Caring for Severus
Post-Hallows fix-it. EWE. Slow burn. Sick fic.
"You cannot be serious." Severus scoffed.
He was too tired to be having this conversation. He hated being so physically weak. And being seen in a state of undress. He downright detested that either of these conditions should be witnessed by another wizard.
By Potter, of all living wizards.
Potter, who had finally done something to live up to his lifelong acclaim, and killed the Dark Lord. Potter, who was now received as all but a messianic figure everywhere he went. Even Severus felt smarting gratitude to him, loath though he was to admit it to himself.
Potter frowned. "I mean it. Pomfrey says you're going to need help for a while. Maybe months. You really want to spend it all in the infirmary?"
Severus did hate the infirmary passionately. It was a dedicated public space in which affairs that ought to be private were managed. He also disliked the matronly fussing and clucking that lingered in Poppy's wake.
"The more pertinent question is, do you wish to spend what might amount to months in my exclusive company?" Severus huffed. "I think not, Potter."
Potter frowned. "You're trying to go back to how it was. Before."
Severus remained silent.
"That's not going to happen." Potter continued. "I know if you'd had your choice, I still wouldn't know...certain things. I'm pretty sure no force in hell could have made you share some of that stuff if you didn't think you were about to die."
Severus glared.
"But the point is, I do know, and it changes things. I want to do this."
Severus put as much venom as he could into the next word: "Why?"
"There's probably a few life debts stacked up in your favour for starters." Potter began, but Severus waved that away.
"I saved your life on occasions connected to a wizarding vow I had taken prior, which negates the magic of a life debt forming. If that is all that concerns you, Potter, you are safe."
"No, it's not..." Potter began. "I'm not worried about owing you-although I obviously do owe you, whatever the wizarding rules of it are. You make it sound like I'm just worried about covering my arse."
Severus smirked. "Are you not?"
"No!" Potter took a breath and wrestled himself under control. "Look, you wouldn't have thought it was weird if I volunteered to look after Remus or Sirius if they'd been bitten, would you? Because they were my father's friends. Turns out, you were my mother's friend. So why shouldn't I care for you?"
He folded his arms, defying Severus to pick apart what apparently served in Potter's head for a clear and reasoned argument.
Severus hardly knew where to begin. Ranked alongside the mutt and the wolf! Once he moved past the indignity of the comparison, there was the obvious rebuttal that Potter had cared very deeply for his godfather and his favourite Defence instructor.
Not so his Potions Professor.
His Potions Professor, who, for six years, had derided and disliked him. The man who had betrayed and damned his mother. Who had killed his beloved Headmaster in front of him.
And the brat had the gall to ask aloud: Why shouldn't I care for you?
"Have you spoken at all to Madam Pomfrey about what my care entails, or did you rush in and make the offer without planning or forethought?"
It was supposed to come out barbed, but Severus realised he just sounded tired.
"I asked." A pinch of colour came over the young man's cheeks. "I know it might be a bit awkward at first..."
Severus snorted.
"...but if you're anything like me, the embarrassment of having balm rubbed all over you in your private quarters where no one else can see you has still got to be loads better than having Pomfrey do it behind a flimsy curtain."
Potter had him there.
"I've cleared it with McGonagall-we can stay here in the castle. If we make a hash of it, Pomfrey will be nearby, but this place is overcrowded as it is. And I doubt you want the publicity just yet of being transferred to St Mungos..."
The outside world was another sore point. Severus could have coped quite well with the scorn were he in a position to make a quick exit, or draw his wand, but as an invalid he could do neither.
He was, currently, a sitting duck.
The prudent part of Severus' mind urged him to take Potter's offer. It was not like any others would be forthcoming. Despite Potter's pronouncement at the final battle that Severus had always been "Dumbledore's man" he had spent twelve months sewing seeds of dislike among those aligned with the Order, and their lived experience of his time as Headmaster would not be quickly forgotten.
Severus was quite proud of his ability to weigh the pros and cons of a situation, and act pragmatically in the moment.
Still, he had his pride.
"I...appreciate the offer, but my answer is no."
Potter just shrugged. "I'll be back to visit tomorrow, Professor. Think it over."
xxxx
In the end, Severus lasted a total of four days in the hospital wing before he allowed Potter to claim responsibly for his prolonged recovery. Potter had been to visit him each day, asking him to reconsider, which suggested, if nothing else, that whatever Potter's motivation, it was more than a momentary whim.
For Severus' part, he'd been thinking of little more than getting out from under the sharp eye of Poppy, and of the relative privacy, and of his books. He was dreadfully bored. His muscle tremors meant he couldn't hold up so much as a teacup by himself however, and he was forbidden from using his magic whilst in his state of healing. Three to six months, claimed Poppy, before he would return to full nerve function. He was to use a wheelchair for most activities, and it had been an interesting journey back to his rooms, with cushioning charms surrounding Potter's attempts to levitate the ungainly device down the stairs to his old dungeon rooms, whose extensive wards had been maintained, in secret, during his stint as Headmaster.
Potter was, Severus noted with malevolent humour, sheened lightly with sweat by the time he got Severus settled in his old rooms.
"What do you reckon, cup of tea? Or would you prefer we do the shower now?" Potter was speaking with his back turned, poking around in the cupboard above the kitchenette.
Severus snorted. "We will not be 'doing' a shower at any point this afternoon."
Potter turned to face him. "But Pomfrey said she was just using the cleaning charm on most patients-not enough time to give sponge baths or anything-don't you feel all starchy and uncomfortable?"
"I assure you, I would be more uncomfortable turning my en-suite into a Roman bathhouse." Severus willed his cheeks not to colour. He had never enjoyed such cohabitations when boarding as a youth, and had always woken exceptionally early to avoid the wet and writhing masses.
A pucker appeared in Potter's brow. "Sir, you can't mean that you want me to use cleaning charms on you the whole time?"
"Whyever not?"
"Because it'll be scratchy and awful for you! And sort of irrational, if it's to do with privacy, because I have to put the balm on anyway, don't I?"
"It's unguent, Potter!" Severus snapped, his nerves already worn by this conversation.
"Is there that much of a difference?" Potter raised his brow.
"Not to a Philistine like you, perhaps. Unguents are typically healing, whereas balms are fragrant and cosmetic." Severus' shoulders hunched in. "To confuse the two makes it sound like I'm to have a treatment at a day spa."
Potter gave him a fond half-smile. "There are worse fates I can think of, actually."
He came over and dropped into a half crouch so they could speak face-to-face. Severus immediately hated the affectation and glared back at his care-taker.
"Professor, part of the point of being here is to make you more comfortable, so you can heal quickly. I'm going to need to apply the unguent, and change the dressing on your neck, daily. But Madam Pomfrey gave me a good long lecture on the other responsibilities I'll have too, for your general care. Helping you shower and get to the loo is going to be part of that. It's only awkward if you let it be."
Potter's voice had been disgustingly gentle. Severus disliked being pitied almost as much as being vulnerable. "Easy for you to say, Potter. You're not the one being asked to disrobe."
Potter hesitated. "Would that help? I mean, if I undress too, would that, er, equalise it for you or something?"
"Merlin no."
Severus flared his nostrils as though a naked Potter would be an offense to the concept of eyesight.
Potter blushed, and scratched at the back of his neck as he stood. "Well, at least hear out my plan. I'll roll you into the shower on the chair and give you a strategically-placed towel the whole time. I'll clean what's visible, and let the warm water do the rest. Then I'll spell both you and the chair dry, get you a dry privacy towel, change your dressing, and do the unguent. Alright?"
Severus hesitated. That was a reasonable plan, allowing for some retention of dignity.
However, part of him could not forget being suspended, in his underwear, in front of this youth's awful father. Or that said youth had seen that memory. He was about to open his mouth to prevaricate further when Potter put a hand on his forearm.
"Please, Professor. Let's just rip the band-aid off, yeah?"
"Fine." Severus ground out.
"Thank God." Potter laughed-a warm, disembodied voice behind Severus as he was wheeled in. "I was contemplating just using Petrificus, but I couldn't be sure you wouldn't drown."
Xxxx
Potter spelled Severus' hospital pyjamas off and draped the promised towel. He set the shower to an appropriate temperature and disappeared, letting Severus relax a fraction. He returned with a greying flannel and a worn-down bar of soap he must have found in the bathroom cabinet, and a comb. He'd obviously not found the shampoo, and did not think to ask.
They did not speak as Potter began washing his left bicep and armpit. He made no comment washing over the faded Dark Mark, though he seemed to be more gentle with the area.
Perhaps he imagined it still hurt.
Severus focused on occluding to clamp down on his embarrassment, so his face remained impassive. But despite the activity, he could not help but catalogue how his body might look to another person: his skin was too pale, like the underbelly of a fish. His chest hair was dark, but sparse, as was the trail around his belly button. He was not exceedingly muscled, a bit wiry perhaps, tall and a reasonable breadth across the shoulders, but thin. His wet hair, slicked down like this, no doubt emphasized the size of his nose and made him look truly ridiculous.
There were also a few scars, if you knew where to look-mostly curse scars, the result of Death Eater duelling. When he'd garnered scars in his childhood, his mother had known well-enough how to make them vanish.
Potter seemed to pay mind to none of this, and Severus was jolted out of his thoughts when a gentle hand turned his chin and began washing his face, inside the shell of his ear, behind his ear, with a warm soapy flannel. He was startled to realise the sensation was almost pleasant- tinged with childhood nostalgia.
It made him feel cross.
"Potter! What are you doing?" He growled as Potter moved on to the top of his head.
"Combing your hair." Potter replied, although it was a nonsensically-obvious statement. He tugged unpleasantly when he tried to start at the top, but seemed to figure out quickly that he had to start with the knots at the bottom.
"You can't mean to do that in here with water running! I've been in a battlefield then a hospital bed for the best part of a week. Those knots will take hours to comb out!"
He privately assumed the mere mention of hours of work would turn Potter off the idea entirely. But Potter merely replied, "Alright, I'll wait til we're done."
Potter turned off the faucet, cast the drying charm on everything but Severus' hair, and got a fresh towel, then pushed Severus close to the bedroom fireplace, where the elves had started a low blaze behind the grate.
He took out the special box of gauze pads Madam Pomfrey had given him, and made quick work of removing the dressing over Severus' wounds.
"How does it look?" Severus asked.
"Tiny bit of sluggish bleeding, But Pomfrey only said to worry if it started again in earnest. This is more like...ooze." He used a cotton ball to apply the disinfectant and then the wound paste.
It stung, but Severus had to admit that Potter was working fairly efficiently. When the new bandage was applied, Potter cleared up the supplies and pulled out the dratted comb.
Potter sat there for quite some time, grooming what must have been exceedingly greasy hair- shower or no. Severus almost regretted his spite in not mentioning the shampoo's location. When Severus' cheeks threatened to colour at this thought, he occluded again. He returned from that state in time to notice that, actually, the comb felt strangely tingly against his scalp.
"Did you add something to the comb, Potter?" He asked sharply.
"No, Professor. Its just water." The disembodied voice behind him replied.
"Hmm." The tingly sensation was growing stronger. It was even giving him mild goose-bumps. In truth, while Severus did habitually wash his hair, whatever his students said about him, he rarely bothered to comb it, and was surprised Potter had managed to locate the damn thing in the bathroom cabinet at all.
Certainly, whenever he had combed his own hair, it hadn't made frissions run down his neck.
"Am I hurting you?" Potter asked, when his shoulders tensed involuntarily.
"Given this is probably your debut in handling a comb, I suppose I ought to be grateful if I have any hair left." Severus sniffed.
Potter chuckled, and made his movements even more gentle...and ticklish.
"Enough of that, Potter." Severus groused, cheeks flaming.
"You know, this is a bit longer than you usually wear your hair. Did you want me to give it a trim?"
Severus was genuinely surprised Potter remembered how he usually wore it. It was true that the past twelve months had left Severus little time for personal luxuries like coiffure. Still, he wasn't keen to submit to an amateur's ministrations.
"I think I shall avoid letting you give me a haircut, given the yard-brush you typically favour." He drawled.
Potter laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, guess I could probably do with a trim myself."
He dragged the comb across Severus' scalp one more time-causing the same tingles-and the comb seemed to pull easily through, so Potter must have done some good on the knots.
He did feel a touch better for it, he supposed.
Severus naively assumed the 'awkward sensations' portion of the evening was done with. He didn't anticipate the complication yet to come-possibly because he hadn't had the scope of experience to imagine it.
When Poppy had treated him with the daily application of unguent, it had been excruciating in the way of most medical treatments that encroached on one's dignity. Application of the unguent all over really meant all over-to every stretch of epidermis where the peripheral nervous system was in danger of numbing and cell death.
Which meant Poppy had rubbed brisk circles of unguent into his buttocks, sphincter, testicles and penis. Nerves being rather important in those regions, after all.
Poppy had seemed no more concerned about the awkwardness of this activity than she did about rubbing every other inch of his skin, and had maintained a similar demeanor to someone washing dishes, truth be told. Severus had occluded to compartmentalise his humiliation, and they'd simply repeated that process each day.
However, her touch had been nothing like Potter's.
The youth began by applying the unguent to Severus' back, not as the matron had done, but as though he were giving a massage. Severus relaxed into the firm, warm, lubricated press of calloused thumbs into his left trapezius, fingertips resting gently on his collarbone. It was his general instinct to fight against anything that made him less shrewd, less calculating, to be wary of traps, but he found himself sighing and closing his eyes in spite of himself.
It was not just that it had been a lifetime of spartan touches. Or that most of the times Severus had ever been touched in that life were calculated to cause pain. It was also, he rationalised, that the unguent being kneaded into his skin created a pleasant hum as it sought to restore the capillary nerve damage caused by the venom of that blasted snake: the process created a sensation like mild drunkenness.
It was...peaceful.
One hand moved to cradle the right side of his head, the other moved in little clenches up his
left sterno-cleo-mastoid.
"This is like grabbing steel cords...do you grind your teeth?" Potter's voice murmured behind him.
It wasn't a real question, more an expression of sympathy, but Severus was, for once, in no mood to complain about inanities.
Instead, he replied, his voice indolent: "Consider the last twelve months from my perspective. Of course I ground my teeth."
There came a soft huff of laughter.
He wasn't sure how the boy had developed such a luxurious, sensual touch-he didn't imagine it came from sexual conquests, although many idiotic fans would no doubt be only too happy to strew themselves on that altar-he was fairly certain Potter was entangled with the Weasley girl.
And he couldn't imagine Potter learning such skills from her.
It was probably intuitive, Severus mused. The way he unerringly groped towards the parts where knots lingered, the way he worked his thumbs in circles up and down tense biceps, fingertips plying the underside of Severus' forearm; the way he tenderly held and rotated Severus' wrists, palms, the knuckles of each finger.
Or perhaps it was because he was a Quidditch player, and knew from experience where muscles gathered their aches.
Whatever the reason, Severus now had more reason to fear Potter touching his private regions. What if it felt good? What if his body betrayed him in the worst imaginable way?
Damn it, he was already half-hard!
Strangely, the buzz of panic did little to stop him groaning contentedly when Potter turned his attention to his lower back. He felt utterly passive, as though there was nothing he could do to stop Potter touching him, though he knew this to be false. He found that even his burgeoning fear of Potter discovering his predicament could not make him create a pretext for the youth to stop-he was enjoying the massage more than he could frankly recall enjoying any physical pleasure before in his life.
Besides, Potter might understand, even if he noticed. It was nothing personal, after all- Severus had had sexual desire for exactly one person before in his life-and it was probably normal for any man who had refrained from masturbation for a week to pick up at a stiff breeze, as it were.
It was strange, thinking of Lily now, in this moment. He'd been so sure he was going to join her when he gave Potter his memories. But that burning sense of urgency, his death-wish, was dampened, now that he had woken into a world where he had successfully avenged her.
Preserved her son.
He didn't think he'd earned her forgiveness, not really. And he didn't love her any less. But when he'd had his mission, she had felt with him, each day, through each hardship, whereas now, she felt absent.
She felt dead.
And if there were an afterlife, it doubtless had Marauders in it.
He sighed.
"Did that hurt?" Potter asked, knuckles driving in to the flesh around Severus' hip.
"No." Severus sighed again.
"I'm just warning you...Pomfrey was pretty clear with me that we had to get this stuff on every inch of your skin. Which means I'm going to cast a lightening charm, and do your, er...lower regions now."
Severus harrumphed. At least he was not destined to lose feeling to the region below his low-slung towel-had Potter made to skip that portion, no power on earth would have gotten Severus to remind him. Potter mumbled the charm, wrapped one arm around Severus' waist and hoisted him up out of the chair, leaning him back against Potter's chest. He slipped his other hand under Severus, kneaded at each buttock, working out the pins and needles that were inevitable after being confined to a chair for so long. Then he reached for extra unguent, and slid his fingers determinedly into the crevice.
Severus clenched the region involuntarily. His now fully-erect cock throbbed. The soft pad of a slick finger massaged as far forward as Potter could reach, then slid back to circle Severus' hole several times.
Severus occluded furiously.
Just when Severus began to wonder what Potter was playing at, drawing out such absurd psychological torture, the finger withdrew.
"Finite Incantatum." Potter muttered as he settled Severus back into the chair.
Severus blinked, realising something through his embarrassment."Wandless magic, Potter?" His cheeks burned, but he was pleased to have this opportunity to direct both of their attentions elsewhere.
"Yeah." Potter muttered. "A few things have come easier since the Forest."
This was Potter-shorthand for the near-mythical story he had told Severus, who had demanded an explanation for how and why Potter was alive. The boy had died. Rid himself of the horcrux. Seen Albus. Become Master of Death-apparently allowing his resurrection. Potter had not been terribly certain of the magical theory details beyond the wandlore-Severus fully intended to research the matter once he was physically recovered.
Potter was now working on his feet, which were particularly sensitive, given how little they were allowed to exist outside of boots, and his shin and calf. Severus let the previous embarrassment wash away in this new round of pleasantness. Had he ever thought Potter an oaf? Or lacking thoroughness in his approach to tasks? Severus took a great deal of those uncharitable thoughts back as just the right amount of pressure was applied up and down his Achilles' tendon.
Potter flexed his right foot, and turned the ankle in circles. Strictly speaking, such movements were not essential to the unguent application; however, stimulating his circulation while he was chair-bound was certainly a good idea.
As Potter, kneeling before him, between his feet, pushed back the towel over his privates and began on his upper thigh, the twitch of his cock could not have been missed. Severus crammed his sense of embarrassment into the pigeon-hole of his mind created by occlumency, but he could not repress bodily functions this way.
"I'm going under the towel now." Potter warned quietly. The unguent pulled at little at the hairs around his pubic mound, and Potter had just reached tentatively for his scrotum when he ground out, "Potter, Stop!"
Potter dropped his handful, causing the full and prominent erection to bob between them.
"I...cannot!" Severus declared, both furious and miserable.
Potter adjusted the towel back over his lap, and sat back on his haunches.
"We're almost done, Sir. Maybe we can just take a moment and-"
"Get out!"
Potter got up, slowly, and left the room.
Severus tried to collect himself. He was more embarrassed by his emotional reaction than his physical one. He decided to dwell on a particularly nasty memory of the Dark Lord to quell his physical problem.
It worked.
When Potter returned, he knelt without speaking and, at a terse nod from Severus, began again. He anointed Severus' scrotum, the place behind, and covered the shaft all the way to the tip in one smooth movement. He gently rolled back the foreskin just as another erection was threatening, and finished off, replacing the towel.
Potter wiped the unguent remnants off his hands and returned with fresh grey-striped pyjamas from Severus' closet. He helped the older man dress without any comment at all.
When Severus was clothed, Potter asked, "How do you take your tea?"
"Black with lemon." He muttered.
"I'll be right back." Potter pushed him into the sitting room, and went over to the kitchenette.
In the end, Potter had to transfigure a spoon into a straw so that Severus could slurp from the half-empty tea-cup-his hands were too unsteady to support the hot liquid. He was used to feeling fuzzy and tired, as he usually did nap after Poppy had given him the treatment, but the tension, and the strain of all the occluding, left him with a more bone-deep exhaustion.
The effect was rather similar to having downed a bottle of firewhiskey.
"Let's get you to bed, Professor." Potter said, rolling his chair back to the bedroom, then casting a lightening charm and putting his arm under Severus' neck and knees to transfer him to the bed.
"Potter..." Severus slurred, eyes already closing.
The youth drew up the bed-linen. "Yeah?"
"Didn't feel good, when Poppy did't. Why're exceptions always made...when it's you?"
Potter raised his eyebrows. "Don't know, Sir."
"Hmm. Never been one for...massages. Too frivolous...before...quite warm..."
Severus was fast asleep before Potter could reply.
xxxx
Severus awoke with a start. It must be evening-Potter hadn't woken him for dinner, but perhaps the youth had decided to leave him asleep.
That, however, was not what currently concerned him. The last thing he could remember, he'd been struggling to drink half a cup of Earl Grey, and he'd practically slipped into unconsciousness and started babbling!
What on earth had he said to Potter? He had a vague memory that they had been holding a conversation of some kind as he was tucked into bed...
As far as Severus was concerned, it was as bad as if he had been drugged with Veritaserum.
Worse, really, since he had been working for several years to develop resistance to all but the strongest doses of that potion.
If only he knew what Potter had asked!
Would the Gryffindor take advantage of him in such a way? Most of what was detestable about Potter was borne of foolishness rather than cruelty. But then, when Severus had turned over and over the question of why Potter would want to help him, he'd assumed that the youth must wish to explore Severus' ties to his mother-to learn more about Lily and their shared childhood. As long as Potter did not pry terribly, Severus had considered this would be a fair exchange for the kind of help he was being offered.
It had not occurred to him that Potter might instead want to exact petty vengeances. Much as he had disliked Potter as a student, Severus had never hated him quite as much as he'd playacted...
But then, the playacting had not been mutual.
Still, Severus found himself strangely reluctant to think the worst of Potter. Severus thought back over the afternoon. The youth had not been anything less than adult, really, about any of their awkward interactions in these new roles. Perhaps Potter's curiosity had merely gotten the better of him, when Severus had answered his questions pliantly-the way his damned curiosity had once led him to stick his nose in someone else's pensieve. An unintended transgression, perhaps, rather than a scheme.
Well. Severus would simply have to be on better guard.
When Potter came in, lit only by the firelight, and balancing a tray, it had a fragrant bowl steaming on it. Said bowl was a staple of the Hogwarts' elves kitchens, and Severus recognised the scent right away.
"You're not feeding me stew, Potter."
Potter jumped, and apparently only had Quidditch-honed reflexes to thank for not upending the tray. He put the tray down across the armchair, cast a wandless Lumos at the candle sconces, then turned to speak to Severus with an amused, if put upon air.
"What's wrong with stew?"
"I will not endure you spoon-feeding me like a child." Severus harrumphed.
Potter raised his brows. "How else are we supposed to get food into you?"
"Order something light that I can pick up in my own hands, without the need for tableware." Severus demanded.
"And you'll be able to manage that?" Potter's voice and expression were doubtful, and frankly, Severus was uncertain himself. However, issuing demands was helping tremendously in recovering his mood.
"I can't see why not."
Potter hesitated. "I don't like to ask the elves to make another separate meal-they're on a skeleton crew in the kitchens at the moment-but I'll see what I can do." He went out to the sitting room and stuck his head in the flames, the flare of green light suggesting a firecall.
"Bangers and green beans okay?" He called out.
"Acceptable." Severus replied.
He was surprised when he heard the sound of pans being knocked about in his kitchenette and the gas stovette being lit.
Not long after, Potter presented him with a plate for his tray: pan fried sausages, each cut in half, and a handful of beans that seemed to have been fried in butter.
"I'm rather wary about consuming anything you've had a hand in, Potter, after witnessing six feeble years in front of a cauldron." Severus poked at a sausage-it looked edible, and frankly, he was not in reality refusing the meal, so much as waiting for it to cool before he attempted to feed himself.
"How much could a person bollocks up frying sausages? Even Ron could do it." Potter huffed. "You can see for yourself they're cooked through, since they're cut, before you go on about E. Coli or whatever else."
Severus made a fastidious show of examining one end, but his hand began to shake, so he quickly took a bite, and dropped the rest on the plate. The beans were lighter and much easier to manage, though the strain seemed to be less to do with the weight of his handful and more a struggle with grip and control. Nevertheless, he managed, and Potter left him to it for a bit, having taken out the offending stew, which he seemed to be eating himself in the lounge room.
Potter cleared his plate and took him to the loo, before settling him back in his bed.
"It can't be more than nine." Severus objected.
"You are supposed to be resting. It was a sort of big day, getting you down here and all. You're not tired then?"
Severus did not answer that.
"Where are you planning to sleep tonight?" He asked instead.
"I was going to transfigure your couch." Potter shrugged. "That okay?"
"So long as you are capable of returning it to its customary state."
"Pretty sure I could get an O in transfiguring temporary bedding after last year." Potter muttered.
"Do you intend to sit for your NEWTS when Hogwarts reopens?" Severus asked.
"Not sure. Didn't take any seventh year classes." Potter shrugged. "I'd need to study pretty much everything again."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "There will doubtless be plenty eager to employ you now, on the strength of your...extra curricular activities...but do keep in mind that without NEWTs, you may find certain doors barred to you later in life."
"Why did that sound like old Head of House advice?" Potter grinned.
"Because it is." Severus replied. "That does not make it any less true."
"I'll keep it in mind. Goodnight, Sir."
"Goodnight, Potter."
xxxx