When Severus thought back on those first few days, weeks really, he recalled it as a long, blurry dream.
They were like events that someone had only told him about, instead of being his own memories from having lived them. He remembered them in frames, a few at a time. Then there were blocks of time that were blank, during which he assumed he was eating, sleeping, and speaking to people. Just not doing any of it purposefully.
As he saw it, his life had ended. The life he had known simply wasn't there anymore. Therefore what he was doing now wasn't living, it was... something he didn't understand. He wasn't sure what to do or when to do it. Wasn't sure where he was supposed to be or with whom, if anyone, he was supposed to engage.
So, he just... existed for a while.
At first, it was as a resident of St Mungo's. During his stay there several things happened in quick succession. There had been interviews with Aurors and depositions to Ministry officials- both agonizingly slow processes as Severus was unable to speak with his throat marred with gashes and puncture wounds. Thankfully he'd still had his wand; he was able to spell his statements onto parchment. If he'd had to use a quill he'd likely still be there writing it all out.
There was lots of information given to him and papers signed and, surprisingly, many visitors. Most of whom he couldn't remember.
He remembered Potter though. The damned kid had cried at his bedside. Saying over and over again that he didn't understand why Dumbledore couldn't have told him, why Snape himself couldn't have told him. How things could have been different if he would have known… turned out better somehow.
At the time, Severus just wasn't able to explain it to him. It was as much the wounds impairing his voice as it was the fact that he didn't possess the emotional ability at the time to do so. Incidentally, Potter was in an even worse state.
The war had obviously traumatized the boy. He was completely over-emotional and would have been unable to see it for what it was, even if Severus had possessed the energy and mental clarity to delve into it, to explain the reasons why his fight for the light had to be done in complete dark.
He gave shortened answers to Potter's questions where he could. When he'd had the energy. But mostly he sat there, propped up in his hospital bed, listening.
Potter sat in a low chair drawn up to the edge of the bed, for hours at a time, going over the last few years events and each of his own perceived failings. So many people had died. So many lives destroyed. And the poor sod was putting the blame for all of it on himself. Even with as many pain-relieving potions as he was on, Severus still noted that the boy's excessive guilt was no doubt a result of the old man's manipulating tutelage.
Severus knew all about that.
But to face the thought of Albus, and to tackle his own after-effects of this war, well… He'd just have to deal with that later on.
He wanted to tell Potter he'd made no mistakes. He was still a child for Christ's sakes. He wanted to tell him that he shouldn't have had to do any of it in the first place. But at the time, he just couldn't.
So he let him go on. It was all hard to hear, but it seemed like it was doing the boy some good; getting it out. Severus wondered if he wasn't talking about it with anyone else. He remembered weakly patting Potter's head once, as he sobbed into the bed sheets. He'd again collapsed into tears, that particular time from talking about his mother.
Even now, thinking about that particular moment was uncomfortable for Severus. He would never have imagined himself giving anyone such a gesture of comfort, small as it was, let alone Harry himself. But his actions then had been purely automatic. HIs mind apparently not able to think of anything to say, or write rather, and therefore telling his body to do that instead.
After three weeks, he'd been discharged from the hospital and ended up in Spinner's End. Staring at the dusty furniture and grey walls. Clumsily moving about the space like it was unfamiliar to him.
He didn't currently have an official position at the school. The Hogwarts Board of Governors had visited St Mungo's and informed him that they'd discuss the options when he was was healed completely. And that in the meantime, he'd still receive his teachers salary so he'd have no need to worry about supporting himself.
That sounded awful to Severus. A pitiful charity case. But again, at the time he was only able to nod and agree and sign things put in front of him.
It was only looking back on those days now, five months on, that he could see that he had been in shock. His mind only recently catching up to the fact that he was indeed alive. Scarred, weak, aimless… but alive.
Severus Snape suddenly had years of barren time stretched before him, with the only objective of figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do with it.