Severus Snape sat with his back against the wall, eyes trained on the still form of one Harry Potter.
His moments of lucidity were random and never lasted very long, but he always tried to do something constructive with them. Something that DIDN'T involve potions.
Most of the time, he researched. He had now two topics: one, how to cure this goddamned madness that had stricken any and all creatures that had al ink to magic. Two? To discover just what the HELL had happened to magic, what had made it go haywire like this -- and if there was any way to fix it.
So, what was he doing instead? Sitting in a corridor deep in the dungeons, watching over a sleeping Harry Potter.
If the potion was working correctly -- and it should be, since potions ingredients didn't seem to be affected by the tragedy that had struck magic -- then Potter should wake up at any moment.
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cool stone wall behind him, Severus silently prayed that his sanity would hold long enough for him to drill Potter. He had to know how the boy was alive, when he'd SEEN his mangled body, mixed with all the others from that fateful day.
Harry groaned softly, blearily blinking open his eyes to the sight of one Severus Snape leaning over him, a cool hand resting on his forehead.
Harry blinked fuzzily up at the older man, brain not quite processing what it was his eyes were seeing.
Yes, he remembered Snape approaching him, remembered the spell that he older man had cast, sending him quickly into the blissfulness of sleep. He remembered all of that, crystal clear.
Snape was being nice. He was........ concerned. That, in itself, was enough to make Harry's mind go into a state of shock.
Of course, there were also the changes to his appearance, as well - it was the small things that were the most startling; the things that he hadn't noticed upon his first glimpse of the man.
His hair was longer and braided down the middle of his back, a few wayward tendrils escaping to curl around his cheeks.
A jagged scar marred his neck, as if somebody had attempted to kill him by slitting his throat. It was angry and red, and obviously hadn't been treated by a trained medi-witch.
"You're staring again, Mr. Potter." Snape voice but into his musings, and Harry quickly dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling his cheeks blossom into a deep red. "Sorry, sir."
Snape waved his concerns away, before reaching forward and touching the side of Harry's face, fingers tangling in Harry's unruly locks.
Harry jumped slightly, eyes flying open to stare in shock as his professor.
"Why are you here, Mr. Potter? HOW are you here?" Snape's voice was soft, almost as if he was speaking to himself, rather than the young man before him.
"Professor?" Harry asked softly, a hint of fear now making its way into his voice.
Snape had always known how to get under his skin. That, at least, had remained a constant.
"We need to get you cleaned up." Snape suddenly stood, hauling Harry up after him by his right arm.
Harry numbly followed after the Potions Master, mind still trying to wrap itself around the fat that Snape was HOLDING HIS HAND. Harry stared straight ahead at the back of Snape's head, and noted idly that his hair had lost its greasy quality, and actually looked quite clean.
The twists and turns they took soon had Harry quite confused; quite a fear, for any student of Hogwarts.
Severus was on edge. First of all, he needed a bath. In his moments of........ Well, of insanity, he was rarely capable of enough logical thought to actually clean himself. He'd cast a cleaning spell on his hair about one week ago that would repeat itself every eight hours, and it had surprisingly actually worked. However, no such spell existed for the entire body that he knew of.
He smelled. He knew he smelled -- and he hated it. Severus had always prided himself on his perfect appearance, never a hair out of place, never an odor to be smelled, not even when working with the most odorous of potions, and their ingredients.
Now, he smelled like a pig, had hair stuck all over his face, and hadn't bathed or showered in over a week. In one work, he was........ revolting. Disgusting.
Severus sighed softly, coming to a half before to the door to his private chambers. With a muttered, "Serpent Sortia," he led Potter into his rooms, wincing slightly at the sight of the dead and unmoving paintings that greeted him.
He never thought that he'd miss them, with their mindless chatter that never seemed to cease. It was like death had given them cause to NEVER SHUT UP!
Now, however, utter silence reigned. The magic that had once sustained the portraits had long since left, leaving them dead and lifeless.
After settling Potter into a comfortable chair by the now-dead fireplace, Severus quickly disappeared into the bathroom to draw a bath for himself. Potter could wait until later. Right now, HE was in dire need of a good scrub.