students who were suffering the most.

Severus carefully poured water from his flask on Harry’s burned leg before wrapping it with another strip of cloth from his robes. It is a good thing my robes have excess material. Severus stood, with the intention of checking to make sure nothing was prowling outside the cave, but he fell to his knees after a second.

“Professor,” Harry cried, reaching out to the other man. “Snape, are you ok? What’s wrong?” After he asked, Harry wanted to hit himself in the head. He’s been doing more magic than anyone else, then he had to run after you. Nice Potter.

“I am fine,” Severus replied, shifting from his knees to sit opposite Potter, his back resting against the wall of the cave. “I sprained my ankle while I was searching for you. I was able to ignore it then, but now I was reminded of it.”

“Shouldn’t you splint it or something?” Harry asked, not too certain. He knew nothing about first aid and always felt useless when someone was injured around him.

“Ideally, yes,” Severus responded. He had given up the foolish grudge months ago, and now simply treated Harry like he would a colleague in the Order. “However, seeing as I cannot walk, I fail to see how I can get twigs to use as splints.”

“Oh, right,” Harry replied, flushing. He looked at the black clad professor hopefully. “I could get them.”

“Potter,” Severus sighed, and his tome was infinitely weary, “You will need all of your strength come daybreak when we will need to head back to the castle. You’ve lost a significant amount of blood. Sleep. Save your strength for when it’s most needed.”

Harry said nothing, simply nodded his head at his professor, acknowledging the sound advice. Save his strength to be able to walk back to the castle. Save his strength so that he could help the professor.