Had Harry previously seen medical documentaries or fictional TV shows during his time at the Dursleys, he might have expected Sirius and Snape to transfigure one of the rooms of Grimmauld Place into a hospital operating room, complete with surgical instruments, medical gowns, and sterilizing equipment. Instead, they all simply moved into another room, because Sirius said that he didn't want the sitting room being used to cut his godson open, or he'd never look at it the same way again, and Snape had just heaved a sigh of exasperation before following him out of the room.
Sirius chose an unused bedroom for Snape would perform the procedure. As Harry looked around, he thought his godfather had done well. The bedroom was surrounded by windows on three sides, and on the fourth, Sirius lit a fire in the fireplace for extra light. With any luck, perhaps. they could never use the room after this. Destroy it entirely, even.
Harry reckoned that Sirius would like that.
Snape nodded briefly, clearly approving of the room, and promptly removed the covers from the bed with an almost careless flick of his wand.
"The extra blankets are unnecessary, and will likely be more trouble to clean than they're worth," Snape remarked, with more professionalism in his voice than acidity. This was the Potions master speaking, not the person who despised everyone else in the room. Although, clearly, he hated Voldemort more. "Potter, lay down on the bed."
"Yes, sir," Harry managed, trying not to let his voice shake.
Once horizontal, Snape emptied to vials of potions into his open mouth. Harry had consumed numerous potions during his time at Hogwarts, the worst easily being Skelegro. All the same, while these were hardly palatable, they were far from the worst he had consumed. In fact, the one Snape gave him that was to hold his body rigid had a not unpleasant aftertaste of mild cinnamon. Once immobile, although still able to speak, Snape placed a small piece of cloth over his entire face, minus the forehead.
"If you feel anything, Potter, speak immediately." As Harry's eyes widened, as he was unable to move otherwise, Snape explained, "While you can't move the rest of your body, of course, you will be able to make noises if you strain yourself. Understand?"
"Ye-ehs," he managed, though it felt like his tongue was glued to the root of his mouth.
Sirius looked as though he was going to say something else, perhaps speak some reassurance, but abruptly closed his mouth. He removed a small knife from his robe, muttered, "Scourgify," over it, and set it beside Harry. Reaching again into another pocket of his robes, he removed a long, black cloth. Then, Snape placed it over his head, and while he saw nothing else, he could certainly hear Snape getting to work. He realized that while the cloth blocked out most of his vision, he could make out the varying degrees of light as the Potions master moved around.
Then, Harry heard cutting, but couldn't feel it. He was glad that he couldn't move most of his face, because he would have winced for sure at the noise, and knowing where it came from, and what it was doing to his forehead.
Then, he heard a sigh. "It's not as though he can feel that, Black!"
"I don't care, Snape! I want him to know that I'm here for him," Sirius answered, his voice more serious than angry.
Oh. Sirius must be holding Harry's hand.
Snape was right, though, because Harry couldn't feel it.
More sighing, likely from Snape, then more cutting noises.
Harry lay still, not that he had a choice, and waited. Again, not that he had a choice. Snape had been right-he might be able to make a couple of noises with his mouth, but he could not do as much as move a finger or blink. He kept expecting to pass out from the horcrux being taken out of his body, even die, but he remained conscious and pain-free. He tried to focus on the levels of light varied as the Potions master moved, but the cloth over his face prevented him from really seeing what was going on.
Well, it could be a lot worse. He could be feeling the cutting.
At last, the cloth was removed, and he could start to be aware of being able to move his body. Slow, at first, beginning with the tips of his fingers. Then, a bandage covering his forehead.
"You can move, Potter, if you are able," Snape told him, his face in Harry's line of vision.
He swallowed, glad that he was able to. His mouth felt rather dry.
"Can I sit up?" he asked, following Snape's head with his eyes.
"One moment."
He felt the bandage being adjusted, then a nod. "Go ahead. Carefully."
Harry obeyed, and he was aware of Sirius sitting next to him, his hand in his. He felt rather awful that he hadn't been aware of the sensation until now. He gave Sirius a weak smile.
"Didn't feel anything, did you, pup?" Sirius asked, giving his hand a squeeze.
"Not while Snape was cutting my face open," he answered, honestly, and Snape let out a snort.
"I should think not, with the dose of pain destroying potion I gave you," he retorted, but Harry swore he was hiding a smile.
He felt a bit unsteady, even though he was only sitting up, and Sirius turned so that he was supporting Harry completely.
"What happens next, sir?" Harry asked, after giving Sirius a grateful smile.
"Next, Potter, you'll sleep the rest of the day, or, if you can't sleep, you'll rest. I can't provide you with Dreamless Sleep or any kind of sleeping aid. It would likely interfere with the other potions that are still coursing their way through your body," Snape explained. At Harry's nod, he continued. "Lay as still as you can, and sleep on your back or on your side. Your godfather and the werewolf will have to change the bandages twice a day. You may bathe-you should bathe-and wash that area with particular care. There's a particular type of soap that healers use for dark cuts, but only use it on your forehead. For three days," Snape instructed. "After three days, you should feel much like yourself again. Until then," Snape added, softening a bit, "rest."
"Can I get up at all? Move my legs a bit?" Harry wondered.
Snape seemed to consider this. "In moderation. You don't need to use a bedpan, but don't get any ideas about playing Quidditch. Nor exploding Snap." Snape considered for a moment. "Wizard Chess is fine. You've had a dark piece of magic removed from your body, Potter. You may only have a cut as evidence, but your entire body will react to the removal of the horcrux. You certainly are unlikely to die at this point, Merlin willing, but you must listen to your body and not do anything reckless. Also," he added, turning to Remus and Sirius, "your godfather and the werewolf will likely attempt to pamper you within an inch of your life for the next several days. Allow it."
Sirius gave Harry another squeeze. "Daily foot and back massages. Likely, twice a day. Long ones. No complaints allowed."
Snape rolled his eyes. "As I said, they'll be liable to pamper you within an inch of your life, and you'll just have to do your best to endure."
Harry managed a smile. "Thank you, sir." After a moment, wherein he was accosted by a wave of disorientation, he added, "I do feel rather tired. Er, a bit dizzy, too."
His head was beginning to hurt, although nothing near what he had felt in the past. He supposed that you couldn't have someone cut into your face without feeling it afterwards.
"Have him eat something substantial, then put the boy back to bed. If you need to reach me, you can contact me via Floo," Snape instructed. "I'll return in a few days to ascertain that nothing is amiss."
"Thank you, sir," Harry answered, after a brief pause.
Snape entered the fireplace, then, stated his location, and disappeared.
"All right, you heard the git," Sirius said, but used the word playfully. "Time to eat, then a foot massage, then back to bed."
Harry rose, a bit unsteady. He took a couple of steps, and found that Sirius and Remus were immediately on either side of him.
"On second thought..." Sirius gently lifted Harry into his arms, and he did not complain.
Once settled into Sirius's bed, a bowl of hot soup and crackers on a tray in front of him, Harry ate slowly. He did feel odd, and it wasn't just the bandage over his head. He felt as though a part of himself was missing. He was positive that he would no longer be able to speak to snakes, and knew that the mental connection he shared with Voldemort was entirely severed. Not that he should neglect clearing his mind or practicing Occlumency.
Mostly, he just felt drained.
Sirius really wanted to pamper Harry, but even he could see how tired he was just from eating.
Also, he was beginning to feel cold. Even with three blankets around him, there was a chill that didn't seem to want to leave his body.
"Could you, maybe, just play with my hair instead?" he asked, hopefully, as his godfather tucked him in more securely, then joined him on one side.
"Of course I will, pup," Sirius promised, planting a kiss on his head. "How do you feel about Remus joining us? See if he can't warm you up a bit?"
Harry nodded, a bit shyly. "If he doesn't mind."
"Not at all." Remus joined Harry on the other side, and carefully wrapped his arms around him.
It felt a bit warmer. Not very much, but like his dad's other best friend was an extra sweater on a bitter cold day.
The hug sandwich from the two felt nice, though, and so did the feel of Sirius' hands over his scalp. Harry could almost block out the cold, and allow himself to relax.
"Are you up for hearing some stories?" Remus asked, softly.
"I'll probably fall asleep before they're over," Harry said, attempting a laugh, "but if you don't mind..."
"Not at all." Remus held him a bit more snugly, and Sirius did the same. "Sirius, shall we tell him about the time James accidentally turned Lily's hair green?"
Harry blinked. "Dad did what?"
"Good one, Remus. Yes, you see, we were practicing turning our robes green for Saint Patrick's Day..." Sirius began, a hand through Harry's hair like a cat, and holding him even closer with the other.
"And Lily appeared to find out what was going on..." Remus continued, smiling.
As tired as he was, Harry forced himself to stay awake long enough to hear about half the story.
All the same, the chill didn't leave him as sleep took over, and worry lingered in his mind.
What if he could never feel warm again? What if his symptoms became even worse, and eventually killed him-or rendered him incapable of magic, of fighting Voldemort?
Author's note:
Hopefully, that wasn't too gory. Granted, we only have Harry's point of view of it, and he's laying on the bed the whole time.
Next up: Harry's convalesce begins, and while it could be worse, it certainly could be a lot easier. While he certainly doesn't want to complain, he has two very attentive caretakers.
Given that this was a fairly short chapter, I decided to post it early. Especially since I have a 12+ hour work day tomorrow, and there's not much chance I would be able to revise it and get it up by the end of the day!
Constructive feedback, please? I notice a of people favoriting and following the fic, which is a huge compliment, but written feedback would be really, really appreciated. :)
