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: Warning for short chapter.
Author notes: Short chapter, but I like it~ Not long to go now.
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*
"- must have been dormant, and reacted with the crupnor root to take a new hold on his nervous syste-"
"- to give you a new injection, this one will halt its progress and protect the brain. Sit tight in there or else I'll never forgive myse-"
"- wouldn't want to see you, even if he could. He was very upset… Yes, I understand that, but the fact remains. Until he says otherwise, you won't be seeing him again… Optimistically? Weeks... Oh dear, that must absolutely bloody awful for-"
"- never have gotten involved. I am neither altruistic nor masochistic enough to help you in some stupid game to win back a woman's heart. I hope you can believe that. Oh, what am I saying, you can't hear m-"
"- remove him from my care, he will be dead inside of three days. I am the only person in existence with the depth of knowledge and expertise in the relevant potions and muggle technologies required to pull this off. St Mungo's can shove its-"
"- a bit flattered, to be honest, though looking over them I'm not certain I should be flattered at all from the way you drew-"
"- could I possibly have to say to the newspapers? I don't read their drivel, and wouldn't believe them if I did. I don't believe what they write about me, so why on Earth would I believe anything else they publish? Let them write whatever they damn well-"
"- so entwined that removing the curse could cause catastrophic damage. Never mind his bloody legs, it would be safest to regress it to its previous dormant state to save his arms… What? Well it's a good thing I couldn't give a flying fig about your expert opinions Doctor, or he'd have died thrice over in the last f-"
Harry groaned. His head felt like a plank of wood after a karate class. The room swam into vision hazily, pale yellow walls affronting his eyeballs. He tried to turn over but his hips felt stuck. Right. His legs.
"Fucking pain the the arse," he muttered, voice thick. His mouth tasted awful. He'd clearly fallen asleep in the spare room after what felt like a heavy night of drinking. He must have been lying on his left side, because that arm was dead and numb. He felt around with his right hand for his glasses, but felt something soft and stringy instead. Hair? Oh god, it was hair. He recoiled in disgust from what could only be a dead rodent or.. or something larger and rounder with much finer, longer hair?
He felt like he should remember what it was, but his head was pounding. Where were his glasses?
Another man's groan made him jump back in surprise. The dead rodent was a man. There was a man on his bed, he thought in alarm. He really had been pissed last night.
"Ughh, Harry, what..?" Whoever it was, was just waking up with what sounded like a hangover as bad as Harry's.
The mattress tipped, angling him towards the person who had just climbed up beside him. Evidently they had been kneeling or sitting beside the bed, then maybe fallen asleep like that. He found himself picked up and wrapped in a pair of hard, skinny arms. "Merlin, you're alright. You're awake."
Harry tried to pull away from the hug, but was only released to arm's length. His vision was starting to clear now, and he could see the dark shape of thick black hair framing a face so pale he could only see it squinting. It was… Snape? What was- oh.
Oh! Just like that, everything came crashing back. Hermione coming over for tea, Snape moving in, going to town, slipping in the bathtub, so many drawings, then there was- the wedding. Hermione's stupid plan, and Snape calling his name. He felt like there was more, something else he should be remembering from afterwards, but there was nothing between then and now.
He took a calming breath and let Snape hold him upright for a minute. "Do you have a pain potion? I think my head exploded. And my glasses. You got my glasses?"
His left arm was still numb, the thought of which sent an unpleasant crawl down his spine. Snape released him gently back down to the pillows, though he tried to stay upright. He just didn't have the strength for it. "I have your glasses here, let me just…" Snape awkwardly slid the glasses onto Harry's face, sliding a finger over his left ear when the temple tip caught against it.
Harry couldn't even swat him away, and his sight didn't seem much clearer even through the glasses. He blinked a few times, then yawned as a wave of exhaustion crept over him.
"Don't try to get up," Snape instructed, though the likelihood of that was infinitesimal. "I'll bring you some water."
He didn't remember falling back asleep, but the air felt different when he came back around and Snape was in full robes. Why did he think the man wouldn't be? There was a glass of water by the bedside, and he could tell from the pearlescent shine on the beads of condensation around it that it had been charmed to stay cool. He tried to sit up, discovered that he could barely move his left arm, and then groaned instead.
"Harry!" Snape rushed to his side, just noticing he was awake. It was like he had been worrying over him - evidently he'd gone insane while Harry was sleeping.
"Help me up," he instructed, voice croaky. Merlin, what awful thing had crawled into his throat and died there? He managed to lean up on his good elbow, which unfortunately turned him to face the wall. Instead of helping, Snape was trying to push him back down, talking about rest. Harry cut him off to insist: "I am sitting up."
Snape sighed loudly, but complied in helping - well, carrying really - him into a seated position with his back against the headboard. He then picked up the glass and insisted on holding it while Harry drank, this time not listening to his protests. "Just a sip at a time, I don't want you being sick again."
Again? He frowned, at that and the other thousand unanswered questions vying for attention in his confuddled brain. He asked the most immediate one. "What's wrong with my arm?"
"It will be fine," Snape said, taking said arm and rubbing a thumb across the palm to demonstrate that Harry could still feel it, then turning the motion into a hand massage of sorts. "The curse decided to return with a vengeance, but we managed to batter it back down and you should get back all or most of your previous strength."
"We?"
Snape summoned the stool and sat down, still holding on to Harry's hand. "Myself and a team from St Mungo's."
St Mungo's? Something about that niggled at Harry, and he tried to remember what. "You were arguing," he said faintly.
"At times," Snape agreed. "There were some who felt that it was the perfect time to remove the curse entirely, without threat to your brain stem which I had fortunately shielded. I'm uncertain now whether it was the right course, but at the time I decided that the risk of extra damage was too great. You could have lost the function of your arms as well as your legs, though you may regret that we did not try to-"
"I don't." Harry said. "I've said it before and I will say it again, I did not ask for any more healing and I didn't want it either. I just wanted to get on with my life, as much as I could." He didn't mean to sound accusatory, but there was no avoiding the truth that Snape had put him through second hell, even if he'd purposefully let it happen so that he could draw the man. Oh God, and Hermione. How could she…?
"I am aware of that now, although I should point out that at no point during the many weeks of treatment until you fell ill, did you ever say as such to me," Snape replied reasonably. "Had I but known that my presence was unwanted, do you think for a moment that I would have stayed?"
Harry looked away, hunching his shoulders up to cover his neck. He swallowed - was Snape going to leave, now that he knew? Of course he would. There was no reason for him to stay here when he had the school to get back to.
"Harry?"
He shrugged, couldn't bring himself to look back at Snape. "I didn't want you to leave," he murmured. Quiet enough that he was sure the man couldn't hear, even as he hoped otherwise. He felt tired again. Snape was right, he should not have sat up in the first place. If he hadn't, he could have used the blanket to cover his face.
Snape moved his head closer, leaning forwards on the stool with a light frown. "Pardon? I think I misheard you."
Harry looked at him angrily. Asking him to repeat something like that! "Your hair is greasy again," he said instead, then: "When are you leaving?"
Snape sat back abruptly. "Not for another week. I'll see you up and about before I go, just in case those pesky mediwitches get any notions."
"Okay. That's…" His heart clenched, making it hard to breathe for a moment. He'd known for a while now that he wanted Snape to stay - and that he would not - but hearing it hit him with unexpected force. This was it, then. Of course he would go, there was no reason for him to stay. Nothing, no one, to stay for. It was just Harry. "Fine."
"Yes. Yes it is," Snape echoed.
