The first thing Severus saw when he awoke was the last thing he wanted to see. "Sirius Black!" he sneered … well, tried to sneer. It actually came out more of a breath.
His temper was stroked higher by the smile on Black's face. "Well, well, the dead come forth again to spread joy to the dearly living." A hand stopped the rest of the witty remark.
Dumbledore settled on the edge of the four poster bed that Snape was lying in. "Children," he abolished gently. "How do you feel, Severus?"
Good question. "Nothing, Headmaster, nothing at all." He felt slightly light-headed as well as not being able to feel the blankets on top of him, or the pillow under his head.
The old man, however, thought it normal, this lack of feeling. "You still have some of the potion in you, then. I want you to try to go back to sleep, let it wear off." His gaze sharpened. "Naturally, Severus, not forced."
Severus tried to sneer again, but sneered took more energy than they had a right too. He felt sleep crash over him, the only feeling he could sense. One thought surfaced before it too was pulled under.
How bad I am hurt?
*****
Yes, I know they're short, but I work best a short. If they get too long, I lose the plot.
Although, I'm not sure this has a plot. It has a plot–ee! Does that count?