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: I don't have a beta so I apologise for pacing issues or grammar mistakes. This is a story I started like three years ago. The first 10k words are from then, and I've only changed them a little bit. The next 10k words are from about a year ago, and the final 10k are from the last week or two, so there's bound to be continuity errors also. It's not some masterpiece or anything, just a fic I finally finished haha.
**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**
He engrossed himself in the sketchbook before dinner, and didn't so much as glance at Snape. He couldn't raise his head, anyway, because his fringe was barely sufficient to hide the livid bruised eye he'd got in the bath. He was feeling utterly miserable. His arms and the bruise throbbed, despite the paracetamol-ibuprofen mix he had taken before leaving his room. He couldn't feel the pad in his pants, but he knew it was probably giving him a real nasty friction rash that he'd have to sort out later. He'd ended up putting not only one in his pants, but two more under his legs and bum just in case. Now that his feet were cold, it seemed like they sucked the heat out of the rest of him too. Even with his new woollen jumper, he was shivering.
To top that off, he'd knocked a stack of sketchbooks off the shelf closest the door. Snape had picked them up, though he didn't taunt Harry by using magic to do it. He'd finally picked up the cigarettes by himself, but hadn't smoked any more of them yet.
He cleared his throat, sore from breathing in water and then about half an hour of chain swearing. "Do you have any matches?" he asked, keeping his head lowered. He was drawing a thin, sickly face – his own.
"You shouldn't smoke." Snape replied from across the room. His voice was loud over the sizzling of whatever he was cooking.
Harry didn't have the energy to gather anger - even Snape was at it, now - but his hand tightened around the pencil. "I know, but do you have any?"
Snape huffed. "Yes, in the laboratory. Accio matches." They landed in Harry's lap, and he quickly lit a fag with shaking fingers, took a drag.
He'd used the smouldering butt to light a second one by the time Snape was done. The food was good, but he wasn't feeling in the mood for it. Holding the shallow bowl warmed his hands up a bit, which helped to steady his shaking. He started a new iteration, concentrating this time on portraying the surface of the water better.
"We should discuss your treatment." Snape said. "I've made the first batch. We could use it tonight or tomorrow morning though I'd recommend evenings, as I expect you will be exhausted afterwards." Even more exhausted than he was now? Great.
"What do I do?" Harry asked, buying time as he thought about how to hide his black eye now that they were talking. There was the foundation that had fallen out of Hermione's bag once. He had it in a drawer somewhere. Was it pale enough though? At least it wasn't unusual for him to sit hunched with his face covered, so he wasn't exactly behaving suspiciously right now.
"For now, only drink a few potions and then go to sleep. Keep note of any ill effects or symptoms."
"That all?"
He heard the chink of china as Snape placed a cup back in its saucer. Harry considered adding some dark blues to his picture, but there was something about the high-contrast black and white image he'd drawn so far that really mirrored his feelings.
"Today you will be fine, but in the next few weeks it will begin to ache as your body fights the curse again. You will have to take a host of potions, bespoke restoratives and nutrients - hopefully we can keep them oral, but I am prepared for intravenous. The side effects might be unpleasant."
"So long as I can still draw, I don't care," Harry murmured, then looked up when Snape was silent. "I can still draw, right? You said I could-"
Both Harry and Snape froze as each looked up from half-eaten omelettes, forks halfway to mouths.
"You've washed your hair." Harry gaped.
"You've – who did that to your face?" Snape almost knocked his chair over as he took giant, purposeful strides around the table. He looked like he was going to touch Harry's face to take a better look, but changed his mind and simply stood over him with a concerned frown.
"You washed your hair," Harry repeated, stupidly. He'd sort of forgotten that it was greasy from grease, and not because that's just what Snape's hair was. It was almost silky now, and framed the man's face in fine, loose strands falling past his shoulders. The wizard shook it back irritably.
Snape grabbed Harry's jaw, no longer hesitant, and tilted his face to the side. "I saw you leave today. Who did you see?"
Harry's brain jumbled at the realisation that Severus Snape's skin was touching his skin. No one had touched him properly for a long time. He hadn't let them.
Should he say that someone from the village had punched him? It would save a lot of face, but the lie could easily spiral. No, he'd tell the truth, or part of it, but act as cool as possible about it.
He batted Snape's hand away. "I fell. It happens." Ah, was that too grouchy? Too defensive?
Snape pulled his hand back quickly, straightening up. "I see." His face was a mask.
What, though. What did he see? Whatever it was, he was probably wrong. Oh, it didn't matter, so long as he didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Your hair." Harry stated a third time, by way of distraction.
Snape's eyes flickered to the sketchbook sitting on the table, and back. "Well, if you're going to draw it then it might as well be clean. Don't blame me when I get a strand in your potion and you turn into a flamingo."
"How could a strand of hair turn someone i-"
"You are about to ask a question whose answer you have no hope of possibly comprehending." Snape said as he sat down to finish his food. Harry lit another cigarette, aware that he had smoked more this afternoon than he had all of yesterday.
"So I can't ask?" he said.
"You may ask if you wish, and I may answer. It would be a momentous waste of time."
Harry couldn't argue with that.
For the next hour, they sat in silence. Harry became so engrossed in his drawings that he didn't notice the time go by. He sketched the same haggard face over and over. Water was a difficult subject to learn, and Harry had a few tricks he was yet to find. Maybe he should fill up a bowl and do some studies.
He glanced up as Snape rose, looking at a pocket watch Harry hadn't seen before. He couldn't see from this side of the table whether it was magic or muggle.
Snape took the dishes to the sink without commenting on how little Harry had eaten today. "It's time," he said.
"Do I get to sketch you first, or after?" Harry asked.
Snape hesitated. It was clear he'd prefer neither time, but Harry was sure he'd not go back on his promise. "Before," he said reluctantly. "You will need to rest later."
At last. Even knowing that he was going back to the experimentation of that last year at Hogwarts - to being treated as he didn't want to be, an invalid – excitement coursed through him. The one good thing about a treatment that could last forever was that he would have all the time he could possibly want to study his subject. He wondered how far he could push it, how much he could erode Snape's sensibility over time. There was real potential in the long term.
"Come along, I'll have notes to take later and I would prefer to have time for sleep." Snape said, and Harry followed him through the door into the lab.
He'd not used the room for anything in particular before, just storage for odds and ends from Grimmauld Place. He didn't ask where they'd been moved to. There was a wide enough space for his chair to get from the door to a narrow wooden bed against the opposite wall, but the rest of the room was cramped with workspaces and cauldrons. Boxes and jars of ingredients covered all available space on both the floor and the surfaces, as well as shelves that had been erected since the last time he'd been in here. The windows had been sealed with black cloth to prevent any natural light from entering, so it felt almost like Snape's old dungeons except that the walls were a bright lemon-meringue yellow and there was not a speck of dust to be seen. He propelled himself inside, careful not to knock anything. Although if Snape had left any expensive ingredients where Harry could reach them, then he was basically asking for trouble.
"Do you need assistance getting on the bed?" Snape asked, voice neutral as he deftly removed a small cauldron from its flame, replacing it with a large beetle carapace before crumpling it in his hand and sprinkling that into a second larger cauldron.
Harry studied him for any trace of pity, but the professor was too engrossed in his work. Or that's what he wanted Harry to think, when in reality he was cataloguing every action. The height of the bed frame was only a little more than his chair, so it was one of the few things he could confidently do alone. Well, when he wasn't shaking and tired. "Is this where you…?" he asked, looking about uneasily for another door that might lead to Snape's sleeping quarters.
"Get a move on Potter, I haven't slept in it if my germs worry you so terribly," the man replied, still not looking up from his work.
Harry put the brakes on, then waited until Snape's back was turned before bumping over onto the bed as deftly as he could. He pulled his legs up one at a time, gave a moment to worry over how cold they felt. He tried not to think about it as he pulled the bed covers over them. Snape had probably not intended for him to get in the bed, but he wasn't going to let himself freeze. "Where do you sleep then?"
"I am a vampire," Snape replied deadpan. "I hang from the ceiling." He pointed absently to a corner of the room where a beam from the kitchen partially stuck out from the wall.
Harry covered his mouth to stop a laugh. He hadn't laughed in, what - years? Actual years. It felt strange to start now. "We used to think that, back in school." He said. "When you weren't busy prowling the corridors."
Snape finally finished what he was doing, looked up and smiled. "I was aware."
Harry didn't look away while reaching for his sketchbook, but the man turned around to fetch something anyway. He had to remember that expression, he just had to. The light in the room was on a low dimmer, causing the details of Snape's hair and dark clothing to almost fade into the background, but there had been a moment where the man had tilted his head a little. The light had caught in a ring around his hair and his eyes had glimmered, emphasising his momentary mirth. It had also highlighted his nose most unflatteringly, but that hardly mattered.
He was so glad Snape had washed his hair.
His arm was suddenly filled with energy and he pulled his number two pencil set out of the bag on his wheelchair. It had quickly become his number one set, but he still called it number two. "Sit for me," he demanded. "You said you would."
"I do not need reminding of promises I myself made," Snape replied testily. It was the closest to old Snape Harry had seen him so far. He wondered if it was stress. "I am perfectly capable of holding to oaths."
He could wind the man up, he knew. It was a good time to get him going and see some different expressions. The light in his eye would be absolutely wonderful when he was angry. It would be magnificent. His pencil moved as if to draw that scene, but he stopped it and tried to reign himself in.
"I know, sorry," he said. He had to play the long game, there would be plenty of time to make Snape angry later.
The professor nodded quickly in acknowledgement, then hesitated for so brief a moment Harry almost didn't catch it, before gliding to the bed. "Where… would you like me?"
His voice was low like velvet, and Harry regretted that sounds couldn't be drawn. "Come up closer, just look where I tell you to. Can you make a small yellowish light here?" He pointed to a spot above his own right shoulder, and a murmured spell from Snape obliged. "A bit brighter," Harry commanded.
He carried on fussing, Snape following every instruction exactly, if with trepidation. Moving a fold of sleeve caught in the crook of his arm, tilting his head a fraction to the right - no, back where it was, down a bit and look over there, okay great - making a second smaller light on his other side, and one to illuminate the sketchbook properly.
They spent ten minutes wasting time like this, but it never felt right to Harry. Snape was too stiff after following a thousand commands and trying to hold them all in his mind. The lights felt too perfect and un-genuine. It wasn't natural at all. He wasn't interested in drawing castle-wall picture-perfect official paintings.
Sighing, he dropped the pencil in his hand and leaned his head against the wall behind. Snape didn't move. "Let's- just… let's stop for a second. This isn't working for me."
Snape relaxed, wiggled his fingers and blinked a few times. Had he not been blinking this entire time?
"Can I smoke in here?" Harry asked, though the answer was certainly no. The craving had snuck up on him.
Snape moved on the bed, carefully avoiding Harry's legs as he slid to a position sitting with his back against the wall to mimic Harry, but sideways and as far as possible away. "I'd strongly prefer it if you didn't," he said.
Not a no, then. Harry grinned. "Could you accio them for me? Please. They're in the kitchen." The man did as he was told, and watched Harry light one with a creased frown. It was somehow irritating that he was being so accommodating and non-judgemental. He took a drag. "Do you want one?"
Snape shook his head.
"Talk to me," Harry said. "About anything. I've decided I like my drawings natural. You come out best with natural expressions."
"Like the natural expression of putting a burnt finger in my mouth?"
Harry nodded, determined not to show shame or embarrassment. "Exactly. Tell me about something."
"Potions?"
"No, something interesting. Why do you wear black all the time?"
Snape raised an eyebrow in judgement at Harry's definition of interesting. He settled into a comfortable position and then began talking to the opposite wall. Side profile, nice. Well, not nice. It was possibly the least flattering angle for the man, but great new material for Harry. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's no good reason for it. I simply like the colour."
"Why?" Harry prompted, taking up his pencil again. There really was no worse angle for the man's nose than this.
"It suits my hair, I suppose. And my personality. The children can't tell when you've spilled a potion all down your front three seconds before they pile in for a lesson." He scratched the bridge of his nose using a pinched thumb and forefinger. It looked like he was nursing a sinus headache. "I suppose it's also somewhat frightening, an image I cultivate to keep students from misbehaving in class."
"Did you used to wear different colours as a kid?" Now that would be an image to see. Then again, he'd been wearing black in the school memories Harry had seen in the pensieve. "Do you ever not wear black?"
Snape took a few moments to answer. "I cannot recall any specific instances in recent memory, but I do own clothing in shades of green and blue. You must have seen them at some time during your tenure at Hogwarts. At Christmas and the like." He waited for Harry to ask another question, but he was playing the quiet game again to see what would come out of its own volition.
Snape's forehead creased as his brows came together. "Ah, I have a dragonscale vest somewhere. It was a gift. The scales are black but they have a coloured sheen like muggle petroleum in the light. Greens and purples. I would never buy such a gaudy garment myse-"
"I want to see it." Harry said. The surface of petrol was a beautiful pattern, and wasn't something he'd been able to get his eyes on. Not that he'd tried very hard, there were always other things to draw. Combined with the leathery texture of dragon scale, it was something he was desperate to start on now. "Don't need you to wear it," he added when Snape looked disgusted.
Snape hunched his shoulders in a shrug-like movement that screamed discomfort. "I will have a look for it, when I have time. It's not something I carry around on every jaunt or jolly."
Obviously. The man was super tense now, and Harry doubted he'd get anything good out of him. "Do you wanna check on the potions and stuff? I can draw you from here, and maybe in the future we can do the drawing time upstairs in the day."
"Yes." Was all Snape said, as if he had used up all his words for the day. He rose, taking care to avoid Harry's legs again.
Harry flicked through the last few pages of sketches and found them all uninspiring. There was nothing he cared to iterate on, so he turned his gaze back to Snape. He'd gone straight to straining something red through a cream coloured piece of fabric that might have once been a pillow case, as if he had spent his whole time with Harry worrying that it needed doing. He caught the pink liquid dripping down in a wide jug, then poured that into a row of vials already set out on the counter nearby.
Now that Harry was looking properly, he saw that some of the boxes were already half filled with neatly stacked vials and bottles. On the counter nearest the door stood a cluster of uncapped bottles he recognised as Skele-Gro.
He frowned. "Are you making supplies for the hospital wing as well?" That was a full time job in itself, so far as he knew, and Snape was doing it in addition to cooking, cleaning and preparing Harry's treatment?
"Of course," Snape said, as if it was obvious he would be doing so. Who else would do it? He quickly added stoppers to the now gently smoking vials before getting another wooden stand from a shelf and filling that with the same. "I also have a stock of various remedies put aside to treat possible side effects. Pain potions, muscle oils, relaxers and the like, all made with the most inert of ingredients so as not to tamper with your course. I do hope you appreciate the lengths to which I have gone to assist you."
Snape turned to look at him at the last, and he ducked his head to sketch. His stomach was a knot, and he didn't want to talk any more.