Salvation – Chapter 2

Potter and I are sitting next to your bed talking the afternoon you return to us. It has become a bit of a habit with he and I. We gather here, in the little room off the medical wing, at lunch hour. I update him on your condition and he updates me on the Death Eater trials.

I have been given direct orders from the Ministry to remain at the school as your attending. Yours is an extremely high profile case, and you have been labeled a ‘person of interest’, though the list of things you are being accused of looks more as though the only thing they find ‘of interest’ about you is how long it might take you to succumb to a Dementor’s kiss.

Potter was offered an Auror apprenticeship at the Ministry, but he turned it down, requesting instead, to be permitted to return to Hogwarts to complete the seventh year he missed. McGonagall was more than happy to have him, and has been good to make allowances for him to leave for the Ministry whenever he is called upon to give witness. I think that he probably just needs a few months to get his feet under him again. The Granger girl has returned too. The Weasley boy took the Auror apprenticeship instead.

Yesterday’s hearing did not go well, and Potter looks exhausted. The excellent food and Quidditch matches have put some meat and muscle back on his bones over the last few weeks; the goatee and long hair remain. It’s got the sixth and seventh year girls all a twitter from what I can tell, but he is oblivious. The Weasley girl still hangs on him as though he was her whole world, but sometimes I question whether he even sees her.

He rubs a hand wearily over his eyes and leans back in the chair beside your bed to stare down at your still form. “I just don’t want to admit the memories as evidence unless there is no other way to keep him out of Azkaban. I…I don’t think he would want it.”

“Is it that they consider your testimony subjective?”

He nods. “It all hinges on his relationship with my mother, which is obviously disputable.”

“You know,” I sigh. “The council may not even allow the memories as evidence. There is legal precedent in a few other high profile cases declaring extracted memories as inadmissible. They are too easily tampered with. I would say that your known hatred of one another, coupled with your recent change of heart should be better evidence than the memories themselves, but who am I to say.” I smile weakly. “That’s why I went into healing and not politics… I abhor these little games the Ministry plays in the name of ‘justice’.”

Your breath hitches and he looks down at you, a furrow between his brows. “He’s been doing that a lot lately, do you think…”

I shake my head. “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s been in a coma for nearly four months. There’s scar tissue building up in his trachea. We’ve been removing it a little at time to be certain that it doesn’t restrict his breathing, but… Well, it’s possible that we’re still missing some of it.”

He nods, but his eyes remain on your face. You are so gaunt now you look twice your age. It is hard to keep you nourished in your current state, and there is a question of whether the residual venom in your system is keeping your body from being able to absorb the nutrients in what we do give you. Slughorn’s leant me some of his best Potions students in the evenings, and we continue to work on purging the last of the toxins from your system, developing brews to heal the brain tissue no doubt damaged from such excessive blood loss and lack of oxygen. I’ve told no one, but I sometimes fear for you.

Your breath hitches again and this time you begin to cough. Other than the few times when Poppy and I have removed scar tissue, I have never heard you do this before. The coughing quickly turns into something that sounds more like choking, and I stand up motioning toward Potter. “Help me sit him up. Quick. Support his head.”

He does so, his face a mask of fear and hope.

“Poppy!” I shout. “Get in here!”

You start to vomit – bile and old dried blood. Poppy’s face appears in the doorway her eyes widen, and then she races across the room, grabs a bed pan which she shoves onto your lap, and then races out again, returning in seconds with an armload of potions.

“Dittany!” I cry. “Give him the lot!” You are vomiting straight blood now, and I’ve no idea where it’s coming from.

“Internally? All of it?!” She looks nervous.

“Do it!” I shout.

We wait for a break in the vomiting and then tilt your head back slightly, allowing Poppy to pour the contents of the bottle down your throat. You cough and sputter, shudder a few times and collapse against Potter’s chest, shivering violently and then falling suddenly and disturbingly still. He stares down at your head against his chest, and then lifts his eyes to mine. He’s terrified. “Is he…?”

I race around the bed and feel for your pulse. With a sigh of relief, I look back up and meet his searching eyes. “No Mr. Potter. He’s not dead.” I feel a tear escape to roll down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Here…” I reach out and lift you gently from the boy’s chest. Poppy’s propped up enough pillows behind you now that together Potter and I can lean you back into a reclining position. I start a little at the sight of your black eyes, open and scowling at us – especially at Potter.

“Severus? Your eyes move to me, and for a moment I’m not sure if you know me, but then I see a flicker of what looks like recognition in your eyes. It’s a good sign, and I feel some relief wash over me.

“Professor…Sir…” Potter stammers. You look back at him and your mouth curls into something that looks like a sneer. It’s obvious you recognize him. The boy reaches up and runs a hand over his hair. Apparently he’s guessed the source of your disdain.

“Oh stop being a pill, Severus.” I say. “Harry’s only concerned about you, and how he’s chosen to style his hair has nothing to do with his ability to help me attend to your care.”

Your eyes snap back to mine and you open your mouth. I cut you off, scowling back at you, giving you a rather good dose of your own medicine, I think. “And don’t try to talk, if you please. You’ve just been vomiting blood, and I need to find out where it’s coming from.”

Your mouth snaps shut again, but your eyes are shooting daggers at me, at Potter, even at poor Poppy, who’s done nothing at all.

“Now hold still,” I order. I lift my hands, bringing them to hover just above your throat, and begin to cant the necessary incantations. I can feel your eyes on me, but after a minute or two, my technique must satisfy you because I see you visibly relax. Wherever the blood was coming from, the dose of dittany seems to have done its work. It worries me though.

When I am done, I look up. You are looking at Potter. He’s sitting in a chair across the room, the sleeves of his white school shirt rolled up, his forearms smeared with your blood. He has his head in his hands. I think that maybe he is crying.

You must feel me looking at you because your head turns suddenly to look at me. “Gwen…” you rasp. It sounds like gravel drug across sandpaper.

“No talking,” I snap again, but my heart is singing. You do recognize me.

“How long…” you manage.

I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. “What did I just say?”

But your eyes are almost pleading. “How long have you been under?”

You nod.

“Nearly four months.”

You slump back against the pillows and your eyes slide shut.

“It’s over,” I continue. “The Dark Lord is dead, and Harry is alive. And as you can see,” I motion to the room around me. “Hogwarts is still here. A little battered, granted, but still up and running, so…”

Potter’s watching the interchange from across the room. I reach out and lay a hand softly on your shoulder. “It’s over Severus. You did what you had to do, and you did it well. So stop worrying and just rest.” I look up at Potter and smile, and then back down at you. “Don’t worry Harry will be here again tomorrow. You can thank him for saving the world then.”

Your eyes snap open again and darken. You open your mouth, to object but I hold up a hand. “Uh, uh, uh… No talking...”

XxxX

By the time I get to the medical wing early the following morning Potter is already there. He’s asleep in the chair across the room, and he’s a good day’s growth on his face. I wonder if he spent the night. I move quietly to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. He jerks awake, his eyes wild for the briefest of moments.

He blinks up at me, and then relaxes a little, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Did you sleep here all night, Harry?”

He nods and yawns, his eyes moving beyond me to your bed. I turn to find you looking at us both blearily.

“Good-morning, Severus,” I smile.

You just glare and then roll your head over to stare up at the ceiling.

Yesterday had many revelations most of them unpleasant. Now that you are awake it’s allowed us to get a better fix on your condition. Talking and swallowing are extremely difficult and painful. Fine motor skills seem to be a challenge too, at present. Whether this is due to so many months of prolonged inactivity, or to brain damage I’ve yet to determine. I’ve expected you to be in a foul mood about it, but if the recovery period is excessive, I worry that you spirits might fail you entirely.

Harry stands up and walks toward your bed. “Good-morning, Professor.” He is attempting to sound cheerful, but he still sounds tentative and almost nervous.

You say nothing. If I were to chide you on it, you would no doubt argue that I had ordered you not to talk.

I smile in spite of myself, and pull back the curtains letting in the morning sun. “You’d best go get ready for classes, hadn’t you Harry? You’re already missing your afternoon classes to go to the hearing.”

He nods.

You’re still ignoring him.

He leaves glumly and I bustle about with my usual morning rituals. “There’s no need to be so friendly. You’re going to start disgusting us all with your cheeriness.” I tease, but you still stare at the ceiling. I take a deep breath and start to prepare things to bathe and shave you.

“Who…?” you force out.

“Who what?” I ask.

“Who did….this…?” You glance down the length of your body.

“Who saved your life, you mean?” I can tell by the dark look in your eyes that it is. “Well you mostly, I suppose. Had you been dosing yourself with antivenin, then? That is the only thing I can sort out. You should have died.”

“You…should have…let me…” you manage.

“Well, you’re welcome,” I scowl. “It was Potter and Malfoy, the younger one, who brought you in. Poppy and I, as well as several of my healers and some of your former students did the rest. Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood make a very good little brewing team. I told them they should open their own apothecary, but you know…”

I sit down at the side of your bed and lay out the shaving implements. You look at them darkly as though they have been designed purely to torment you.

“Do you need to use the loo?” I ask. I can get the bed pan, or Poppy and I can help you get up. It will probably do you some good to start using your legs again.”

“I’ll do it…myself…” you scratch out.

I sigh. “I don’t think so. You’ve been abed for nearly sixteen weeks. Your legs aren’t strong enough to hold you.”

“I’ll do it myself!” you bark. This of course results in a jag of violent coughing again and I worry that the mysterious bleeding from yesterday might start up again.

“If you must talk, then whisper!” I bite back. “I don’t want you undoing all the hard work we’ve put in these past weeks just because you’ve a need to assert your blasted independence!”

You look a little taken aback at the forcefulness of my reply. I forget that you were headmaster until only recently. No doubt you aren’t used to people questioning your assertions so vehemently.

Poppy’s bustled in now, and her cheerfulness seems to break some of the tension. “We’re getting you up today, then, are we Severus? Very good - up with you then.” She comes to my side of the bed to assist me, whipping back the blankets and reaching down to support you under the arms and ease you into a sitting position.

You shrug out of her hold, and slowly swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touch the floor and you push yourself up a little to test them. You’re only up for a moment before you collapse back down onto the mattress.

“Do you believe me now?” I inquire.

“Fine…” you rasp.

Poppy and I assist you and when you are done we bring a chair into the shower. You insist on being left alone for that, and so I stand just outside and wait for you to call me in when you are finished. You are in there for a very long time, so I wander back in after a bit. “Are you alright?”

“Fine…” I hear your gravely whisper over the rush of the water.

“I won’t lie to you, Severus; things are going to be a challenge, but I assumed that you would rather live than not. If I was mistaken in that then I apologize….” There’s no response from you, so I continue. “You really should make an effort to be a little kinder to Potter, you know. He’s been here from the start. He almost never leaves your side.”

The water shuts off, and I reach behind the curtain to hand you a towel. You snatch it weakly from my hand without a word.

I give you what I consider to be a reasonable amount of time and then peel back the curtain. I’ve brought you a clean nightshirt and I slip it on over your head before helping you up and back to bed. I could tell when I was assisting you with Poppy’s help earlier that her assistance wasn’t really needed. You’ve gotten so thin that I can easily support you myself.

I tuck you into bed and start to lather up the shaving cream. I can see you eyeing me darkly. “You’re not doing this on your own. Your fine motor skills are far from what they need to be before I will allow you to take a blade to your face.”

You make a non-committal sound somewhere between a grumble and a sigh. I smile. “It’s good to see you again, Severus. When you wrote to enquire after the Weasley case a few years ago, I had hoped that I might be honored with a visit, but given what I know now I suppose it would have been impossible.”

I smooth the cream over your face, and I feel you tense a little. “Does it hurt you – to be touched?” I remember that Arthur Weasley was hyper sensitive to touch for some time after his attack. It seems to be a side effect of the venom. Though enough time has passed in your case, I think, that you shouldn’t still be experiencing it.

You shake your head.

“Then relax…” I murmur. It seems that you’ve become more tightly wound rather than less over the years. Your muscles ease a little and your head falls back against the pillows behind you. You don’t look at me as I shave you, and I don’t say anything. I sense something from you, but I don’t know what.

I’ve noticed it since yesterday, the old empathetic connection we once shared. It’s reasserting itself rather quickly now that you are conscious. I sense a strange sort of sadness in you, but also fear. But fear of what?

“You’ve missed a lot while you were under. I should probably let Potter bring you up to speed on all that. They’ve starting trying everyone suspected of connection with Voldemort. You are a ‘person of interest’ right now, but Potter is…” The fear jumps out and grabs at me so suddenly, that I know I’ve stumbled across its cause.

I’ve finished shaving you now, so I towel off your face and then reach out and take your hand. You twitch at my touch, but your eyes never leave the ceiling. “You’re not going to Azkaban, Severus. Sometimes I think that Potter would die before he would let that happen, and it’s not just Harry. I will do whatever is necessary to prevent it. And Minerva…”

Your eyes snap to mine then. “Minerva…” You stop for a moment, fighting back a bout of coughing. “Minerva would be…happy…to let me…rot,” you whisper harshly.

“No Severus.”

You glare back at me bitterly, challenging me to contradict you again. I sigh. “She’s in to see you nearly every day.” If you are surprised or encouraged by this I cannot tell. My leaping to address a concern you did not voice earlier, has apparently alerted you to the fact that you were too open. You’ve shut me out again.

I sigh, and squeeze your hand gently before getting up and beginning to clear away the shaving implements. “She asked to see you last night, but I said she had best wait, given all the excitement of yesterday. She will probably be in later today though, so you can see for yourself.”

XxxX

I have actually been a little concerned for the headmistress the last few months. She seems to be blaming herself for a great many things, and one of the greatest of those is not seeing through the ruse, not intuiting the fact that you and Albus might have had a plan. I’ve told her that neither you nor Albus would have been doing your jobs very well if she had been able to tell, but she only shakes her head, her eyes filled with a sort of guilt-ridden weariness, and mumbles, “But I’ve known him since he was eleven… I should have known… I should have seen it…”

I’m out on the ward helping Poppy fold bandages when Minerva arrives, Harry at her side. She bustles in with her usual smart, abrupt manner, but once she reaches me, I can see her confidence start to fade.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes,” I nod. “I told him you were coming.”

“And is he…”

“He’s not to speak too much; you understand. I’m still trying to determine if his voice will improve with time, or if the damage to the trachea and larynx are too severe to allow for a full recovery. For the time being, I don’t want to put any undue strain on it.”

She nods, and I smile. “I think he’s starting to feel a bit better, though. He’s in a foul mood. Here,” I snatch a small bowl of warm broth off of the table by the door to his room. “His fine motor skills are still too poor to hold a full spoon. Poppy and I have tried to get him to eat it. No luck. Maybe you will have more success. He shouldn’t take more than a couple of spoonfuls at a time. Wait about thirty minutes and then give him two or three more. If you can get him to eat, I’ll be most grateful. He’s a rather difficult patient…” My tone is light, but she looks pained.

We enter the room. You are about your usual pastime of staring at the ceiling. “Severus, Minerva is here to see you. Do try to be at least passably civil, will you. If you alienate all your visitors you’ll be left with no one.”

You mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, “suits me,” and then roll over with your back to Minerva and I.

I smile at her. “Good luck.” And then I leave the two of you alone.

Harry falls in beside me and starts to roll bandages from the pile of gauze on the table when I return, and Poppy leaves us to do her evening rounds.

I look up over my folding and shake my head at the dark rings under the young man’s eyes. “You need to start spending the night in your own bed, Harry. Severus doesn’t seem to know the difference. In fact, at present it seems that he would probably prefer that you did.”

“They want him in Azkaban,” he states flatly, as though not hearing a thing I’ve just said. “They’re fairly crying for his blood. I…I think I may need to admit the memories as evidence, but I…”

“Well, he’s awake now at least. You can ask him.”

His hands stop mid roll. They tremble slightly, and I look up. His eyes are full when he looks up to meet mine. “I can’t…” he whispers. The tears spill over then, and I set the bandages down on the table, and lean back against it.

“Why?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head and wipes away the tears with the back of his sleeve. “Well, he hates me, doesn’t he, and…and how can I blame him. I…I should be able to do this one thing for him, after…after everything he’s done for me. If I can’t…if I can’t do this, just this one thing for him, then…” His voice trails off, and he looks down and away, bringing a hand back up to his eyes.

“Harry, this doesn’t entirely rest on your shoulders, you know. There are others of us who can…”

“No. I’m ‘The Boy Who Lived’, ‘The Boy Who Brought Down the Dark Lord’!” He sounds almost as though he wants to choke on the words. “They all worship me like I’m some sort of god, but I’m not. They don’t understand. It wasn’t me. It was never me. It was Dumbledore. It was Hermione, and Ron, and…” he raises his arm and jabs his finger in the direction of your room, “and him. And it has to be for something – all of this – all this fame I never deserved; I never asked for. It has to be for something, or…” He’s shouting now, and Poppy’s hurrying over from across the ward, and Minerva’s appeared in the doorway to your room.

“Mr. Potter!” There’s something about the sternness of the headmistress’ tone that seems to snap him back to his senses. His cheeks are flush and his eyes full and a little wild. He turns suddenly, and for a brief moment I wonder if he will snap at her too, but her scowl seems to stop him. “Mr. Potter,” she repeats. “Professor Snape would like to see you.”

“Has he eaten?” I ask.

She just shakes her head.

Harry swallows hard and smoothes a hand over his hair. “Go on…” I urge.

I follow him into your room, determined that you should eat something. You are leaning forward when we enter, as though trying to hear what is going on in the room beyond, but you sit back now, your black eyes focused on Potter, narrow and dark, and filled with censure.

Harry looks back at you, unwaveringly. He’s managed to gather some courage from somewhere. I wonder where it comes from. The look you are giving him would even cause me to quake in my shoes.

He stands up a little straighter. “What?” He’s challenging you, challenging you to give voice to your thoughts. As long as you don’t start shouting at one another I’ll allow it. There are things between you that need to be said.

“Fame…getting to be…too much, Potter?” You spit out his name as though it is a pejorative.

He just stares at you, and you cringe a little under the steadiness of that gaze. You rally, though, sneering derisively. “Overly dramatic…selfish…arrogant…” you manage.

I want to point out that you might as well be looking in a mirror while tossing out such accusations, but I don’t.

Harry’s cheeks turn scarlet, and I set the broth down on the table the other side of your bed, pulling out my wand to heat it.

“I…I’m trying to help you!” He’s angry now.

“Don’t bother…” you choke.

“Well…well, maybe I want to!”

“Oh yes…” you whisper harshly. “I’m sure that your sentimental little heart is just bursting to share all the pathetic details of my useless life!” That was a bit much for you to spit out at once, and it induces a prolonged and grating cough.

Harry watches you struggle for air, and I walk over to get the potion across the room that will relax the spasms. I’m halfway back to your bedside when he strides forward and reaches out for your arm, no doubt unable to stand by and watch your suffering any longer. The minute his hand touches you, you tear away.

“Don’t!” you bark between wracking coughs. “I don’t want your pity!”

He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes again. “It’s not pity!”

You glare at him with so much hate it turns my blood cold. You are so focused on Potter now, so completely wrapped up in what you are feeling that you’ve forgotten to block me. I feel everything, every ounce of seething pain, and loss, and hate; of bitterness, grief, and self-loathing.

“You loved her – my mum, and I…”

“Don’t’ you dare…” you choke out, and it is more of a sob than the growl that I expected. “You’ve no right to…” And now there are tears in your eyes too.

“I have every right!” Harry shouts back at you. “She’s my mother!”

“AND SHE’S MY…” but your voice trails off. What can you say after all, what was she ever to you.

You’re gasping for breath now, the spasms in your injured throat making it almost impossible to breathe let alone speak. I stride forward and fill a spoon with a dose of potion.

“Enough. Here…” I shove the spoon under your nose. “Take this before you asphyxiate.” You look at the stuff for a moment, and take it quickly, grimacing at the bitterness as it runs down your throat. “Now,” I continue. “You are going to eat, this…“ I point to the bowl of steaming broth on the bedside table. “And you are going to let Harry help you, and if he comes out and tells me that you are refusing, I will be most displeased. You do not want to see me displeased, Severus Snape; I can assure you of that.”

And with that I turn and march back out to the infirmary. Poppy and Minerva are standing there, staring at me dumbfounded. I close the door behind me and sigh, leaning back against the wall, exhausted. “Are they always like that?” I ask with a weak smile.

“For the most part –” Minerva still looks agape.

“Well,” I push away from the wall and brush past them to take up the bandages again. “Merlin knows they’re going to have to learn to get along some time.”