Title: The Sketchbook, the grump and the wheelchair
Written for: meeee
Ratings and Warnings: Mentions of genitalia, also strong language at times
Word Count: Around 33k all together
Summary: The Boy Who Lived had grown up to be The Man Who Lived in a Wheelchair, and although he's quite happy with a life of solitude and sketching - everyone else seem to think they know better. Will the reappearance of Professor Severus Snape in his life change things for the better, or will it end in aggravation like always?
Author notes: omg whaaaaaat~ First time using the phone app to update, hope it works! On a coach all day T_T
THIS WORLD AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MY PROPERTY AND I MAKE NO MONEY FROM THEM. I JUST LOVE THEM AND ALSO WANT THEM TO LOVE EACH OTHER*
Harry woke in a cold sweat. Pale light filtering round the edges of his bedroom curtains told him it was just past dawn, but it wasn't the sun that had awoken him. He grimaced at the dull pain in his left arm. Cramps seized the hand so strongly he could barely move his fingers from a fist into a claw. When he tried to get up, pain also lanced down his spine. Yup, just like the good old days. Great. His head swam, and he wasn't sure for a second if he'd fallen off the bed or not. Thankfully, he was still sat up when the bout of dizziness passed.
He intended to go straight to Snape at first, but then he caught the smell of urine and realised he should wash first. Or should he? He had no idea if this was serious or expected, if it was worth letting Snape know what he'd already gone to lengths to keep secret. He couldn't think clearly. Maybe a bit of warm water would help with the cramps, he decided. Not because he was vain, of course, it just made sense. There was no reason to hide the worst from Snape, when he'd seen it all before. He simply didn't want to disturb him until he was sure it wouldn't pass. That was all…
He was gasping by the time he made it to the bathroom, and he tumbled gracelessly into the tub without undressing or setting a towel out for himself first.
He was sick into the plug hole, so he pulled himself further back in the tub and carefully turned the water on to get rid of it.
After a minute to calm his breathing, he fumbled the buttons on his shirt open with only his right hand, and twisted the garment off awkwardly. He slid the trousers and pants off together, then stopped again to recuperate. The water jug felt heavy in his hands and he only filled it half full, but the hot water did relieve the cramps enough that he could use his left hand to wash himself down with the loofah while he poured with the right.
He got shampoo in his eyes, and let that be his excuse for the tears. He didn't even want to be doing this stupid treatment, and now it was going to take him right back to some of the hardest and most painful days of his life. He didn't care about his damn legs! Everything would be fine if only everyone else cared as little as he did, instead of pushing all this shit on him to fit their own descriptions of what a life worth living looked like.
He dripped water all over the floor, and soaked his wheelchair in the quest for a towel and some clean clothes, but at least the pain had abated to a manageable level. He put a second towel over his wet chair and went to find Snape. Neither man nor teapot were in the kitchen, so he guessed that he hadn't come out of his room yet.
He knocked, but there was no answer - it was still very early in the morning. Frustrated, he knocked again and was about to enter uninvited when the floo flashed behind him.
He spun, expecting somehow to see Snape standing in the half light of the now burning grate. What the fuck? Instead, there was Dylan Edwards, star chaser for the England quidditch team in all his glory. Tall, handsome and thick as shit. He also happened to be Ginny's current boyfriend, from what Harry knew from Hermione's constant insistence that he keep up with the goings on in his ex-girlfriend's life.
"Heyy, Harryy, glad I found you mate," he drawled in that annoyingly unplaceable accent. As if they'd just happened to bump into each other here of all the unlikely places, and it was completely normal etiquette to turn up at your partner's ex's house at the break of dawn uninvited. "Prepare yourself, I'm coming in hot."
Harry recoiled as the man moved towards him with outstretched arms. He did not accept the hug, but it happened anyway. At least, it tried to. "Oh, right. Sorry," Dylan said, like he'd only just realised Harry was in a chair and wouldn't be standing up to meet him halfway. He held out a fist for a bump. "Put it there, little man."
He didn't seem to notice when Harry did not "put it there", or that it was rude as fuck to call someone "little man" simply because you had to look down on them through virtue of not being a para-bloody-plegic. Dylan looked around, from Rayburn to window and back to the fireplace, commenting on the choice of curtains and the lovely countryside view.
"How did you get in here?" Harry demanded. There were only two people other than himself who could give access to his private entrance to the floo network - Hermione and Mrs Weasley. It was a sick joke if either of them had given this trollop permission.
"I used the floo, mate," Dylan said, then paused his private tour. "Oh right, you can't use it can you. It's like… A network of fireplaces you can magically travel between."
Harry felt a vein pop in his forehead, and was so outraged that despite his open mouth, no words could come out. Did he just-? How dare-?! He couldn't even finish the sentences in his own head. "You-! I know how the bloody floo works, but could you please deign to tell me why the fu- Why you came to see me? At-" he glanced at the wall clock. "Half past six in the morning." The stress was making his arm worse, and he gripped it to his chest with a grimace.
Dylan feigned surprise. "Oh man, is it that early? You know, I forget not everyone has to keep such a strict workout regime as I do. I've been up for hours. Must be nice for some, eh?"
Harry was about to explain just how nice it was for 'some', when Dylan was off again. "Heyy Professor Snape we were just talking about you, how're you doing?"
Snape stood framed in the doorway, eyes sharp though he must have been mere moments out of bed. As Dylan moved towards him for an obvious hug, he whipped out his wand and held it at arms length, eyes wide.
"Move one step closer and I will slash you into so many pieces they couldn't identify your ear from your penis."
"Oh man, you crack me up. I gotta tell Gin that one when I get home, she'll be in hysterics," Dylan replied easily, like the dense arse he was.
Harry opened his mouth to explain that they had not so much as insinuated that Snape even existed, in this house or the universe in general, never mind been speaking about him in the brief, insane conversation they'd had so far. What came out instead was "Help me."
Before Snape could move, Dylan turned back to him with a grin so wide it was in danger of splitting his head open, saving Snape the job of cutting it himself. "Oh my wand, 'help me' he says! That is the weirdest fucking thing, I swear. I was literally here to do just that, isn't that such a coinci- consid- uh, weird thing. I don't know if you can read the papers, but they are shitting all over your image right now, and it's like guyyys stop, Merlin can't you see he's got enough gravy on his roast?"
The press? Since when had he cared about the press. Jesus Christ, one of them was going to end up dead if Dylan didn't leave soon. He tried to scrub his hands over his face, then clutched his left arm again at the pain of trying to lift it. Why was everything coming together in such a momentous fuck-up of a morning? The day wasn't even properly going yet and he was already more than done with it.
"-so I thought I'd come over and get your blessing, you know. Show 'em that you're all cool with me, like I know you totally are."
"Blessing?" Harry ground through his teeth, gripping his arm tight enough to cut circulation. "What do you need my blessing for at this time in the morning, surely you can take a shit without-"
"My wedding, Harry. It's in like three months and everyone's going batshit crazy 'cause you've suddenly called in the greatest mind in the potions world to sort you out, so you can bust up the party and steal her back just in the nick of time." He spoke each word as if it were the obvious truth. "Honestly mate, I think it's totally romantic and I'd be so into it except you know, that chick is hot as fuck so I have no intention of giving her up for a good story. Not even for a great guy like you, know what I mean?"
Harry gaped. No, he did not know what Dylan meant. Did people seriously think he was trying to win her back, after they'd both chosen to break up? He'd been living his life without her for years - not pathetically pining and planning some stupid scheme to win her back like a shitty muggle romcom. He'd had nothing to do with Snape's appearance at his home, and if it had been left up to him it would never have happened. He looked at Snape to see if he was as confused as Harry himself was, but he couldn't tell. Was this some kind of joke? There had been a time when he might not have put it past Snape to do something like that, but not now... Or was it a stupid plan from someone else, thinking they knew what he wanted from his life better than he did? Who would be that dense? Surely not Snape. He'd not volunteered to come, anyway. That had been down to... To Hermione.
Hermione, who had organised the whole fucking charade, because obviously she knew he secretly wanted to get back with Ginny so they could have their happy ever after just like he'd wanted as a teenager all those years ago. Of course. The room swam and it took him a moment to gather himself. The walls had taken on a leaky grey hue that sucked all colour from the room.
His blessing was nowhere near required nor heartfelt, but he knew it was the one thing he could do to make his immediate situation twenty times less stressful. "Sure, yeah, got it." He said quickly, before Dylan could start up again, trying to mimic his speech so that he would definitely understand. "Dude, you are such a great guy. You've really convinced me by turning up uninvited at my home at an ungodly hour and totally undermining the little dignity I have. You have my blessing for your wedding, I can see now that you're just the kind of headstrong, awesome guy Ginny needs to be happy."
He tried herding the other man towards the fireplace, but the quidditch player was utterly immovable so he only embarrassed himself waving his arms at a statue. "Are you serious?" Dylan asked.
"Totally and utterly. You're clearly a perfect match for such a, uh, hot chick like her. Speaking of, you should totally get back and tell her the good news, am I right, er, dude?"
"You are totally right, my man." Dylan replied, patting Harry on his shoulder and finally starting to move. "You are the shit, little dude. I just knew you'd get it."
He turned to go, and Harry quickly added one last question, while the thought had occurred to him. "Hey, I don't suppose you've seen my friend Hermione recently, have you?"
Dylan grinned. "Oh yeah, she's a bombshell and all, Harry my boy." He turned to Snape with a grin. "I don't know what this guy has, but he has a train of chicks after it every day, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm gunna get out of your hair, I'll see you next time mate."
"If I ever see you again, you'll be lucky to ride a broom again your whole life," Snape replied coolly.
The man laughed. "Oh my days, you two. Soo funny, just wait until I tell Gin-" The fire swooshed green, and once Dylan was gone Harry wasted not a single second before flipping over the metal grate that held the logs inside, extinguishing the flames.
He hissed from burning his fingers, clutching his hand in his lap as Snape aquamenti'd the coals that had rolled across the floor in every direction. "Did you know?" Harry turned on him, aware that any danger in his voice was lessened by the wince he made on using his aching, cramping, burnt hands to turn the wheels of his chair.
Snape stepped backwards once, twice. "About the wedding, or..?"
Harry winced again as he propelled his chair forwards until their legs were crushed together and Snape was forced against the wall behind, half-bowing over him. "No, not about the bloody stupid wedding. Did you help her plan this? All this… shit!" He was getting so wound up it was making the cramps worse. They seemed to be crawling up his neck, harder to ignore. He had a dropping sensation in his stomach, like he'd just gone over the edge of a cliff.
The professor shook his head, frowned. "Harry, I don't-" Oh yes, he was 'Harry' now, was he?
"Let me get this straight in your head," Harry growled, ramming Snape's legs again. "I don't give a shit about that wedding. I don't give a shit about my damn legs, or Ginevra bloody Weasley. I didn't even know it was happening until a few minutes ago, and I certainly have no plans of getting my legs back just to win over a woman who was so short sighted and shallow as to believe that I was not good enough without them. In fact, I never had the intention of calling you here to play healer at all, for any reason, because I've already learned to live with myself just the way I am. All I wanted was a quiet life where I could do what I love, when I choose. Which you'd all bloody well know if you removed the sunshine you've shoved so hard up your own arses it's shining out your eyeballs, and actually listened to anything I've said for the last four. fucking. years." He was breathing heavily and sweat trickled down his forehead, but he thought he managed to reverse with some dignity at least. Snape stumbled, still too shocked or confused to speak, but Harry didn't care. "I don't want your bloody potions, and I never did. You're free to go."
He spun around, dizzying himself for a moment, and made for his bedroom where he planned to brood for the rest of the day. A unpleasant tingle climbed like a hundred spiders from the small of his back, up his spine to his neck and down his arms. His hands twitched as the sensation reached them.
"Your hands-" Snape protested.
"I'll take some paracetamol," Harry shot over his shoulder - or at least, he got most of the way through the phrase before his face got taken over by the tingle, and dark blue blotches blossomed in front of his eyes. He felt his arms fall to either side of the chair, and his head roll to the side. He thought he heard Snape's warped voice calling his name.