A/N: I have only one thing to say: *drumroll*
Oh, and yes: I so completely do not own Harry Potter and all the other characters.
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I wake up with a start. I am still at the dining hall, the empty soup bowl near me. I had nodded off half lying on the table. Nothing and nobody had disturbed my sleep. I hear birds tweeting outside. The enchanted ceiling informs me it's near dawn. I have slept for almost 10 hours and -nothing- disturbed me. It hits me with the effect of a careening bludger:
I had a sleep free of nightmares.
I walk to the infirmary still stunned by the mere fact. I had used no sleeping potion. I had no other force than my tiredness to induce sleep. And it had succesfully been induced. I had forgotten the different quality of waking up from a sleep you didn't bring on to yourself. I feel far more strengthened and quite a bit less irritable. Of course knowing destiny, I am being so graced so that I will face some new crisis.
My experience does not fail me.
It is faint as a sound, but I have learnt to discern sounds as a means of survival. Someone is crying and trying to be quiet about it. It isn't Potter, since I am right over his bed and I can see he's sleeping, obvlivious to his surroundings. It comes from the deepest end of the infirmary, which is still in the shadows as the light slowly disperses the darkness of winter.
For a second I am tempted to ignore whoever it is that is shedding tears and go about my business until the sniffling stops and the person in shape enough to hide their feelings from me. But my self does not obey me as blindly as in the past, and I walk over and see who it is.
Ron Weasley.
"What is it now?" I ask him quietly, so as not to disturb any of the patients. He looks up, genuinly mortified for being exposed to me in this state. He just stares at me wordlessly. His eyes are wide and fearful from seeing me, but I can also discern deep pain. I know deep pain when I see it.
"Honestly Weasley, do you think I have been under the impression that you never cry? Everyone does at some point in time. So what is it now?"
He swallows and fidgets. I offer my hand to him. I cannot tell him what I want to that openly. He looks at me again as if I am crazy, but then he takes my hand and I lift him to his feet. He's almost at my level now.
"Potter is recuperating fine." I try to assure him. I know the boy looks ghastly stil, but he is getting better and better every single day. Ron waves that off as if it was the least thing on his mind. I am slightly surprised. Weasley had almost driven me up the wall until the day Potter settled and did not talk in his sleep anymore, worrying far too much and asking the same questions about his friend far too many times.
That only leaves for the second choice. Perhaps now that Potter is on the mend emotions have hit Weasley about--
"Is it about Granger?" I ask, rather gently. I wish I could do a proper Albus imitation. He looks at me again with that muted sorrow that I can't face for too long and I can understand all too well.
"We uh, we used to go steady." he says simply, and new tears come. I don't see them, because he turns away, but I don't need to. And in the silence of the new day, I don't need to be my usual self. I usually could be caught off guard in semi-lit places in those precious few minutes between night and early morning-- the minutes when it is not exactly yesterday and not yet today-- a few minutes out of reality that I can leave my everyday self behind.
"I see." I swallow. "I know how you feel. I know there is no consolation. Nobody can dry those tears. You are entitled to shed them, Weasley, and don't be ashamed for that."
Weasley is just staring me like a blinded owl. I am not even sure anything I tell him is getting across. But since I started, I may as well finish it.
"You are entitled to grieve for her. You don't need to hide from me, and rediculous as it sounds, you can talk to me about her or anything else you might not want disclosed. I promice never to chide you about this. And I keep my promises." I tell him and I hand him a small chocolate from the Poppy's drawer.
He still stands there staring at me, and I can't resist adding
"That doesn't mean I will soften up on every other aspect of your behavior, Weasley, like standing there with your mouth open like a codfish."
He nods and mutters a thank you and about turns to walk away. I think nothing more of it and start to go through the motions of checking what potions will be needed today, when I hear him again.
"Professor?"
I look up at him in question. He fidgets.
"This year, Weasley."
He whispers it.
"Why are you so... different, uh, kind to a Gryffindor?"
I almost want to laugh. It can't be possible that he still assigns so much value to this house or that. Instead I snort.
"I am not kind to a -Gryffindor-. I am merely being human when present to human pain. You -are- human, are you not, Weasley?"
He nods quickly again and this time he walks away. I think I caught the glimpse of a smirk. It's good that I didn't actually see it, for I cannot tell what that might mean. And if it's something good, fine. But if it's not, then I don't know how I will react, and I hate not to know what I will do in a given situation.
More patients were able to be discharged today. I am glad and I don't keep in anyone that wants to leave and actually can if they are careful. As a matter of fact, by the end of the day there is no need for floating beds. I let Lupin handle the parents or other family that come to collect their loved ones. I don't think I can be part of all those emotions and thanks and tears and 'how can I thank you's.
I am starting to worry about Potter again. He should have had more intervals of near-awareness and instead he's sleeping straight. Was I perhaps wrong in an evaluation and he is not getting better? Was I perhaps conceited like in my younger days and I have kept him here when he should actually be in St Mungo's?
I am checking over him again, running a diagnosis with my wand. Everything seems to be better since last time I did the check, so why is he not waking up?
I am therefore frantic enough not to pay attention to his face as I lean my ear on his chest to listen to the heartbeats that are far stronger, yet still not confident. And so I am caught in this compromising, for my tastes, position.
"What... are you doing?"
I shoot up so quickly my head swims. He is looking at me peering through eyes half closed with sleep and shortsightedness. He probably doesn't mean it accusingly. I know he doesn't mean it accusingly but lately my feelings tend to take over me in certain occasions and I take offence.
"I am working hard while you are portraying Sleeping Beauty, Mr. Potter. That's what I am doing. Now if you don't mind I'd like to see why you didn't awake earlier. So kindly shut up about it."
He does, for a while, and I hear his heart pick up in beats. I cover him up again and dare look into his face. It's blank. At least towards me. He does not acknowledge me as I treat him. I am not sure what I expected-- I didn't know I was expecting anything from the Potter boy, but I feel disappointed and hurt. I feel my glance go cold and I feel as if I am miles away from the reclining form before me. He asks numbly.
"My godfather? Where is Sirius?"
I know that numbness. I know it well because I had asked in the same way if Lily was alright when Albus called me to his office that night. I already knew everything had gone terribly wrong. Potter knows. Perhaps that is why he was so reluctant to wake up into this world.
"What do you want me to tell you, Potter?"
"I want you to tell me where my godfather is, that's what I want!" he lashes out at me.
It's just too much. Why did I have to remember Lily at this particulat moment in time? Why does she have to stare at me through her son's eyes? I barely realise I am talking and when I have it is too late.
"You bloody well know that Black is de--" I managed to check myself as I see the horror in the boy's eyes. Oh bloody hell. What have I done? Why didn't I call Lupin to this? What the hell was I thinking taking ho he behaved so seriously?
I try to comfort him somewhat, to offer some support by touching his shoulder or something like that. Another mistake. He slaps my hand away with force I would not expect a boy to have, certainly not one in the condition Potter's in. But then again, Potter took down Voldemort. I should have expected it. And then he tells me something that makes a part of me die somewhere in what I call my soul.
"I wish you had been in his place, Snape. I'd trade your life for his."
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weeeell. That went rather well don't you think? heh.