Disclaimer: Don't think so. Nope, not at all.
9.
Again, you find yourself rising from inky blackness into your new reality, and you decide you really don't enjoy these sudden and random losses of consciousness. The sight of the grey stone walls of your cell, blurry as your nearsighted eyes can perceive them, is quickly getting old. You are stretched out on the floor of the cell, lying atop a ragged scrap of fabric that at some point in the distant past might have resembled one of Professor Snape's cloaks. You assume slightly muzzily that it is there to prevent infection from the dirt of the floor. Infection… It reminds you, you still haven't looked at your new souvenirs; there is no need. You can distinctly feel the three bands of pain that encircle both of your upper arms. Each band is an inch or so tall, and they lie evenly spaced over the length of your biceps. Consequently every little movement sparks a fresh burst of agony, and it isn't long before you involuntarily break your silence and cry out.
It isn't a loud noise, simply a choked-back gasp, but it is enough. You can hear the sudden rustle of movement from somewhere off to your right as a blurry figure makes its way towards you. Judging by the lack of a bushy cloud of brown hair you guess that the figure is Snape, and as the figure bends closer to you, your guess is proven right.
"I see you've finally woken, Potter. It's been long enough."
You roll your eyes. Even now, the man has lost none of his acerbic intonation. Normally, you'd be unable to stop a waspish response from escaping your lips, but you aren't exactly having a normal day, or even a normal week. "I'm awake now." You mumble through parched and raw lips. As you squint and try to focus on his face hovering slightly off to the side you miss the sudden movement of his hands, only to give a strangled squawk as they reach down and grasp you around the upper waist. With a swift, strong motion the Potions Master has you in an upright position. Your head swims with the sudden change in orientation and your arms begin to pound in time with your head as you dimly note the careful way he settles you against the stone wall. Even once you are upright, the hands don't move as you fight to clear the grey spots from your vision and quell the sick churning in your stomach.
"Are you good, Potter? Can I let go now, or will you merely fall over again?" The unexpected questions bring you to meet the man's eyes with a start, though it takes you a few seconds before you feel in control of yourself enough to answer.
"Think so. Ugh. What was that for?" You grind out from between clenched teeth. In response, you feel a cup of some sort being pressed into your hands. The first sip of water only makes you more aware of how thirsty you are and it is all you can do not to gulp the rest of the glass in one go.
"You've been out for almost two days now, Potter. I imagine your body is crying out for sustenance." You say nothing, and simply take another sip of water. You focus on the way the cool liquid slides down your throat, soothing and calming. Snape has stopped talking, but you don't glance up at him, so focused are you on the sensation of the water on your lips, in your mouth, slipping down your throat and filling you with a sort of peace. The ex-spy does nothing to break this fragile shell you are constructing, and for a split second you feel an odd sort of camaraderie forming between the two of you. He too seems to understand the importance of just being in times like this. With that niggling thought at the back of your mind, you let yourself plunge fully into the quiet.