* * * Side Effects May Vary* * *
"It is merely the side effect of the Perpessio Potion," he said again tightly. "I'll be fine in another day or so."
"Side effect?" Pomfrey snorted. "You nearly died, Severus."
He gritted his teeth and tried to sound rational enough that they would all go away and leave him alone. "But I didn't. I simply want to sleep in my own bed. Your concern is unnecessary. Now, GO AWAY!"
He probably shouldn't have shouted. A small red dot of light appeared in the air in front of Pomfrey's face and began blinking in an urgent rhythm, the same that was pounding behind his eyeballs.
"There, you see?" she said, gloomily triumphant.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he opened them again and was pleased to see that the little red charm light had disappeared as he calmed himself. "Go. Away."
"You need someone to keep an eye on you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "At least until the last of the Perpessio has left your system. Now, if I were to offer myself as ..."
"I'll stay with him."
Potter's quiet voice broke the tense tableau. Snape let himself fall back into his pillows and yanked the covers up again. He was being childish and he knew it. Hell, it was the Christmas Holiday - he was reveling in the chance to be as obstinate and childish as he could. He'd been awake for three days straight, then slept for another three and he'd saved Harry's life and he was entitled to his privacy and his quiet and his head hurt and his chest and his mouth was still smarting from the bitterness of the potion Potter had smeared in it and the taste of his skin... and Snape rather firmly forced himself to fall asleep before he pursued that thought any farther. The gabble and mumble of voices followed him down into sleep.
When he awoke, it was blessedly quiet. He lay in bed, relishing the familiar feel and scent of his rooms, the sounds of the castle settling in overhead. The fire crackled quietly, Potter's breath whispered in and out, then the sound of a page turning. He was wrapped in tranquility and sighed deeply. He nearly fell back into sleep but for two things - one he desperately needed to empty his bladder; two - when the hell had Potter's breath become part of the serenity and peace of his quarters?
He grunted in irritation, then opened his eyes and struggled to get up. Either someone had replaced his blankets with lead or he was as ill as Pomfrey had claimed. There was a flutter in his chest, but he took a deep breath and felt it subside. He had managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed when a magazine was dropped onto the bed beside him and Potter was there, arm held out silently. Snape took it and was drawn smoothly to his feet, then hands on his shoulders steadied him as he rocked slightly.
Potter had the brains to release him and allow him to cross the room to his lavatory on his own, although Snape could see him tensed for action out of the corner of his eye. He closed the door behind him, then allowed himself to slump onto the toilet to catch his breath. This was intolerable. By his calculations, he would feel like this for another two days at least. Assuming his cardiac inheritance from his father didn't complicate things further. Attempting to trace the interactions between Heartsease and Perpessio in his mind occupied him sufficiently as he used the toilet and then washed his hands and face. Snape looked longingly at his deep tub, then regretfully decided against it. With the way his luck was running recently, he'd probably fall and crack his skull on the edge.
Potter was waiting nervously outside the door when he opened it again. His hands twitched, like he wanted to seize Snape, but he overcame the impulse when Snape glared at him. The older man managed to walk carefully and slowly across the room and to sit back down on the bed without falling over. Potter's magazine crackled beneath his hand. When the younger man made a grab for it, Snape held it out of reach to read the title.
"Quidditch Quarterly?" his lip curled. "Some things never change."
Potter took it back with a snap of his wrist. "I could point out that this is YOUR copy," he said.
"Nonsense," Snape lied smoothly. "I read only periodicals of substance and value. A low-class sports rag has no place in these chambers."
"Right. Wouldn't want to bring down the tone of a place decorated with bottles of dead slugs and flayed basilisks."
Snape snorted, decided that he was too tired to keep playing, then climbed back under the covers. Potter went back to his chair on the hearth, which he had turned to face the bed. A silence fell. After a time, Snape decided that listening to the night mist roll down the outside of the walls was a pleasure that ought to be indulged in more sparingly. He pointed to the magazine that Potter had opened again. "We always expected you to go professional after you left school. What happened - did you flunk the try-outs?"
"You must be feeling better," Potter said with a wry look, "you're almost as nasty as normal.
"And, as for Quidditch, yes, I did try out. And no, I didn't flunk them. Both Scotland and the Cannons made offers. I just didn't take them."
"Why not?"
Potter looked at the magazine clenched in his hand, then tossed it to the floor. "I love Quidditch; I'm never as happy as when I'm playing. But..." Potter stopped and was silent for a long moment. He looked like he was about to confess something agonizing and Snape found his fists clenched in the sheets as he waited. "It's just that...it doesn't MEAN anything. There's no point to it! Not when people are fighting and dying to keep the rest of us safe."
"Not many would grudge you the chance to live your own life," Snape said evenly. His hands slowly relaxed.
"You would."
The words, flat and even, without the slightest frosting of bitterness, struck him like stones. Not true, he wanted to snarl. I have never demanded anything from my students but that they do their best! Honesty was sharp as bile in his mouth. From the rest of his students, perhaps. But not from Harry Potter. As hard as he had tried to see Potter as nothing more than a mediocre student, nothing special... it hadn't been true. He knew what the boy had been capable of; he knew the blind hatred that roared after the boy from babyhood on. As much as he had pretended that the boy was a student like any, and more annoying than most, it had never been true.
"If you had ever asked me," he said coolly, "I would have told you that great ability carries with it great responsibility."
Potter shrugged. "And that's why I'm not playing professional Quidditch."
Snape blinked to think that he and Potter agreed on anything as important as duty and responsibility. "So you decided that working for that idiot Fudge was the best use of your skills?"
Potter shot him a look of pure dislike. "*No*. I decided that working with the Special Ops squad was a better use of my skills. Fudge can go hang, for all I care."
"Another thing we agree on," Snape let his lip curl slightly. "Well, you've certainly had an eventful career with the Ministry."
Something of Potter's cheefulness returned to his expression. "At least it hasn't been boring."
"Many things, I would imagine, but never that," Snape agreed politely. "Much like your career at Hogwarts."
"Much like," Potter grinned. "But less dangerous, somehow. I mean, if you discount the odd poisoning or dragon attack."
"Of course." Snape suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion so strong it was nearly nauseating. "I think I will need another dose of Heartsease before I consider your tenure at this institution again."
Potter's expression turned serious in an instant. He shot to his feet and scooped up a small phial of Heartsease from the mantel. Before Snape could begin to formulate a protest against Potter's earlier dosing method, he was relieved to see him take a sugar cube from a bowl that had been set next to the medicine. Two drops carefully dripped onto the sugar, and he was handing it to Snape. The Potions Master took the medicine and let it melt under his tongue. Potter watched him swallow it all and then squint as the headache struck.
"I trust you washed your hands first," Snape growled, annoyed at the slightly anxious look on his former student's face.
Potter raised an eyebrow, a gleam of mischief in his eye. "I washed them just last week, Severus."
"And who told you that you could call me by my first name?" Snape grumbled as he laid his aching head back on his cool pillows.
"Good night, Severus," Harry said quietly, then whispered a spell to douse all the candles in the room. The golden flickers of firelight were left to play on the ceiling above him and he let himself be lulled back to sleep by the sounds of crackling wood and whisper of Harry's breath.
* * *
"It is merely the side effect of the Perpessio Potion," he said again tightly. "I'll be fine in another day or so."
"Side effect?" Pomfrey snorted. "You nearly died, Severus."
He gritted his teeth and tried to sound rational enough that they would all go away and leave him alone. "But I didn't. I simply want to sleep in my own bed. Your concern is unnecessary. Now, GO AWAY!"
He probably shouldn't have shouted. A small red dot of light appeared in the air in front of Pomfrey's face and began blinking in an urgent rhythm, the same that was pounding behind his eyeballs.
"There, you see?" she said, gloomily triumphant.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he opened them again and was pleased to see that the little red charm light had disappeared as he calmed himself. "Go. Away."
"You need someone to keep an eye on you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "At least until the last of the Perpessio has left your system. Now, if I were to offer myself as ..."
"I'll stay with him."
Potter's quiet voice broke the tense tableau. Snape let himself fall back into his pillows and yanked the covers up again. He was being childish and he knew it. Hell, it was the Christmas Holiday - he was reveling in the chance to be as obstinate and childish as he could. He'd been awake for three days straight, then slept for another three and he'd saved Harry's life and he was entitled to his privacy and his quiet and his head hurt and his chest and his mouth was still smarting from the bitterness of the potion Potter had smeared in it and the taste of his skin... and Snape rather firmly forced himself to fall asleep before he pursued that thought any farther. The gabble and mumble of voices followed him down into sleep.
When he awoke, it was blessedly quiet. He lay in bed, relishing the familiar feel and scent of his rooms, the sounds of the castle settling in overhead. The fire crackled quietly, Potter's breath whispered in and out, then the sound of a page turning. He was wrapped in tranquility and sighed deeply. He nearly fell back into sleep but for two things - one he desperately needed to empty his bladder; two - when the hell had Potter's breath become part of the serenity and peace of his quarters?
He grunted in irritation, then opened his eyes and struggled to get up. Either someone had replaced his blankets with lead or he was as ill as Pomfrey had claimed. There was a flutter in his chest, but he took a deep breath and felt it subside. He had managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed when a magazine was dropped onto the bed beside him and Potter was there, arm held out silently. Snape took it and was drawn smoothly to his feet, then hands on his shoulders steadied him as he rocked slightly.
Potter had the brains to release him and allow him to cross the room to his lavatory on his own, although Snape could see him tensed for action out of the corner of his eye. He closed the door behind him, then allowed himself to slump onto the toilet to catch his breath. This was intolerable. By his calculations, he would feel like this for another two days at least. Assuming his cardiac inheritance from his father didn't complicate things further. Attempting to trace the interactions between Heartsease and Perpessio in his mind occupied him sufficiently as he used the toilet and then washed his hands and face. Snape looked longingly at his deep tub, then regretfully decided against it. With the way his luck was running recently, he'd probably fall and crack his skull on the edge.
Potter was waiting nervously outside the door when he opened it again. His hands twitched, like he wanted to seize Snape, but he overcame the impulse when Snape glared at him. The older man managed to walk carefully and slowly across the room and to sit back down on the bed without falling over. Potter's magazine crackled beneath his hand. When the younger man made a grab for it, Snape held it out of reach to read the title.
"Quidditch Quarterly?" his lip curled. "Some things never change."
Potter took it back with a snap of his wrist. "I could point out that this is YOUR copy," he said.
"Nonsense," Snape lied smoothly. "I read only periodicals of substance and value. A low-class sports rag has no place in these chambers."
"Right. Wouldn't want to bring down the tone of a place decorated with bottles of dead slugs and flayed basilisks."
Snape snorted, decided that he was too tired to keep playing, then climbed back under the covers. Potter went back to his chair on the hearth, which he had turned to face the bed. A silence fell. After a time, Snape decided that listening to the night mist roll down the outside of the walls was a pleasure that ought to be indulged in more sparingly. He pointed to the magazine that Potter had opened again. "We always expected you to go professional after you left school. What happened - did you flunk the try-outs?"
"You must be feeling better," Potter said with a wry look, "you're almost as nasty as normal.
"And, as for Quidditch, yes, I did try out. And no, I didn't flunk them. Both Scotland and the Cannons made offers. I just didn't take them."
"Why not?"
Potter looked at the magazine clenched in his hand, then tossed it to the floor. "I love Quidditch; I'm never as happy as when I'm playing. But..." Potter stopped and was silent for a long moment. He looked like he was about to confess something agonizing and Snape found his fists clenched in the sheets as he waited. "It's just that...it doesn't MEAN anything. There's no point to it! Not when people are fighting and dying to keep the rest of us safe."
"Not many would grudge you the chance to live your own life," Snape said evenly. His hands slowly relaxed.
"You would."
The words, flat and even, without the slightest frosting of bitterness, struck him like stones. Not true, he wanted to snarl. I have never demanded anything from my students but that they do their best! Honesty was sharp as bile in his mouth. From the rest of his students, perhaps. But not from Harry Potter. As hard as he had tried to see Potter as nothing more than a mediocre student, nothing special... it hadn't been true. He knew what the boy had been capable of; he knew the blind hatred that roared after the boy from babyhood on. As much as he had pretended that the boy was a student like any, and more annoying than most, it had never been true.
"If you had ever asked me," he said coolly, "I would have told you that great ability carries with it great responsibility."
Potter shrugged. "And that's why I'm not playing professional Quidditch."
Snape blinked to think that he and Potter agreed on anything as important as duty and responsibility. "So you decided that working for that idiot Fudge was the best use of your skills?"
Potter shot him a look of pure dislike. "*No*. I decided that working with the Special Ops squad was a better use of my skills. Fudge can go hang, for all I care."
"Another thing we agree on," Snape let his lip curl slightly. "Well, you've certainly had an eventful career with the Ministry."
Something of Potter's cheefulness returned to his expression. "At least it hasn't been boring."
"Many things, I would imagine, but never that," Snape agreed politely. "Much like your career at Hogwarts."
"Much like," Potter grinned. "But less dangerous, somehow. I mean, if you discount the odd poisoning or dragon attack."
"Of course." Snape suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion so strong it was nearly nauseating. "I think I will need another dose of Heartsease before I consider your tenure at this institution again."
Potter's expression turned serious in an instant. He shot to his feet and scooped up a small phial of Heartsease from the mantel. Before Snape could begin to formulate a protest against Potter's earlier dosing method, he was relieved to see him take a sugar cube from a bowl that had been set next to the medicine. Two drops carefully dripped onto the sugar, and he was handing it to Snape. The Potions Master took the medicine and let it melt under his tongue. Potter watched him swallow it all and then squint as the headache struck.
"I trust you washed your hands first," Snape growled, annoyed at the slightly anxious look on his former student's face.
Potter raised an eyebrow, a gleam of mischief in his eye. "I washed them just last week, Severus."
"And who told you that you could call me by my first name?" Snape grumbled as he laid his aching head back on his cool pillows.
"Good night, Severus," Harry said quietly, then whispered a spell to douse all the candles in the room. The golden flickers of firelight were left to play on the ceiling above him and he let himself be lulled back to sleep by the sounds of crackling wood and whisper of Harry's breath.
* * *