CHAPTER 2 - THE COMA
Notes:
We continue with the story!
Don't worry, Snape will wake up soon!
The following morning Harry went straight to the Headmaster's office after breakfast. He had no idea of the password, but he found that, as soon as he reached the phoenix gargoyle, the statue began to move and Harry climbed the stairs. He knocked on the door, wondering if he should've asked for an appointment with the Headmistress beforehand.
"Enter," McGonagall said, and Harry pushed the door open, "ah, Potter. Come in."
Harry did, smiling when he saw the headmasters in their portraits, back where they used to be. The last time he'd been here to see Snape's memories on the pensieve the walls had been barren, the frames empty as they had all left to see the battle and what was going on. Harry smiled and he felt his eyes mist when he locked eyes with Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling, a wet smile half-hidden under his white beard.
"Harry… you did so well, my boy," Dumbledore said with a huge, proud smile, "so well…"
Harry felt he had a lot of things to say to the old man, but he didn't have the energy nor the words to do so. He only made a small bow with his head.
"Thank you, sir."
McGonagall then gestured at the chair in front of her desk, and Harry accepted it.
"I trust you're well-rested, Potter," McGonagall said.
"Yes, I am, thank you, Professor."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, then?"
"I was wondering… I'm leaving today with Ron, Hermione and Ginny for Fred's funeral," Harry explained, "but… I was wondering if I could come back, and spend some time here. Maybe help with the works of the castle's restoration?"
McGonagall stared at him, blinking.
"I thought you'd want to go back to Grimmauld Place?"
Harry shook his head.
"I suppose I'll have to go back eventually, but… that isn't my home. And right now, I feel this is the place I need to be," Harry said, "I understand if you want to close the school, but… I think I can help."
"Potter… haven't you done enough already?" McGonagall asked, "I hear you even brought Severus back from the dead… he's in an induced coma, yes?"
Harry nodded, something in his chest jumping at the mention of him.
"Pomfrey doesn't really know how long it will take for him to recover, but at least he isn't dead… he didn't deserve such gruesome death," Harry said, his voice subdued.
McGonagall smiled a bit.
"Okay, Potter, you can stay for a wee bit," she finally agreed, "in the next few days I and the other Heads of Houses will devise a plan to restore the castle by parts. Maybe you can help out."
Harry then smiled.
"Thank you, Professor," he said as he got up from his seat, "I'll be back in a couple of days, then."
"Don't rush, Potter. Grief is a process that takes time," McGonagall said, "but yes, see you in a few days, then."
Harry left the Headmaster's office with a spring in his step. Now he knew that he was returning, he could face the funeral with a different view.
Not that it would be easy, Harry thought as he returned to the Entrance Hall, where Ginny, Ron and Hermione were already waiting. Ron's face was restrained, his jaw clenched and he avoided everyone's eyes. Hermione made eye contact with Harry and he nodded. Ron was not very good with emotions, and truly, no one is ready when grief strikes.
They walked outside, seeing the people who were queuing for the carriages pulled by thestrals. Harry thought with a painful pang in his chest, that now everybody would be able to see the creatures that pulled the carriages.
"It's almost time," Harry said, checking his battered gold watch that he still wore on his wrist, present by Mrs Weasley, "we'd better get going."
They said their goodbyes to Luna and Neville, who were queuing for the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade. Some of them, like Harry and the Weasleys, were walking outside the Apparition wards, as they were travelling through portkey instead of taking the Hogwarts Express. As it was such an unusual end of the year, the school had agreed on different modes of transport, if it would make it easier for the families.
As they walked towards the Apparition wards, people were saying goodbye. Harry clasped hands and hugged people, including his friends and roommates like Dean or Seamus. Many, like Harry himself, didn't know if they'd be back for another year. It all made for a very strange goodbye.
The old, battered boot was ready, and everyone gathered around it. Harry took another look at the castle. He knew he'd be back in just a couple of days, but still, he felt something as he looked back at the magnificent school. He smiled; as if saying goodbye for now, and then he felt a familiar tug in his belly-button. Then, the world started to swirl around him.
Harry was glad when the funeral was over. He knew this wouldn't be the last one he'd attend, but seeing the Weasley family so broken… it tore his heart apart.
He stood beside Ginny, gently wrapping his arm around her back and trying to quieten the protests inside his head. This wasn't the time. His eyes didn't stop moving from one Weasley to another, desperately holding onto something, anything, when he heard Mrs Weasley's desperate sobs that she tried to quieten. Mr Weasley was holding her, the way his eyes were blank, almost barren from emotion, was even more soul-crushing.
No parent should outlive their children, it was so unfair. So bloody unfair.
But if there was anyone at the funeral that was utterly desolate, that was George. His eyes were vacant, distant, he seemed to be so in shock that he had no tears in his eyes, he was just… there. Harry had no siblings to speak of, but he'd known George and Fred enough to know that half of George's heart had died with Fred.
That night Ron, after being silent all day, went to bed early. Hermione asked Harry if it was too much to ask to allow him to share the bedroom with him tonight, Harry shook his head. Ron needed Hermione now.
And Ginny needed Harry, he thought, looking at his girlfriend. She had a blotched nose and red-rimmed, puffy eyes. She was being hugged by Charlie, whose big arms surrounded her small frame. He was whispering something to her ear, and Ginny was sniffling quietly. Then, Charlie seemed to notice Harry's staring and he let her go, smiling. Ginny nodded, wiping her eyes, and looked at Harry, who took that as permission to come closer.
"Hermione will sleep with Ron tonight," Harry informed her, "so… I'll sleep in your bedroom tonight if you don't mind?"
Harry felt awkward, requesting that of Ginny, but she only nodded, too distraught for anything else. Harry put his hand on the small of her back and guided her upstairs, to her bedroom. Once in bed, he could feel Ginny's hard breath, but besides wrapping one arm around her tummy, Harry couldn't do much else. It was odd, and it smelled funny, but he was too exhausted to do more than just register it. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Of course, a big part of him felt he should do more. After all, he was responsible for the untimely deaths of Fred, Remus, Tonks…
He had seen Andromeda the day after Fred's funeral. She had come to visit and give her condolences to the family, as well as receive her own. Harry couldn't forget Ginny's pained expression when she recognized Andromeda with baby Teddy. He couldn't forget how this time, she looked much less like her sister Bellatrix, with her sunken, puffy eyes probably from all the crying and the grief.
Even though they'd only seen each other once, Ginny wrapped her arms around the older woman as they both cried. Everyone knew how fond of Tonks Ginny was.
Harry had let his body sink on the couch, his mind conjuring images of Remus and of all the times they'd spent together. As the last link to his parents, once Sirius died, their connection had been special. Harry pressed his lips together, willing the lump in his throat to go away.
"Harry…"
"Mrs Tonks," Harry said, "I… I am incredibly sorry…"
He had no words to say. What can you say to someone who's just lost her daughter and son-in-law, and who has a baby to raise? The situation was so similar to his own…
"I'm glad they made you godfather, Harry," Andromeda said with a pained smile.
She then showed little Teddy, asleep in his baby sling, his hair a bright blue colour that reminded him of his mum.
"Can he change the colour?" Harry asked. Andromeda gave him a lopsided smile and nodded.
"Same as brave 'Dora," she replied, "and he has her temper as well."
Harry smiled, yes, he had known about Tonks' temper. Harry brushed Teddy's hair soft hair, smiling sadly.
"Do you want to hold him?" Andromeda asked.
And when Teddy was placed in his arms, when he felt the rapid breathing of the baby against him, his tiny hands clutching his pinky finger as he slept on… part of him felt awfully guilty and responsible for his parents' deaths, while the other swore to protect and love this child as if he was his own. It was not only his duty but his desire and responsibility as the boy's godfather.
"I swear, 'Dora," Harry said, and his voice sounded choked, even in his ears, "I swear I'll protect him."
Dora's eyes glistened, no tears welled in them but she nodded, a sad smile painted on her lips.
"I know you will, Harry," she said.
Now, back at Hogwarts, looking at the blackened stone walls and the half-destroyed towers, Harry took a deep breath. Yes, this is what he needed, where he needed to be. He felt he'd been suffocating for the past forty-eight hours, but for the first time since he'd woken up after the battle, he felt his chest a bit less constricted.
All his life Harry had felt like a punching bag, in his childhood quite literally, bullied and tormented by Dudley and his friends. From his eleventh birthday, when he finally found out who he was, he had lived a life that he wasn't sure if it had been his own.
Now, he was finally free. But after realizing that Voldemort was no more, a more pressing question came to the forefront of his mind:
Now what?
He didn't have the energy to answer that question right now.
For now, he knew exactly what he wanted to do: visit Snape.
After just two days in the induced coma, he doubted he would see an improvement, but somehow he wanted to see how he was fairing. So, with renewed energy, his feet took him through the castle grounds towards the Front Gate. It was strange to see and hear the castle so silent, his steps echoing in the deserted corridors and staircase.
When he reached the Hospital Wing door, he heard voices coming from inside.
"I think it's best if we take him to St Mungo's," that was McGonagall's voice, "Merlin knows how long he will stay in this state."
"I agree, Minerva, that it may take a long time," Pomfrey replied, her voice sounding unconvinced, "but St Mungo's? Is it safe?"
"As safe as any place, Poppy," McGonagall's gruff voice came, "they can place him in the long-term wing and monitor his condition."
At the women's words, something akin to fury grew inside of him, growling like a beast. He pushed the door open and he trod with decided, noisy steps, his jaw set and his hands clenched in fists. Both women were standing at the foot of the bed, looking at the man who was covered by the curtain.
"Did I hear correctly, Professor?" Harry asked, and his voice sounded icy, "you want to send him to St Mungo's?"
"This isn't really your concern, is it, Potter?" McGonagall said, however, she calmed her tone of voice, "Severus will be better attended at St Mungo's, where professionals…"
"Yeah, and the moment word goes round that he's alive, there will be a queue outside from people who want to kill him!" Harry exclaimed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his racing heart to calm down.
"If you truly are set in sending him to St Mungo's, I will take him to Grimmauld Place, and I'll look after him," Harry said in a deadpan voice.
"Potter! You have no knowledge of medicine, how can you expect to…-" McGonagall started.
"I will learn whatever is necessary, he deserves to recover in a safe place!" Harry exclaimed, frustration rising in his chest, "Professor, can't you see? Snape has a thousand detractors, hundreds want him dead, and this isn't over! Death Eaters are still being captured, and now that his role in the war is known, his life is at risk! He can't get out of the castle."
"Minerva, Potter is right," Pomfrey added. She slowly took two steps and stood beside Harry, "St Mungo's isn't safe for Severus. I think he'd better stay here, I can look after him."
McGonagall's nose flared, and her stern eyes went from Harry to Pompfrey. It was obvious she didn't like their alliance, as her lips were pursed tight.
"Fine," she agreed tersely, her strong Scottish accent coming out, "but if he's to stay here long-term, I want you, Potter, to help in his recovery. You will help with Poppy in whatever she asks you to do, be it applying cleaning charms, or whatever it is. Are we understood?"
Harry nodded, a small, triumphant smile on his lips.
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, "thank you…"
"I hope you don't make me regret this. Neither of you," McGonagall said as she threw another warning look at both Pomfrey and Harry. Then, she left.
Harry turned around to watch her leave the Hospital Wing, closing the door behind her.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Harry said as he turned to Pomfrey, "thanks for siding with me on this…"
"My pleasure, Potter. I also do believe the best place for Severus to recover is here," she answered, "but you heard the Headmistress… you have to help me."
Harry nodded, and for the first time since he'd arrived, his eyes fell on Snape. He was still sleeping, this time without beads of sweat on his forehead, but his hair seemed more messy and dirty than before. He took a couple of steps closer to the man, observing his sunken eyes and pale face. Not knowing what came over him, Harry's hand reached and brushed some strands from his cheek, gently smoothing the hair onto the pillow.
"Do you think he will recover?" Harry asked, his eyes not leaving Snape's expression. What Harry would give to see those black eyes open again, to see those pools of darkness. He had always thought they held nothing, but inside of him, he knew it wasn't true.
"I can't give a full prognostic, we have to wait and see how he reacts and recovers," Pomfrey said from behind him, "but I have every faith in Severus. He's almost as stubborn as you, Potter. He'll get through it."
Harry nodded, smirking.
"I'll go check my other patients," Pomfrey said, "will you replace his bandages on his neck, please?"
Harry turned around and accepted the new bandages Pomfrey was handing him. He turned around and set to work, cutting out the bandages he would need. His eyes focused on Snape's sleeping form. On his closed eyes, on his pale and sunken cheeks, his cheekbone so noticeable now that he was even thinner than Harry remembered. His aquiline nose was big, now that he was so close to him Harry could truly appreciate it, but it suited him, in a strange sort of way.
Feeling something warm inside of him pull him, his fingers brushed against Snape's cheek. It wasn't soft, as he had a slight stubble, but Harry felt something tingle under the pads of his fingers. A curious warmth spread from his fingertips to the rest of his body, something trembling in the base of his stomach.
Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he flinched and pulled his hand back as if Snape's skin burnt.
What had happened, what was he thinking?
He shook his head and focused on the task at hand, unwrapping the bloodied bandages from Snape's neck. He was careful when handling him, and unwrapped the bandages and cleaned the wound with as much care as he could. The wound was still raw and tender, but somehow Harry could see an improvement, the skin maybe wasn't as marred as it had been two days before.
Once the wound was clean and the new bandages applied, Harry let Snape's head rest back against the pillows. Snape's breathing was deep and constant, no sign of waking up soon. Harry smoothed his hair and made a mental note to ask Pomfrey about cleaning Snape's hair with magic.
He sat down on the chair beside him, watching Snape's rise and fall of his chest, and Harry felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.
The following day, Harry felt guilty about the way he'd spoken to McGonagall. Despite being steadfast in his opinion, Harry still had respect for her, and that was no way of talking to the acting Headmistress. Since he had a meeting with her to discuss how he'd help in the rebuilding of the castle, he decided to apologise for it.
He knocked on her office door, this time with no surprise that the gargoyle had let him in, and he was allowed to enter. Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick and Professor Slughorn were already seated around a huge table in the centre of the circular room.
"Ah, Potter. Thank you for joining us," McGonagall said.
"Headmistress," Harry said, showing her the respect the title demanded, "Professors."
"Harry! So glad to see you!" Slughorn was the first to greet Harry, and he smiled when Slughorn placed a hand on his shoulders, "I knew you could do it, my boy… thank you."
The other two Heads of Houses nodded their agreement, and Harry merely nodded in thanks, not really knowing what to say. He decided on the easiest.
"I thought Snape was Head of the Slytherin House," he commented, sitting beside Professor Slughorn.
"He was, but he passed the title onto me, he couldn't do everything being Headmaster," Slughorn replied, "and now, as you may know, he is… indisposed."
"Horace, Harry retrieved Severus from the Shrieking Shack. He knows of his condition," McGonagall explained, "in fact, he's helping him in his recovery."
"Is he now?" Flitwick said, and his eyes twinkled from behind his glasses, "but all the school knows of your… mutual differences, let's call them?"
Harry chuckled and he felt a bit of heat on his cheeks.
"Yes, but I have recently seen him under a different light," Harry said, shrugging, "in any case, I just want him to recover. So he can do as he pleases with his life, same as the rest of us."
It was obvious Harry meant business, he couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable by the not-so-indirect questions by his Professors. McGonagall understood Harry's silent request and cleared her throat.
"Right, let's get down to the plan. I think that what Pomona suggests of dividing the castle into quarters will work best," McGonagall said. "The priorities are the Great Hall, the Hospital Wing, the common room areas and I'd say, probably the entire first floor. If we can't finish everything in time we can always move some classes to the classrooms on the first and second floor, some of them are abandoned."
"Right, but what about the courtyard? It was pretty destroyed," Flitwick added.
"Yes, it is important but not essential, the insides are…"
The meeting went on for about an hour, discussing this or that course of action. Harry began to get bored, he just wanted to spring into action, to do something. His mind took him to a place he didn't want to be, his thoughts swirling around Ginny and his strange feeling towards her now, and about Snape. Would his condition have changed?
"Potter?"
"Hmm?" Harry realized he'd been spacing out, and he quickly shook his head, "sorry?"
"I was asking if you'd like to take care of the Gryffindor tower first. After all, you're the one that knows it best besides me, and you will be using it for the time of your stay," McGonagall said.
"Ah sure, of course. I can do that," Harry mumbled, and then he turned to Flitwick, the expert in charms, "any tips, Professor?"
"Just a Mending Charm but more powerful, Reparo Maxima. With your power, you shouldn't have any problems," Flitwick replied with a smile.
"Reparo Maxima. Okay, I got it," Harry said, impatient to start. However, he endured the rest of the meeting, trying to not let his mind wander, though it was difficult. If this was what staff meetings were like, no wonder Snape was always in such a bad mood after one.
"Aurora will also be coming for a while to help us," McGonagall announced, "she'll be back in a couple of days after she makes sure her family is okay. Hagrid will take care of the grounds, though he might need help at some point. For now, that is all, we'll reconvene in a few days to see how we're doing with our tasks. Any questions?"
All the Professors shook their heads and began to leave the office. Harry stayed behind, his eyes focused on the Hogwarts model that looked like a hologram he'd seen in a sci-fi movie once when the Dursleys had gone away for the day and had left him alone at the house.
"Potter? Is anything the matter?" McGonagall asked.
Harry steeled himself and nodded.
"Yes, Professor… I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you yesterday. That was disrespectful of me," Harry admitted, looking down, "but… I didn't think you understood the risk you were placing Snape by sending him to St Mungo's."
"Professor Snape, Potter. And yes, I see your point," McGonagall said, "I… I admit I am uncomfortable with letting him stay here. His past associations make him a target, and my primary concern is the safety of the students and the castle."
"The students are gone. The only one in danger is himself, and he has us to protect him, and the castle," Harry said, "besides, you heard my story. You were there when I told Voldemort, you heard what I'd found out. Professor, you'd seen him as a student with my mother, you knew they were friends."
"Yes, and I also know that he was fascinated by the Dark Arts way before coming to Hogwarts. Can you blame me, Potter, for believing him a loyal follower of the Dark Lord after killing Dumbledore?"
Harry was left speechless. No, he couldn't blame her. Not when everyone, including himself, had believed that lie. That farce.
"No, I can't. He fooled us all," Harry said, his voice lower and calmer now, "but he truly was on our side. He killed Dumbledore under his orders, he protected me all these years while I was being a foolish teenager. He even almost died, he thought he died believing he had failed in his duty to protect me. And yet he did it, despite hating me, to honour my mother's memory. For seventeen years. A bad man can't do all that, I'm sure of it."
Harry then sighed, and he let his body sag against the chair he'd been sitting on, leaning back against the backrest.
"You conveniently seem to forget how he treated you all these years, Potter. He used you to canalise his hatred for your father," McGonagall said, looking at him over her glasses, "or did your hatred for you suddenly disappear? I seem to remember you never trusted him, not even when Albus or I did."
"I haven't forgotten. And I think he and me will have to talk once he recovers," Harry said "but for now, all I was asking was that you gave him the chance to recover in a safe space. Away from the press and the Death Eaters still roaming, who surely would kill him if they had the chance."
McGonagall smirked.
"You don't have to keep convincing me, I have given my permission. He can stay while he recovers," McGonagall said, "what surprises me is your sudden interest in him recovering and being safe."
Harry shrugged. He still didn't quite understand that himself.
"I… I suppose he deserves that. After everything he did… he deserves to recover in a place that's familiar to him. He deserves to see familiar faces, to have Pomfrey treat him when she's treated him for years. Not with mediwitches who know nothing of him and where he may be at risk..." Harry trailed off, and then he shook his head. "Anyway, I wanted to apologise for my attitude yesterday. I let exhaustion get the best of me."
McGonagall nodded and got up from the chair.
"Very well. I accept your apology, Potter. Now, off you go, the Gryffindor tower awaits you," she said as she made the model of Hogwarts disappear, "and remember your promise to help Poppy with whatever she may need."
"Yes, Professor, thank you," Harry said before leaving the Headmaster's office. This time, his heart was a bit lighter. He had a purpose now, and he would put all his effort into rebuilding the part of the castle that he lived in. His home.
Harry began to work on the rebuilding of the Gryffindor tower by assessing its damage. He called Kreacher to serve him some tea, and while he was doing that, he told him of the challenge ahead.
"I think I will need your help, my friend," he said to the elf, "I need a damage report of everything that needs to be rebuilt, so I know what I'm doing. Do you think you can help me? Especially with the girls' dorms?"
"Anything for Master Potter, sir," Kreacher said with a smile, his eyes glistening, "Kreacher is so glad Master is okay."
Harry smiled and patted Kreacher on the head.
"I'm glad you're okay too, Kreacher. I don't know if we'll go back to Grimmauld Place, but if at some point you want to return, just let me know. I know you miss it," Harry said.
Kreacher nodded, his ears lowering and his expression saddening, but then he looked at Harry in the eyes.
"Kreacher misses the noble house of Black, but he doesn't want to be alone… at Hogwarts Kreacher is happy. As long as Master is happy," he said with a choked voice.
Harry then nodded and smiled, satisfied.
"I am, Kreacher. And I'm glad you're happy at Hogwarts," Harry said. Then he clapped his hands, "Okay, are you ready to work?"
The next few hours were a swirl of activity, making a list that kept growing longer and longer with all that needed to be repaired. The upper floors were the most damaged, but the lower floors were not in a perfect state either. Harry wondered what the other Professors were dealing with, as he knew he'd been assigned an easy task in comparison.
By the time the evening rolled around, Harry was exhausted and sweaty. He had ditched his muggle shirt and his T-shirt was clinging to him, and he'd ended up taking that off too.
But he was satisfied. He went to shower and change, and then went downstairs, feeling tired but also sort of rejuvenated. He had always enjoyed physical work. In summer, when he'd been forced to attend to the garden besides his other many chores, he was glad to be able to spend time outside working with his hands.
The Great Hall was deserted and the tables were still against the wall, but as soon as he sat down at a random place, food appeared on his plate. It seemed that, unlike the rest of the year, in summer the elves didn't prepare as much food. As he ate, ravenous, Harry wondered how Snape would be doing. He hadn't seen him since that very morning when he'd changed his bandages, and he couldn't deny he felt a strange sensation of anticipation at seeing him again. He felt useful by being able to help, both in the restoration and in Snape's recovery.
When he entered the Hospital Wing, Snape was in the same state as he'd been before, with the exception of his bandages, which were bloodied again, though a bit less.
"Potter, before you reapply his bandages, put this on the wound," Pomfrey said as she handed him a jar, "it's a salve, it will help the wound heal and close itself off."
Harry nodded his thanks and started to unwrap the bandages. He was very careful in holding Snape's head so it wouldn't be lolling to one side or being in strange positions. He still winced when he uncovered the last piece of blood-streaked bandage and the wound was visible. Harry had little notions of medicine, but he could've sworn the wound had closed a bit and had changed its colour in the few days since he'd been tending to it.
Being very careful, and cleaning his hands again before touching the wound, he started to apply the salve with his index finger. A slight tingling sensation began to spread; as if magic was working through him. He looked at the jar, it didn't have a list of ingredients and it had probably been brewed by Snape himself, but Harry thought it might have a bit of magic in it.
He continued to apply the salve, paying special attention to the marred, inflamed tissue surrounding the wound. As he worked, he hoped it would bring some relief and help with the swelling. He let the skin absorb the salve and then he reapplied it again. But then his gaze wandered around Snape's peaceful expression, his lips, which weren't drawn into a scowl or a malicious or cruel smile. He looked so peaceful, he had never seen Snape so calm.
"How is the wound?" Pomfrey asked from behind him, making Harry jump out of his skin. He'd been so focused on the feelings coursing through him that he'd lost perspective of where he was, and he gulped.
"B-better? I mean, I think the bandages weren't as bloodied as the first ones had been," Harry stammered.
Pomfrey then walked beside Harry and inspected the wound.
"Hmm yes, it's healing nicely," Pomfrey said with satisfaction, "you will have to apply this every morning and every night until the wound is closed, understand Potter? Do not forget."
"I won't, Ma'am," Harry nodded.
He finished applying the salve and closed the jar, feeling strange but, even more strangely, satisfied.
The next morning Harry woke up with the sun straight to his face, for a second he thought he'd overslept when he cast a Tempus charm and it was only 6:00 am. He placed his arm over his face to hide against the bright light that hurt his eyes, and he sighed. His thoughts automatically wandered to what he had to do today. He made a mental list of everything that he and Kreacher had compiled in the list of items that needed to be rebuilt or mended in the tower.
But then, his thoughts took him to the Hospital Wing and Snape.
Why did he feel compelled to visit him? Why had he argued with McGonagall so vehemently to keep him in the castle? She said it herself, Snape had been nothing but a bastard to him ever since he'd known him. He blamed him and threw all his pent-up frustration and hatred onto him for what his father and friends did.
However, Snape's memories haunted him.
He couldn't forget Snape's red and humiliated face when James had used the spell on him and had him hanging upside down, his robes over his head for everyone to see his underpants. He cringed every time he remembered it, the laughs and jeers. His pained face when he was trying to apologise to his mother after calling her Mudblood.
Harry had revisited that scene in his mind so many times that he knew everything by heart now. He felt his stomach twist every time he thought that his dad and his friends were simply bored when Snape appeared, he had done nothing. He was revising his answers for the DADA O.W.L's! James's words, that it was more the fact that he existed… it was such an awful thing to say about someone…
Memory after memory, Harry only saw pain, loneliness, and rejection. From what he'd seen, Snape's only friend had been Lily, and she had died 17 years ago.
Harry ran his hands through his fingers, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. The man Harry had known was spiteful, cruel, unjust and evil. He was capable of insulting and abusing children in his classrooms, to the point that some like Neville were terrified of him. However, Harry realized he had been too blind in his hatred and petty childishness to see that Snape was, in fact, working behind the shadows. Trying to keep him alive, to save him.
He remembered with a jolt in his third year; when Remus had neglected to drink the Wolfsbane potion and transformed into a werewolf right in front of their eyes.
He had never even thought about what Snape must've felt at seeing Remus transform. When he was a teen Snape almost died because of Sirius's joke, and it surely must've been terrifying to him. And yet, Harry remembered how Snape, despite his terror, placed himself in front of him, Ron and Hermione, protecting them with his body.
He had been an idiot all his life, he was sure of it now, now that the veil had disappeared and the blindfolds of his eyes had fallen.
Snape had had a terrible life, he'd spent half of it trying to atone for the mistakes he made when he was a mere teenager. He fell into Voldemort's trap, realized his mistake, and spent all his adult life working in the shadows. Harry shuddered when he realized just what a mortal danger Snape placed himself in every time he went to a meeting with Voldemort. He admired how good of an Occlumens he must've been to be able to lie to the most formidable dark wizard in recent history, right under his nose. And not only that but to convince the madman that Snape was, truly, his most trusted and loyal follower.
How could Harry manage to conciliate this newfound knowledge, with the man Harry had always known? How could he forget that they rarely had been in the same room together without shouting at each other, now that he had sacrificed himself and barely survived, to give Harry a chance to kill Voldemort?
The revelation was making Harry have a headache. Life would've been easier if he still thought Snape was one of them; if he still believed Snape was Voldemort's most loyal follower and servant. If he still hated him for killing Dumbledore.
But how could he, now, when he knew Snape had killed Dumbledore at his request? When he knew that he'd killed him to give him a painless death; when he was slowly dying of a curse and Draco had been trying to kill him all year?
He wouldn't find the answers now. Harry shook his head and went straight to the bathroom to get ready for breakfast. He looked at the mirror, his hair was growing longer. His stubble was also growing, but for some reason, he did like it.
He intently watched himself in the mirror as he touched his stubble with his fingers, enjoying the slight whirring sound. He decided to not cut the hair or shave, see how it would look on him. His scar was the same as it always was, but with his hair longer it wasn't that visible. Just as well, from now on he wanted to live as normal a life as possible.
He had purposefully avoided looking at the Daily Prophet. After the vitriol and lies they published about him in his fifth year he had no time or patience for the paper, except for the Quibbler.
He got dressed up, tried to tame his hair unsuccessfully, and went to the Great Hall for breakfast. He ditched the tea and pumpkin juice, going straight for the coffee pot as he ate. After being on the run for a year, and having to hunt their own food, the variety of food available at Hogwarts was utter bliss.
As he was finishing his cup of coffee, McGonagall entered the Great Hall, walking to the staff table, which was still in the same place it had always been. She greeted Harry and he did the same, and then Harry took the last sip of coffee and left. He had to visit Snape and wanted to get started on the reparations of the Gryffindor tower today.
The moment he entered the Hospital Wing and his eyes fell on Snape's sleeping form, everything he'd been thinking that morning came rushing to him.
Snape looked so peaceful now, so vulnerable, that no one would imagine he had been lying to Voldemort's face for years. Brave. That was the word Harry could think of when looking at him.
Pomfrey had evidently manoeuvred him during the night, as now Severus's pale hands were over the sheets and thin blanket instead of under it. Harry observed his pale skin, and his big hands with elongated fingers, which were yellowish and stained.
"Ah, Potter. Good morning," said Pomfrey as she brought a big basin, "how are you with washing hair?"
Harry shrugged.
"I was thinking about it, but I thought there was a spell for it," Harry admitted sheepishly.
Pomfrey chuckled.
"There is one, but I know that Severus hates it. It's bad enough I have to use cleaning charms on his body," she explained, "I thought washing his hair too was too much. Are you willing?"
Harry nodded, taking off his shirt and standing only with his jeans and T-shirt.
"I am," he said, nodding.
Pomfrey flicked her wand and the bed moved a few inches to the front. Another flicker of her wand and a supporting bedside table appeared right behind Severus's head, and then she placed the basin on it.
"When the water is sufficiently warm, levitate his body so that the head hovers over the basin," she explained, "and remember, be gentle. We don't want Severus to wake up with scratches all over his head."
Harry nodded, and Pomfrey let him to it, tending to her other patients. Harry then started to fill the basin with water, adding the shampoo Pomfrey had given him. When everything was done he checked the temperature, making sure it wasn't too cold or too hot, and then he used his wand to levitate Snape. The sheets fell below his legs, and Harry's eyes immediately spotted blisters on his legs. He took the sheets in his hand and moved them lower, only to see that more blisters had developed on Severus's skin.
"Dammit, I didn't think of that," Harry muttered to himself.
He let Snape levitate over the bed and went to work on his hair, all the while berating himself for forgetting such a simple thing. Snape was bedridden and couldn't move, he had to be moved to prevent more blisters from forming.
Harry shook his head and began to soak Snape's hair in warm water, pouring a generous quantity of shampoo on it. It smelled nice, of wood. Cedarwood, Harry realized, as he'd become quite adept in the last year at identifying the different woods and smells. This one was earthy, it instantly made Harry think of a thick forest, as it had a strong wooden smell.
The aroma conjured almost vivid images of cedar forests, where the towering trees with graceful branches swayed gently in the breeze. The fragrance enveloped him, hoping it enveloped Snape too and made him feel as safe and serene as he was feeling. He inhaled again, distinguishing the comforting blend of earthy resin and wood, so dissonant from the sterile environment of the Hospital Wing.
It suited Snape.
With gentle hands he began to gently stroke and massage his hair, making sure to spread all the shampoo all over the strands. His touch was gentle and tender. Each motion was executed with the utmost care as he worked through the strands, massaging and spreading the foamy soap in circular motions. This made the scent intensify and Harry felt his lips twitching in a calm smile, feeling for the first time in forever, calm and relaxed.
That was until his ears caught something. He stopped his motions and listened attentively, watching Severus's chest from his position right behind his head, when he noticed Snape taking a deep breath and expelling it with a sigh.
A contented sigh.
Harry's smile grew wider, it was working! The earthy smell had managed to slip through Snape's subconscious mind and had managed to relax him and calm him.
Once the hair was clean enough, Harry began to rinse it off, realizing that the basin was magical as it didn't seem to have a bottom and it never overflowed. Harry rinsed it with water gushing from his wand as if it were a faucet, cascading over Snape's hair and taking all the remains of the shampoo with it. Harry's other hand held Snape's head, the fingers teasing apart any knots and tangles in the long raven-black hair.
As Harry's fingers continued to work through Snape's hair, a tingling sensation coursed through his fingertips, accompanied by a soothing warmth growing in his lower stomach. It was warm and welcoming, and it pulled him to Snape, a strange, sudden and strong desire to protect and keep him safe. He brushed the raven-black locks with a gentle touch, promising himself silently that he wouldn't let any harm come to Snape.
When it was done, Harry stopped the water charm and wrung out the excess water from Snape's hair. He then grabbed a white fluffy-looking towel and began to dry it, making sure to be gentle and avoid pulling on the hair.
His fingers tangled in the hair, feeling it soft to the touch, and with a shiny black colour. He had already seen it before, but now he realized just how many new grey hairs Snape had. The stress of this final year had taken a toll on him.
"You can rest now," he whispered to him as he levitated Snape a bit higher, conjured a brush and began to brush Snape's hair. He cast a hot-air charm, blowing it gently while with the other he kept brushing the hair and keeping it tidy until it was dry.
"All done!" Harry said with a smile, satisfied with his job. He then sat down on the chair, observing Snape's gentle fall and rise of his chest. He didn't know if it was his own imagination, but he could bet Snape looked calmer, and more relaxed now.
"How did it go?" Pomfrey asked a while later when she came round to check, "did he behave?"
"Admirably," Harry said with a smile, "oh, he should be levitating for a while, he's developed some blisters from being in the same position for too long. He needs an ointment or something to deal with those," he added.
"Well spotted, Potter. Use a few drops of essence of dittany two times a day, when you're changing the bandages on his neck," she said, "and now, for the potions."
Harry observed as Pomfrey left five different vials of potions on the bedside table, and with her wand, she cast a spell. One by one, the potions magically left their vial, travelling directly to Snape's stomach.
"It would be dangerous to force him to drink while unconscious, he might choke," Pomfrey had explained the first time Harry had seen her doing this.
After Pomfrey had finished giving him the potions, she advised him to let him rest. Harry nodded, knowing he had work waiting for him at the Gryffindor tower. But for some reason, he didn't want to leave. Not yet.
He finally had no other option but to leave when he cast a Tempus charm and realized he'd spent two hours at the Hospital Wing.