The Last Thing To Mend
By tearsofphoenix
Standard disclaimer applies – it's all JKR's
This story was meant to be just a whim showing a hopeful possibility hidden in canon, and to be a little one shot. Once started with a sequel-chapter, though, it seemed irresistible to me to complete the tale by writing the awakening of the Prince; so this is why this drabble - consisting of exactly 900 words - came out, once again told mainly from Harry's pov and through rhymes and quotations.
A big thank you, this time too, to Whitehound for the editing and to Lady Memory for the preview.
Hermione's abrupt movements startled Harry, who was still mesmerized by the outcome of the enchantment. As if it burned, she let go of Snape's hand, blushing and leaving the room in haste.
Relaxing, Harry thought that Hermione's flight, albeit delayed, meant that she had finally come back to her senses. Or perhaps that the magic witnessed till some moments before had run its course, once the healing was accomplished.
Approaching the wizard's bed, the boy noticed a slight movement from Snape, and understood that he was finally awakening.
Half-closed eyes, the sensation of a soft touch still lingering on his lips... Snape was indeed becoming aware of his surroundings…
…in which Potter, his last sight before passing out, was showing himself again, this time as his first vision after the ordeal. And the boy was sporting such an unexpected and pleased grin that, connecting it to his first conscious perception, Snape's horrified eyes shut again, while the young wizard went calling for the Medi-witch.
She arrived at once and declared that, thank Merlin, recovery from now on would be fast and certain.
Having heard those words, Harry left; but, still disconcerted by the turn of events, he decided all the same to keep a watchful eye on the man during the days to come.
A week later, seeing that Hermione had never been among those who had come to greet the revived hero, he decided that he could, from now on, lower his vigilance a bit.
And, once having dismissed his worry, he was also glad of the fact that, in those seven days, Snape had got not just a full recovery, but perhaps more than he had ever received before in his life.
From his watching corner, Harry recalled the many visits, listing them in his mind like a Christmas Carol…
The first day of Snape's recovery McGonagall gave him her apologies and fragrant short-bread.
The second day Sprout cuddled him with flowers and chocolate.
The third day Slughorn offered him a bottle of old Ogden's and a résumé of the latest news.
The fourth day Sinistra brought him new robes for when he would finally leave his bed.
The fifth day Trelawney lent him her crystal ball to see happy years forthcoming.
The sixth day Hagrid put on Snape's bedside table a little pet for good luck.
The seventh day Flitwick gave him an explanation about the charm involved in his healing.
Unbeknownst to Harry, a similar train of thought was lingering in Snape's mind: had someone else really cared for him, showing openly as much affection as the charm required?
Remembering who he had seen at his bedside, he couldn't believe it; so, shrugging, he took his new pet – a twitching spider in an enchanted web, at which the Charms Professor had winked oddly – and, shaking his head, left the room.
His stride put an end to the boy's reverie, while the sudden sight of Hermione reawakened Harry's attention. She halted, mumbled a few incomprehensible words to Snape, then looked at the man, her chin raised as if awaiting a spiteful comment.
Snape, however, didn't talk but, certainly unaware of his own sudden action, cupped her chin with a gentle gesture. Under Harry's disbelieving stare, something seemed to be spread through that touch. As if enlightened by an unexpected realization, the wizard's expression relaxed and, looking at the shadows under the witch's eyes with great intensity, he finally spoke.
"What's troubling you so much, Miss Granger?"
Wrong-footed, she babbled something about lack of sleep, adding that she had asked Madam Pomfrey for a vial of Dreamless Sleep…
"I've tried to do without that, but I can't, though I'm afraid of becoming addicted…"
"I… ah… am not new to these troubles myself," he interrupted. "In fact, I brewed a variation of that potion for myself, in order to reduce that risk."
She relaxed and finally smiled, giving him an understanding nod, full of sympathy.
"So," he continued, "if this is really what you need, you may consider accepting some of my reserve … or exploring alternative solutions…"
She didn't show surprise at such kind interest, and nodded again. Hesitantly, but quite suddenly, he added, blushing:
"I was just going to my quarters, so… shall we discuss this more comfortably? Would you… as they say… step into my parlour?"
Harry frowned. Those last words were ringing like an alarming echo in his memory!
Hermione's smile, though, had brightened so much that the boy was forced to abandon his worries. During the last several days in fact she had looked miserable, and Harry had blamed it on the war, on Ron's leaving with his family, on her parents' absence… but now her sadness was definitely vanished, no doubt there.
And no surprise, either, at such an affinity: putting aside even his consideration on Ron's behalf, Harry surrendered, thinking not just of the charmed kiss he had witnessed, but of how both of them had always been brave, protective and devoted in spite of appearances…
… so, watching them leaving companionably, he remembered a Muggle proverb he had heard when he was a child and, alone in his cupboard, he used to watch those little spiders while dreaming of a better time.
Its words seemed the best to tell, at last, the moral and the end of the story:
« If you wish to live and thrive,
let the spider run alive. »
AN. The line "Will you walk into my parlour?", often quoted as "Step into my parlour" or "Come into my parlour", is the opening line of "The Spider and the Fly", a famous poem by Mary Howitt which, along with the English proverb put at the end of this story, seemed to me very nice for the conclusion of this series of drabbles.
For those who don't remember it, I'm copying just the first strophe, since it is longish, but those who are curious to read all of it the verses can be easily found on line.
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."