* * * Home Is Where the Heart Is * * *
By Boxing Day, Potter had been allowed to leave the Infirmary in the solicitous care of his friends. Snape had assumed this would bring him a measure of peace, since those same friends had been trooping in and out every hour since they had both recovered consciousness. Granger and the youngest Weasley had been the worst, but most of the rest of the tribe had come in to weep in Potter's bedsheets and to offer stilted and unwanted praise to the Potions Master. But at least he and Potter had no time for any more excruciating private chats.
The Infirmary was quiet and empty. Even Madam Pomfrey wasn't spending much time here now that Potter was gone. She had a few simple charms on Snape to tell her if his traitorous heart so much as hiccuped. Otherwise, he was left to himself, just as he liked it.
It was too quiet, dammit. There wasn't a loose floorboard or rattling pane on the entire floor. Before today, there had been the soft whisper of Potter's breath to distract him. At least down in his dungeons, there was the ever-present sigh of stone, settling more firmly into its foundations. There was the intermittent music of water slipping over rock, falling in one-note drops to pools far below the ground.
He ran a hand over his head and grimaced at the lank feel of his hair. He hadn't been able to charm off his beard and his skin had the itchy, sticky sensation he recognized from too many days spent unwashed. In fact, on Pomfrey's last check, she had sniffed, then looked at him speculatively before saying brightly, "We might be able to have you up for a short time this evening, Severus. Perhaps a bath."
A bath was exactly what he needed. A long soak in hot water in the soothing not-quite-silence of his quarters sounded heavenly. A lukewarm sitzbath with Pomfrey's enthusiastic and dedicated scrubbing of his shivering hide did not. Well, he had escaped from more secure prisons than this.
He timed it well, waiting until dinner was served. The evening meal was a drawn-out, relaxed affair out of term time. Pomfrey wouldn't come looking for him for an hour at least. By then, he could be safely barricaded in his dungeon. He had his own store of Heartsease and knew the dosage Poppy had been giving him.
Snape found that his legs were not as dependable as they had been mere days before. Since he knew that Poppy wasn't petty or suspicious enough to cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx on him, he was forced to believe that he really was this weak. It was infuriating to have to hold onto the wall as he made his careful way back to his quarters. It was especially aggravating to have to rest twice on the way. He told himself that he couldn't afford to drive his heart rate up to the point where Pomfrey's little warning charms would alert her to his flight. But Slytherins did not lie to themselves very effectively. He was ill and he knew it. But he would recover his strength far more quickly in familiar surroundings.
It was with real relief that he reached the door to his quarters. The wards let him in and he felt a sense of warmth and homecoming as he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. Then he took in the fire burning brightly on the hearth and the scent of chamomile tea brewing and felt his teeth begin to grind together.
Harry Potter was sitting in the chair before the cheerily burning fire.
"Potter - what the hell are you doing here, in my private quarters?!"
"Waiting for you," Potter said calmly, although Snape was pleased to recognize the too-steady gaze that had always betrayed his student's nervousness. "And why are you back here instead of in the Infirmary, where you are supposed to be until the day after tomorrow, at least?"
Snape drew himself up to his full height, hoping he looked menacing enough, despite the flannel nightshirt and his bare feet. "Leave my quarters this instant, Mr. Potter." The effect was ruined when his head began to swim and he lurched a half-step forward. Then strong arms were holding him, one snaking around his waist, the other drawing Snape's arm around Potter's neck. Potter helped him over to the bed, propping Snape against himself as he yanked the covers down. Then Snape was being tucked in. By Harry Potter. James Potter's son. The thought was so appallingly funny that he couldn't decide whether to laugh or shout in rage and the two sounds got choked in his throat. He couldn't breathe around the absurdity of his life and the shards of his past were pressing against his breastbone.
Then a wet finger slid past his lips and caressed the underside of his tongue.
Thinking about it later, he wondered if the shock, as much as the Heartsease Potion, had been the thing to snap him back to himself. Whichever was responsible, he found himself lying in bed, sucking on Harry Potter's finger and staring into his startled gaze. The bitter taste of the medicine couldn't even come close to the acrid dregs of his dignity dissolving for good. He was so demoralized that he didn't even take the opportunity to bite the bastard's finger off. It slid out of his mouth with a wet pop! that made him shiver. His heart continued to beat with a medicinal regularity that wasn't even remotely affected by the sound of pounding fists on the door to his quarters.
Green eyes kept staring into his as the pounding grew louder. The inevitable headache that followed in the wake of Heartsease began to thump in counter time and the backup chorus of Dumbledore and Pomfrey finally penetrated their shared stupor. Potter went to let them in and Snape pulled the covers over his head and wondered if he could hold his breath until he passed out.
* * *
By Boxing Day, Potter had been allowed to leave the Infirmary in the solicitous care of his friends. Snape had assumed this would bring him a measure of peace, since those same friends had been trooping in and out every hour since they had both recovered consciousness. Granger and the youngest Weasley had been the worst, but most of the rest of the tribe had come in to weep in Potter's bedsheets and to offer stilted and unwanted praise to the Potions Master. But at least he and Potter had no time for any more excruciating private chats.
The Infirmary was quiet and empty. Even Madam Pomfrey wasn't spending much time here now that Potter was gone. She had a few simple charms on Snape to tell her if his traitorous heart so much as hiccuped. Otherwise, he was left to himself, just as he liked it.
It was too quiet, dammit. There wasn't a loose floorboard or rattling pane on the entire floor. Before today, there had been the soft whisper of Potter's breath to distract him. At least down in his dungeons, there was the ever-present sigh of stone, settling more firmly into its foundations. There was the intermittent music of water slipping over rock, falling in one-note drops to pools far below the ground.
He ran a hand over his head and grimaced at the lank feel of his hair. He hadn't been able to charm off his beard and his skin had the itchy, sticky sensation he recognized from too many days spent unwashed. In fact, on Pomfrey's last check, she had sniffed, then looked at him speculatively before saying brightly, "We might be able to have you up for a short time this evening, Severus. Perhaps a bath."
A bath was exactly what he needed. A long soak in hot water in the soothing not-quite-silence of his quarters sounded heavenly. A lukewarm sitzbath with Pomfrey's enthusiastic and dedicated scrubbing of his shivering hide did not. Well, he had escaped from more secure prisons than this.
He timed it well, waiting until dinner was served. The evening meal was a drawn-out, relaxed affair out of term time. Pomfrey wouldn't come looking for him for an hour at least. By then, he could be safely barricaded in his dungeon. He had his own store of Heartsease and knew the dosage Poppy had been giving him.
Snape found that his legs were not as dependable as they had been mere days before. Since he knew that Poppy wasn't petty or suspicious enough to cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx on him, he was forced to believe that he really was this weak. It was infuriating to have to hold onto the wall as he made his careful way back to his quarters. It was especially aggravating to have to rest twice on the way. He told himself that he couldn't afford to drive his heart rate up to the point where Pomfrey's little warning charms would alert her to his flight. But Slytherins did not lie to themselves very effectively. He was ill and he knew it. But he would recover his strength far more quickly in familiar surroundings.
It was with real relief that he reached the door to his quarters. The wards let him in and he felt a sense of warmth and homecoming as he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. Then he took in the fire burning brightly on the hearth and the scent of chamomile tea brewing and felt his teeth begin to grind together.
Harry Potter was sitting in the chair before the cheerily burning fire.
"Potter - what the hell are you doing here, in my private quarters?!"
"Waiting for you," Potter said calmly, although Snape was pleased to recognize the too-steady gaze that had always betrayed his student's nervousness. "And why are you back here instead of in the Infirmary, where you are supposed to be until the day after tomorrow, at least?"
Snape drew himself up to his full height, hoping he looked menacing enough, despite the flannel nightshirt and his bare feet. "Leave my quarters this instant, Mr. Potter." The effect was ruined when his head began to swim and he lurched a half-step forward. Then strong arms were holding him, one snaking around his waist, the other drawing Snape's arm around Potter's neck. Potter helped him over to the bed, propping Snape against himself as he yanked the covers down. Then Snape was being tucked in. By Harry Potter. James Potter's son. The thought was so appallingly funny that he couldn't decide whether to laugh or shout in rage and the two sounds got choked in his throat. He couldn't breathe around the absurdity of his life and the shards of his past were pressing against his breastbone.
Then a wet finger slid past his lips and caressed the underside of his tongue.
Thinking about it later, he wondered if the shock, as much as the Heartsease Potion, had been the thing to snap him back to himself. Whichever was responsible, he found himself lying in bed, sucking on Harry Potter's finger and staring into his startled gaze. The bitter taste of the medicine couldn't even come close to the acrid dregs of his dignity dissolving for good. He was so demoralized that he didn't even take the opportunity to bite the bastard's finger off. It slid out of his mouth with a wet pop! that made him shiver. His heart continued to beat with a medicinal regularity that wasn't even remotely affected by the sound of pounding fists on the door to his quarters.
Green eyes kept staring into his as the pounding grew louder. The inevitable headache that followed in the wake of Heartsease began to thump in counter time and the backup chorus of Dumbledore and Pomfrey finally penetrated their shared stupor. Potter went to let them in and Snape pulled the covers over his head and wondered if he could hold his breath until he passed out.
* * *