He hurt all over. Badly. That was the first thing he became aware of.
The second thing Snape became aware of was that he seemed to be lying in a sort of thick nest made of soft, white, cotton wool. It was very warm and comfortable. He lay quietly for a few moments, enjoying the warmth and softness. He felt…peaceful. There didn't seem to be any reason to move.
A memory nudged at the edge of his consciousness, trying to get in. He tried to shoo it away, but then it came back to him. Potter, walking through the streets of Little Whinging. McNair. A fiery blade coming at him.
A sudden burst of adrenalin shot through Snape and he leaped to his feet. He realized immediately that this was a mistake when a sudden, searing pain shot through his neck, shoulder and side, taking his breath away – a good thing, or he might have cried out. Shaken, he sank back down into the cotton wool. Blinking blearily, he drew his hand slowly forward in an attempt to inspect the damage to his arm and shoulder. Instead of an arm and hand, though, a furry foreleg came into view, with long, leather-webbed fingers. Still in bat form, then.
Snape abandoned the attempt at self-examination – at least for the moment – and began to examine his surroundings instead. He shifted slightly in his bed, and found that it was indeed a nest of white cotton wool he was lying in. Someone had lined a white, cardboard box with the stuff and placed it in – he looked up and around – what looked like a bird cage. For a very large bird, maybe an owl or a parrot, he thought. He sniffed – probably an owl; although the cage had been recently cleaned, his sensitive bat's nose could detect traces of the former occupant.
The cage was a good four feet high and wide enough in diameter to accommodate an owl's wingspan, at least partially. About a foot above his head, a thick, wooden dowel formed a sturdy perch. A pair of jingle bells hung from the apex of the cage. Bent metal strips fixed a cuttlebone to one side of the cage and a small mirror to the other. Food and water dishes were also hung at levels that an occupant of the perch could easily reach. The floor of the cage was lined with clean newspaper, and several inches in front of his makeshift bed Snape spotted two more dishes – one filled with fresh water, the other with – he sniffed – strawberries. Outside the cage he could not see – a heavy blue cloth covered it. He thought it was probably still day, though, as light was filtering gently through.
Snape listed carefully. He could hear outdoor sounds – birdsong, children playing in the distance, tires on asphalt – from a nearby open window. He could hear no movement, no breathing, no heartbeat in his immediate area. Therefore, he reasoned, he could assess his own physical condition without fear of immediate intrusion.
Snape took a quick inventory of his aches and pains. The severest pain was located in his right shoulder. He remembered the fiery blade coming at him and twisted around, gingerly, to inspect the area. To his surprise, it was bandaged quite competently – a thick, white pad was held in place over the wound with strips of gauze that crisscrossed his body between and around his wings and passed around his breast. His keen sense of smell picked up something else under the bandage, too…a whiff of an astringent made from, if he was not mistaken, birch bark; a strain of vanilla, feverfew and rosehips. Strange…he might almost have made this pain-relieving, infection-fighting concoction himself.
Painfully, Snape crept over to the dishes that had been left for him. He was not in the least interested in the food, but desperately thirsty. He sniffed at the water – lavender and chamomile extracts had been added to it; not much – just enough to calm and relax him. He hesitated, then drank deeply before returning to the homemade nest.
Moving carefully, Snape sat back on his haunches and considered the situation. He was…perplexed.
On the face of it, whoever had picked him up had done so in an attempt to help. But who would bother picking up an injured bat in a muggle neighborhood? A muggle child might do it – many children, muggle or wizard, might try to "rescue" an injured animal and try to heal it. But a small child would surely have been clumsier with the bandage, even if he or she could have gotten past a watchful mother, carrying a wounded animal, without being intercepted. And while a muggle adult might know enough to add lavender and chamomile to his water, the complex herb-and-mineral mixture applied to his injury could only have been brewed by a wizard, he would bet his degree on that.
This was another worry. He was certain the animagus revelio charm had been cast upon him – even allowing for the magical injury and the fall, he would not be feeling nearly so sore if it hadn't. If it had, the potion he had invented to counteract the spell (a potion that would not have helped him if he'd transformed through transfiguration) appeared to work, but the strain on his body had been as severe as he'd expected it might be. Every muscle in his body felt as though it had held on to its assumed shape for dear life, and he now ached terribly all over.
So…if a wizard had cast the spell, and his counter-spell had worked, why would that wizard then try to heal him unless he was wanted for questioning? And if he was wanted for questioning, why was he being kept in a cage where he would be unable to transform back into a human? And, most of all, how could anyone even suspect that he was an animagus after animagus revelio had failed? He and he alone knew of the existence of his potion – he had not even shared the invention with Dumbledore, yet. He felt badly shaken by the thought that his disguise had been compromised in some way.
The headache that had been circling like an ominous bird settled in like a conquering enemy. Pain from his wound and recent blood loss weakened him, and, sinking down into the cotton nest, he gave in to the relaxing herbal concoction.
When Snape woke again, his entire right foreleg felt numb, and the pain in his shoulder had subsided to a dull ache. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and tasted the remnants of a fever-reducing potion, with a pain reliever mixed in. Slowly, he opened his eyes and raised his head from his nest.
The cover had been removed from his cage. It was quite dark out – he caught a glimpse of starry sky from a small, square window. A light breeze came in, twirling the drab curtains that framed the window. Without moving, he cast his eyes around the rest of the room.
It was a small room, painted a dull beige. There was no carpet on the floor. His cage hung from a hook in the ceiling in one corner adjacent to the door; in the corner opposite from him on the same wall was a single twin bed with a thin blanket, made but rumpled, as though someone had been lying on it earlier. A battered nightstand with a small reading lamp, its bulb switched on, stood next to the bed. Beside to the lamp on the nightstand was a leather-bound photo album, a half-empty water glass and a book – Snape could just make out the title: Quidditch Through the Ages. On the wall just over the head of the bed hung a scarlet and gold pennant featuring the Gryffindor lion. Arranged at the foot of the bed was a large trunk, the kind students used to transport their things to school.
In the corner next to the door was a tall, shabby wardrobe. One door of the wardrobe had a broken latch, so that it stood slightly ajar. Under the window stood a very small, rickety writing desk with a number of spell books, sheets of parchment, quills, and a bottle of ink scattered across its surface. The simple, straight-backed chair in front of it did not match the desk, and one of its four legs was missing a caster so that it was an inch shorter than the other legs.
The door to the room was closed. Strangely, it had pet door installed in it.
It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out whose room he had wound up in – the place he went down, the Gryffindor pennant, the spell books, parchment and ink, Quidditch Through the Ages. Even the cage made sense; he knew the boy's injured owl was with Hagrid. But Snape was still confused. Certainly, this was not how he expected Harry Potter's room to look. It looked like…a storage room in a house with no extra rooms to spare, thrown together in a hurry for an unexpected guest who would not be staying long. Adequate as shelter (barely), but hardly a schoolboy's sanctuary. It looked like his own childhood room in the house at Spinner's End after he had started going to Hogwarts.
Before he had time to reflect further, the door opened, and the boy himself stepped in, confirming his suspicions.
It was Snape's first close-up view of Potter since school let out. Scrawny the boy always was, but he looked skinnier than ever now. He also looked a trifle on the unhealthy side, with dark circles under his eyes that made his thin face seem even paler than usual. His shoulders were slightly slumped, as though he was very tired, or carrying the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders, or both. Grief over Black, Snape supposed.
Potter shut the door behind him, turned, spotted the bat in Hedwig's cage and grew still.
"You're awake," he said softly.
Not since the boy's first year had Snape seen Potter's expression turned on him with an emotion other than wariness, fear, anger or loathing. Now he looked…curious, but gentle and concerned. He came toward the cage, moving slowly and carefully, as though he were approaching an injured, frightened animal – which, of course, was exactly what he thought he was doing.
"Well, you look like you're doing a bit better, then." The boy kept his voice low, and his tone soothing. "I brought you something fresher if you feel like eating anything. You should try to eat it this time…build up your strength."
Potter carefully opened the door to the cage, lifted out the food dish, and emptied the wilted berries into a wastebasket next to the desk. He added a few slices of apple to the bowl and replaced it, shutting the cage door again. Snape watched warily.
"You should eat those," the boy said encouragingly. "I got a book out of the library so I could see what kind of fruit you'd take…glad I can do this instead of bugs!" The boy smiled a little.
Potter retreated from the cage until he had backed up against his school trunk. Slowly, he sat down on the lid, keeping his eyes on Snape in frank fascination. Probably never saw a bat from this close before, Snape thought sardonically. He looks like a gaping idiot.
"You got a pretty bad rip in that wing," Potter said, still speaking in what he clearly hoped was a soothing, non-threatening tone. "I did my best to heal you with what I have, but I don't know many healing spells and I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school anyway. The Ministry would know."
He sat quite still on the lid of his trunk – stiller than he does in my classroom, Snape thought bitterly. The boy looked relaxed, his hands hanging loosely over the knees of his patched, baggy jeans.
"Well, I'll leave the cover off the cage for you since it's your time to be awake," Potter said finally, apparently decided he was making the bat nervous. "Tomorrow I'll check your wing again and give you some more potions. I'm not sure how long it's going to take you to heal – hopefully before Hedwig gets back. She'd be furious if she found another pet here."
Potter's pet! Snape thought furiously. Merlin, has it really come to this? How am I going to manage to get out of this mess? I wish it had been Dark wizards getting ready to interrogate me, after all!
"Guess I should give you a name while you're here," the boy went on. He appeared to consider the matter for a moment. "I could call you 'Snape' or 'Severus' – you remind me of my git of a potions master!" He grinned impudently.
Snape could not keep back a slight hiss.
"Yeah, you're right– you probably deserve better than that. Look, I'll call you something close – Spartacus. I got that name out of a Roman history book." The boy smiled. "Spartacus was a slave who became a warrior, and freed a lot of other slaves. I think that'll fit you just fine. I'll free you as soon as you're well, too."
The boy rose, retrieved a pair of tattered blue pajamas and a toothbrush from the wardrobe, and disappeared down the hall.
Snape was confounded. How was he supposed to get out of this! Dumbledore would was probably already worried, and what if the Dark Lord called?
Perhaps, when Potter responds to a letter from Lupin or one of the Weasley's, he'll mention me, Snape thought. Then he realized that wouldn't do him any good unless it was mentioned to Dumbledore, since no one else knew he was an animagus. And with all that was going on with the war, it didn't seem likely that someone would casually mention to Dumbledore during an Order meeting that Harry Potter had adopted an injured bat over the summer holiday.
There was a good chance that, when Potter next tended the injured wing, he would risk removing Snape from the cage. But then what? Should he take the opportunity to transform? If so, his cover would be blown, for Snape didn't trust Potter to keep such a secret from his friends. It would be all over the school next Fall – not only was the "overgrown bat" really a bat, but Potter had caged him! Snape shuddered. No, best to wait until Potter removed him from the cage, then make a break for the open window. If Potter left it open. And if the wing was well enough to support his weight. Snape attempted to stretch the injured limb, and, wincing with pain, gave it up as a bad job. Wonderful. I'm going to be Potter's pet for Merlin only knows how long.
The door opened – Potter had returned. He shut the door, stowed the toothbrush away in his wardrobe, and got into bed, removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand as he did so, giving Snape a clear view of Lily's brilliant, expressive green eyes, unimpeded by James Potter's glasses.
"Good night, Spartacus," the boy said quietly, switching off the lamp on the nightstand. He settled down in the blankets and was still. Less than fifteen minutes later, Snape heard his breathing change and knew he'd fallen asleep.
With a weary sigh, "Spartacus" made his way over to his food bowl for a meal of apple slices. This was going to be a long convalescence.
