Harry Potter and the War of Morgan le Fay

Chapter 3

Note: Camelot is an entire country, as I said in Chapter 1, but there is also the main village that the story takes place in which is also called Camelot. Essentially, it started as Camelot Village before becoming a country, and Camelot Village is still there and the main village of the country.

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Harry groaned, dropping his forehead to rest on his forearm in the grass as the homemade paste was dabbed into the gouge on his hip. He wanted to pull away, but a heavy yet gentle hand held onto his thigh, keeping him still. He had never wished for Snape's horrible, disgusting potions so badly. It had been three days of homemade pastes and boiled leaves in water with the semi-medicinal plants Snape had scavenged from the forest. Although, despite the pain, he had to admit they seemed to be working, albeit infinitely slower than normal potions and balms.

The fingers applying the paste disappeared, but the hand holding his leg remained, a comforting weight that continued holding him still. He rolled his head on his arm and looked at Snape. The man was looking down at the transfigured bowls--the only landless magic besides lighting small fires Snape was willing to perform--that held the various pastes and liquids he had created, and Harry wondered if the man was aware that he had begun to move his thumb on Harry's thigh in gentle strokes. He said nothing about it, enjoying the comfort. He watched the professor pick up his no longer remotely white or even pink shirt, dampened in the river, and knew it was time to wipe the paste from his wound.

Harry let his eyes close again and sighed in preparation, automatically tensing before the fabric even touched him. He groaned again as the shirt was swept over his hip, removing the paste, and then water was poured over it, cleaning it out. He squeezed his eyes tighter, not even caring about the couple of tears that leaked out.

The treatment ended and he tried to breathe deeply, focusing on the thumb that was still moving over his leg. He turned his head slightly again and opened his eyes, just able to see the professor. The man's other hand reached out and pushed his hair aside, out of his eyes.

"Alright?" Snape asked quietly.

"M'okay," Harry mumbled.

They sat for a moment longer as Harry recovered, the pain in his hip receding to more manageable levels. Snape never removed the hand on his leg and brushed his hair back a couple more times. Harry revelled in the care he'd been deprived for fourteen years.

"I'm good now," Harry said eventually and started pushing himself up with his left hand.

Snape helped him up and helped him settle against the tree again. Harry let out a breath at the exertion, sighing in frustration at still feeling so weak. Snape had been just as injured as him, but seemed to be farther along in his healing than Harry, though, he supposed, Snape had likely been through such a thing before having been a Death Eater and spy for nearly twenty years.

"Eat something," Snape said, and Harry took the bowl of berries and raw, non-poisonous mushrooms. It wasn't much and was all they'd been surviving on for the last three days. Snape wasn't willing to use wandless magic to get them any animals in case his power was detected by potential enemies.

Harry popped a couple of elderberries in his mouth and chewed slowly, gazing out at the landscape before them. Three days since they'd appeared in the meadow. Twelve days since they'd gone missing from Hogsmeade. He could tell Snape was getting more and more anxious over being stuck in the meadow without knowing where they really were. They hadn't seen anyone or even anything to indicate civilization may be remotely nearby. Harry knew they couldn't stay where they were forever, they needed help and information, but Harry also didn't want to leave.