CHAPTER 5 - WONDERING

The sun was beginning to rise from behind the mountains and the lake, its rays painting a beautiful hue of light orange and pink colours coming from the window to his left.

He blinked his eyes open, feeling his body and mind sluggish, slow. Before, he had always waken up alert and ready, often in fight or flight mode. And sometimes he didn't even sleep, the advanced wrinkles and the bags under his sunken eyes proof of it. Now, though, his body took longer to respond.

Everything was hard. Holding a cup of tea was hard, swallowing was hard. He couldn't even speak.

That was probably the hardest thing, not being able to say what was on his mind. Oh, the jabs he'd thrown at Potter if he'd been able to.

Potter.

The mere memory of the boy confused him.

Boy? No, not boy anymore. He was 17 but very definitely not a boy. He hadn't shaved in a while, that much was obvious. And though his hair was a bit longer than a month ago, the last time he'd seen him at the Shrieking Shack, it wasn't enough to cover his face. The scar on his face was visible, the mark of the killing curse crossing the eye and leaving the skin surrounding it marred. He had never been afraid to look at those green eyes, never been afraid to look at the scar that others seemed to have fascination but also fear.

He had never seen Potter as more than a boy, too young for the responsibilities he had.

And yet, he'd emerged the winner.

How had he managed to do it? How had he managed to survive, yet again, the most powerful dark wizard of all?

And what was he doing here, looking after him?

Severus had gone with the flow and let Potter do what he pleased, he didn't have the energy to fight anyway. But instead of mocking him, attacking him or throwing him to the wolves, he'd protected him.

He still shuddered when he remembered his reaction at the mention of a levitation spell. He shook his head, embarrassment coursing through him. He didn't even understand what happened, only that something inside of him got triggered. But his mind had taken him to so many years ago, under the tree on the Hogwarts grounds, the worst memory of his life.

And yet, Potter had done nothing of what he expected. He had known what he'd been thinking, he'd recognized the terror in his eyes. But he'd only had calming words for him. He'd pocketed the wand and healed his blisters without magic, only because he'd been afraid of being levitated. No mocking, no jokes. Just understanding.

Had Potter always been this way?

Or was he just now changing because of him? Was it pity?

He'd said it wasn't that, but Severus had trouble understanding what was it if not pity. What could possibly make the most powerful wizard of his age look after someone like him?

And no, Severus wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. He had to lie enough to the outside world, he could at least give himself the grace to be honest. And deep inside, even if he hated it, even if he loathed to even consider the possibility, he knew Potter was destined to something big. And whatever it was, he would achieve it.

And now, after defeating the Dark Lord, after delivering the wizarding world from evil once more... he was here. At Hogwarts, looking after him. Not with accolades, not attending parties and feasts, not even with his friends, if Pomfrey's comments were any indication.

He was here, with only him for company.

Severus sighed and shook his head, it was starting to hurt and he hadn't had coffee yet. He missed the coffee. That strong brew, bitter in his tongue. Perhaps there was a way to have that.

He closed his eyes and waited for Potter to arrive. Somehow, he had no doubt he would come.

That night, Harry couldn't sleep. He looked at the ceiling of the Gryffindor dorm, something tight in his tummy not letting him find rest. It was as if the last month had gone by in a blur. Suddenly, he found himself staring at the ceiling, knowing that Snape was out of the coma and would open his dark eyes come dawn.

He smirked, a small smile slipping to his lips. Snape was the same as he'd ever been, but then again, he wasn't.

Harry couldn't forget the scared look in his eyes when he'd mentioned the levitating spell. It wasn't even the jinx James had used on him, he was about to cast a simple hover charm. Had Snape had a wand in his hand and the energy to summon his magic, he would've cast a protecting spell faster than he deduced points to Gryffindor. Of that, Harry had no doubt.

It must've had something to do with being in a vulnerable position, with no wand to protect himself, besides the fact that he was a Potter. Of course he would think Harry would use his magic against him, he had already done it before. He'd thrown jinxes and curses at him without second thoughts.

But now, everything had changed. Now, his wild and scared eyes were seared into Harry's mind, he couldn't stop seeing them.

The way his lower lip had quivered and trembled, how he had hid his face with his hair, as if embarrassed or ashamed of his own emotions. Snape's reaction had caused something within Harry, some fondness and tenderness inside of him he didn't know he was capable of having for Snape.

But this was a new Snape he didn't know existed.

Or was it?

Harry couldn't forget that, despite being fond of his mother, Snape hadn't cared if he and James died at the hands of Voldemort. He had only requested Dumbledore to save Lily, right after he'd delivered the prophecy to Voldemort, not caring about her husband and child.

Is he really so different from the man who's hated your guts since day one, just because you looked like your father?

And there he'd go again, his head an exhausting argument against himself.

Harry had only been able to fall asleep with the first rays of the day.

Kreacher woke him up an hour later, worried that he hadn't requested his breakfast yet.

"Huh?" Harry asked at hearing Kreacher's high-pitched voice in the dorm.

"Master Potter must wake up sir, he has work to do, and he hasn't eaten!" Kreacher exclaimed.

"Not so loud, Kreacher, please," Harry said, sitting on the bed and bringing a hand to his forehead. A massive headache was announcing its arrival, bludgeoning his brain, "Ugh, I'd kill for one of Aunt Petunia's aspirins right now…"

"Come down, Master, breakfast is served," Kreacher said, this time in a lower-pitched voice. "And Master has to heal Headmaster Snape before working on the Gryffindor tower, sir!"

Harry only nodded and stumbled towards the bathroom, not feeling it. As he was taking a shower he decided he'd heal Snape's wound and blisters, but then he'd come back here. He was extremely tired and the headache on the side of the head was killing him.

He was used to headaches, after all, his connection with Voldemort had brought along a few of those throughout his life.

This time, however, the headache felt… different. It was a relief to realize that even his headaches now were the same as anyone else's.

He could barely stomach a piece of toast and gulp down his coffee before he dragged his feet to the Hospital Wing for Snape's morning check-up.

"Morning, Potter. Oh, dear, you look dreadful if I may say so," Pomfrey said as Harry entered the room, dragging his feet.

Snape's eyes focused on him and he arched an eyebrow, Harry dismissed her with his hand.

"I'm fine, I just didn't sleep too well," he said as he shrugged. "By the way, Ma'am, we should look into some pain reliever for Professor Snape, he still suffers from the wound."

"Is it true, Severus?" Pomfrey asked, looking at him. At first, Snape seemed to shrug, but then he nodded his head, "Now, you have to tell us those things. Why didn't you let me know sooner?"

Snape shrugged, and Harry thought that, even if he'd been able to speak, he wasn't sure Snape would have actually requested a pain reliever.

"Alright, well. Potter, you can give him some Healing Potion from the shelves on the right. I'm off to have breakfast with Minerva, who by the way, should visit you sometime today Severus," she said looking at the man on the bed. "I'll be back later."

She left Harry and Snape as she walked outside the Hospital Wing.

Harry sighed and washed his hands before going straight for Snape's neck, slowly unwrapping the bandage. The wound was almost the same as it had been the evening before, and Harry took the jar of salve and applied a generous amount, repeating the same process.

His mind was far away from there, though.

He knew he should be present, after all, he'd feared Snape had died and he'd spent the last month nursing him back to health. But now, after the night he'd spent alone with his thoughts, he didn't even know if he could look him in the eye.

Who was Snape, anyway?

Harry had never read Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde but he'd heard enough references to the book in his childhood to understand what it meant. And if anyone was like that, it was Snape. Hot and cold, working from the shadows but insulting Harry to his face. Loathing him but protecting him.

Harry didn't understand, he didn't know how to read him.

And then, this new Snape that Harry was seeing. He had never, ever seen Snape cry and much less afraid of anything or anyone. For Merlin's beard, he had lied to Voldemort's face for years and endured his jabs and probably Legilimancy attacks stoically.

And yet... he had seen more of Snape's emotions and thoughts in the last twenty-four hours than in the last seven years since they'd met.

He didn't know what to make of it.

He sighed, not even knowing how many times he'd done that in the last few minutes, as he re-wrapped new bandages around Snape's neck. He could feel Snape's insistent gaze, his eyes boring into him, but Harry refused to lock eyes. He didn't know what he'd find, and he wasn't too sure he wanted to know.

When Harry's hand travelled to Snape's back to push him forward and deal with his blisters, Snape's hand stopped him. He tugged at him with force, too much strength for someone who'd woken up from a coma the day before, and Harry instinctively locked eyes with him. Snape's expression was insistent, his lips turned downward, his eyes staring at him.

"I'm fine… bad night," Harry explained. Snape tugged again, "No, not nightmares or visions, thank Merlin. Just… thinking."

Snape seemed satisfied with his answer and let him push him forward, so he could apply the essence of Dittany to his blisters.

"Most of these are already dry," Harry said, inspecting the blisters one by one, only two of them needed a bit more time to dry out. "I reckon in a couple of days the rest will be gone too."

Harry applied the essence of Dittany, and then pushed Snape back onto the pillows, rearranging them so he could be comfortable.

He then summoned the vial of Healing Potion, and gave it to Snape, trusting he'd know how much to take.

"Take as much as you need. Okay? Your body will recover better if you aren't in any pain," Harry said before handing him the vial.

Snape nodded but pushed the vial away. Harry narrowed his eyes, and Snape made a number four with his fingers. Then, he opened his mouth, waiting for Harry to pour the droplets. One, two, three, four, Snape closed his mouth and swallowed.

Satisfied, Harry closed the healing potion and left it on Snape's bedside table.

When he was about to leave, however, Snape's hand found Harry's forearm. This time he clutched at him, preventing him from moving. Harry sighed and Snape made a low sound, insisting, until Harry looked at him again.

And then, Snape gestured with his other hand towards himself. The question was clear.

"Yes, I was," Harry admitted.

Sighing deeply, Harry flickered his wrist and summoned the chair closer to the bed. He let his body sag on it and ran a hand through his messy hair.

He knew something was off about Snape, something was confusing. But how to put that in words when he didn't understand it himself? And probably Snape didn't either, judging by his responses to his own behaviour.

Harry didn't know how much of this new Snape was the real one, or how much it was simply a response to the war being over. Or even who was Snape?

He shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been looking away and dared to glance at Snape.

He was staring, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed. He looked at Harry, his expression contorted as if he wanted to say a thousand things, but unable to utter a single one.

"It's nothing… I guess it's hard to reconcile the man I knew with the man I see now. I'll get used to it," Harry said, shrugging.

Snape then nodded and tugged at Harry's arm. When Harry leaned closer, Snape tapped on his forehead, right on his scar, a bit hidden by his mop of hair, though of course the part of the scar crossing his eye was harder to conceal.

Snape's eyes were questioning.

"No, it's not the scar. But I do have a splitting headache," Harry said, "I'm going back to the tower to lie down for a bit, maybe sleeping will help."

Snape nodded and then gestured his back and his legs.

"Dittany?" Harry asked, and Snape nodded, "I knew Dittany could be used for migraine, but I thought it was for chronic pain, rather than sporadic?"

Snape shook his head no. And then he leaned over the bedside table, just enough to reach and grab the vial of essence of Dittany Harry had been using on his blisters, handing it to him.

He signalled two with his fingers.

"Two droplets?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded, pushing the vial into his hands.

"Alright, I'll do it. Thanks, Snape," Harry said, pocketing the vial in his jeans.

Before Harry turned around, Snape stopped him again. With narrowed eyes, he made a gesture of repetition, and then, he signalled himself.

Harry couldn't help but offer a small smile.

"Yes, don't worry. I'll be back this evening. Gotta make sure we get you back on your feet, don't we?" Harry said, forcing a smile, "See you later then. You rest as well."

After his conversation with Snape (if it could be called that), and after taking two droplets of Dittany as he said, Harry was feeling a bit more like himself. He was still tired, but at least now his mind wasn't foggy. The confusion around Snape still persisted but he knew there was nothing he could do about it but see how things unfolded. And at least, he'd he'd been able to vocalize some of his worries.

Instead, he decided to focus on the refurbishment work, he could tackle the job of the Gryffindor tower with another mindset.

So, when he arrived at the Gryffindor Tower, he went straight to the third-year boys' dorm. The walls were half-destroyed in this part of the tower, and so he closed his eyes, wand in hand, and tapped into his magic.

He imagined the crumbling walls returning to their original state, allowing the musty scent of ancient stone and memories of countless students to wash over him. The wand in his hand felt warm and alive, pulsing with the energy of his intent. He could hear the faint whispers of the castle, urging him to mend what had been broken. His fingers gripped the wand tighter as he delved deeper into the magic within him.

As he visualized the crumbling walls, Harry's mind became a canvas where he painted the image of the Gryffindor tower in its prime. The rough edges softened, the cracks filled in, and the faded stone regained its original lustre. He focused on each stone, feeling their stories, their history, and their connection to the magical core of the castle. The image in his mind was becoming real. This was his home, and he'd help rebuild it, giving something back to the castle that had brought him so much.

When he opened his eyes again, the walls were in pristine condition, they even looked cleaner and stronger. He took a few steps and placed the hand on the wall, it felt warm and comforting. And it seemed to tremble under his fingers.

He smiled. That was another dorm room tackled.

This time he was in no mood to tidy and rearrange things by hand, so he simply waved his wand.

"That's done," Harry said with satisfaction.

It was enough for the day, he thought. He then went to his dorm, where his old and loyal trunk was sitting at the foot of the bed. When he'd returned to the Burrow for Fred's funeral Harry had taken all his stuff back, his trunk with all his possessions. He rummaged, discarding old clothes that didn't fit him anymore, broken quills and bits and pieces of parchment until he found what he was looking for. A decent-looking quill, some black ink, and a few bits of parchment.

He then went downstairs, sitting down on his favourite spot the carpet, facing the fireplace. He stretched his legs and then took the first bit of parchment.

Dear Ron,

Harry began; but quickly scratched that. He brought the quill to his lips, thinking. What can you tell to a friend who's going through one of the most horrible griefs at age 17? To someone who's just lost a brother?

Hi Ron,

But still, it didn't feel right.

He scratched that, and began on another piece of parchment, deciding to write to Hermione.

With her, words flowed more easily, and he didn't have to look so much at the words he was saying, afraid of being indelicate. Ron was rough and a bit of an oddball, but he did feel deeply, and Harry couldn't even imagine what he must be feeling right now. The last thing he wanted was to make him feel like his pain was unseen.

But he too had things in his mind, things he wanted to share.

So, he began to write.

Without names, he began to tell Hermione about the refurbishment work. How he was in charge of the Gryffindor tower, and how he'd asked Kreacher for help so the girls' dorm would be in pristine condition. And finally, he went to the bit that he most wanted to say.

He's awake! he wrote. There were so many things he wanted to say after that. But he knew it was unsafe to do so, even if he sent the letter with one of the school's owls. He didn't know who might be intercepting letters or if anyone was doing that at all, and he'd rather not risk it.

So, he simply said that after an entire month of looking after him, it had finally paid off and he seemed to be recovering nicely.

He finished off by telling her that he missed them.

And to be honest with himself, he did. After an entire year of spending every day together, it was bound to happen.

But Ron and Hermione had each other now. It was as it should be, Harry thought as he sealed the letter to be sent later.

Once he'd done that, he rested his back against the cushion and his head on the sofa.

"Now what?" he asked himself out loud.

He had no idea what to fill his days with, visiting Hagrid seemed a bit too much. His thoughts took him to Snape, as it was fairly common in the recent weeks, and most understandable since the day before.

But he didn't want to bother the man, the last thing he wanted to do now that Snape and he seemed to have a sort of truce, was to anger or crowd him.

He lay down on the couch, his eyes focusing on the flickering flames in the fireplace. It was a beautiful day out, but he didn't feel like moving. His eyes began to feel heavy and he closed them, letting the gentle rumble of the fire lull him to sleep.

When he woke up again, his stomach rumbled. He blinked, disoriented, and his eyes fell straight on Kreacher's big eyes.

"Master Potter should be awake now, sir," Kreacher gently admonished him, "he should be eating and then resting at night, not during the day, sir."

"Sorry Kreacher, I didn't sleep well last night," Harry said.

"Kreacher brought lunch for Master," Kreacher said as a reply, and with a snap of his fingers, two trays of food levitated onto the table. The quill and bits of parchment Harry had used all reorganized themselves on one end of the table, away from the food.

"Oh thanks," Harry said, "how are the other Professors fairing with their refurbishment work, do you know?"

"Kreacher knows, sir!" he exclaimed as he served some cool pumpkin juice in a glass. "Professor Sinistra is clearing the Astronomy tower, with some help of Professor Flitwick, he is helping in any way he can. Professor Sprout has dealt with the Hufflepuff common room, and now is dealing with the greenhouses. The dungeons were in an acceptable condition, so Professor Slughorn is helping…"

Kreacher rumbled and spoke about every Professor at Hogwarts and how they were dealing with their work. A few of the Professors had left to look after or mourn their own families but it seemed they were enough to rebuild the castle.

"What about the viaduct?" Harry asked.

"The viaduct and the main courtyard are usable but still half-destroyed," Kreacher replied. "Headmistress McGonagall was supposed to be mending that, but she seems to be quite busy, sir."

Harry smiled, then.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said.

With a slight bow and a smile, Kreacher popped back and disappeared. Harry then sighed and began to eat.

He had to stop mid-lunch when, all of a sudden, a gust of magic coursed through him, making him drop the fork onto the plate. He blinked, trying to distinguish where the magic had come from, but it was insisting he got up. He did, looking around trying to locate the mysterious source as it pushed him, when it disappeared as soon as it had come.

Harry sat back down, puzzled, his frown deepening.

"What was that?" he asked out loud, looking at his hands. Everything seemed to be normal, nothing out of the ordinary in him, and yet… he'd felt something. Something that was calling him, something insistent.

It comforted Harry that it didn't feel like Dark Magic.

No, the magical signature of dark magic was something else entirely. Harry had a deep knowledge of the magic Voldemort had tapped into, which included not just dark but also ancient magic and rituals.

After trying to locate the source both from within and in the Gryffindor common room, Harry gave up, it was obvious he wouldn't get any answers here. He knew it was something, but he had no leads and nowhere to start looking.

He'd wait until it happened again if it did. He ended up reading one of his old books to distract his mind, and after so long without reading for pleasure, he became quite engrossed in the story.

"Good evening, Snape," Harry said with a smile that evening, as he drew the curtain enough so he could slip in.

Snape growled, scowling at him, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hey, are we in a bad mood?" Harry asked, arching his eyebrow.

Snape looked away, crossing his arms against his chest. It was obvious he had more mobility and strength now, as he looked through the window, the darkness enveloping the castle grounds. His arms were crossed and his frown was deep, it reminded him so much of the Snape he already knew. But Harry sighed, if Snape was in a bad mood, that meant he would probably be uncooperative.

"Okay, I see you're not in the mood. But I need to get your bandages changed," Harry began, "will you let me do it?"

Snape growled again, grinding his teeth and scowling, but he finally uncrossed his arms and moved his head back, giving access to Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said as he washed his hands.

Following the same routine, he unwrapped the bandages, again finding the wound looking a little bit better. Harry eyed Snape, if that morning it had been Harry himself who wasn't in the mood, now it was Snape. His entire face was tense, and even though his eyes were closed, he could see them closed shut. Harry was delicate in his ministrations, willing Snape to relax under his touch, but the tension was evident.

"Are you in any pain?"

Snape shook his head no, but then, he slowed down. And finally, he nodded his head yes.

"You can tell us these things, nothing wrong with taking pain relievers, you know," Harry said as he sighed, "I'll heal this and the blisters and then I'll give you some more pain potion, alright?"

The wound was closing nicely. Now that Snape was awake the process had perhaps slowed down a little bit, but it had by no means stopped.

He began to wrap the new and clean bandage around Snape's neck, holding his hair in a high bun with one hand. Their faces were very close, as Harry had to lean forward a lot to be able to reach behind Snape's head to hold his hair in place and out of the way. At one point, Snape sighed, lowering his head.

"Are you alright, Snape? Too much pain?" Harry asked. Snape said no, but he didn't raise his head, "are you tired?"

A sharp nod.

"Okay, I'm almost done. You'll be able to rest soon," Harry said as he finished.

Then he moved away, just enough to start removing the pillows behind Snape's back. Knowing what was coming Snape leaned his upper body forward, now having a bit more mobility and strength at least to help. He still wasn't strong enough to hold his body in position, so Harry placed a hand on his chest, holding him, as he looked at the blisters on his back.

"Nearly there," Harry said, inspecting them, "just two need the essence of Dittany."

He uncorked the vial that he'd taken back to the Hospital Wing and placed a few drops on each blister, gently rubbing the liquid on them so they'd dry out.

"So, did McGonagall end up visiting you, then?" Harry asked conversationally, his fingers rubbing Snape's back.

However, at those words Snape tensed under his fingers, his shoulders squaring, his back straight. Harry noticed the change immediately.

"Is everything alright?"

And then, Snape… shook his head, and lowered it, looking down to his lap. He seemed deflated.

Harry was confused at first, but then, what did he know about McGonagall and Snape's relationship? He'd only seen their bickering, but they'd known each other for a long time, McGonagall had taught Snape when he was at school. Who knew what their relationship was like?

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" Harry asked, and Snape shook his head, this time more adamant. Harry understood, "That's alright. We don't have to."

Harry started rubbing Snape's back. Not only on the blisters, but all his thin back as well. Cuts and scarred wounds marked the skin, criss-crossing each other. Snape's breathing was hard and loud, and Harry gently squeezed at his shoulder.

"It's alright, relax…" Harry whispered.

When Snape swallowed and pulled a bit away, Harry understood. He got up from the spot he'd claimed behind him, replacing the pillows and pushing him back so he could rest.

Harry was puzzled and shocked when; pulling at his hospital gown almost desperately, Snape showed him the Dark Mark. It was the first time he was looking at it so closely. The edges were a bit faded away, but it was clear, black and so realistic it seemed the serpent was moving with sinister and winding movements.

Snape, insisted as he practically placed the Dark Mark in front of Harry. His eyes were wild, his eyebrows raised and his jaw clenched, emitting high-pitched noises.

"Snape - I don't understand what…" Harry began.

Then Snape, seemingly frustrated that Harry didn't get his meaning, tugged at his hand and made him lean over, tapping over his scar with his index finger. With that same finger, he signalled his own Dark Mark.

"Did I… decide to help you because you were a Death Eater?" Harry ventured, and Snape punched him lightly on the side of his head, "Ouch, what was that for? I never mastered Legilimancy, Snape, I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Snape then mouthed one word, again and again, until Harry could read his lips.

"Why?" Harry guessed, Snape nodded, "Why what? Why did I decide to help you?"

Snape nodded again, this time more insistently.

"Because… because I felt like I owe you."

He then sat on the mattress, ditching the chair he'd been sitting on so far. He sighed as he let his body sag on it, focusing his eyes on Snape.

"Do you want to know why you're here, why is it me who's looking after you?"

Snape nodded, calmer now that it seemed Harry had finally understood what he wanted.

"I went to retrieve your body because I felt you deserved to be buried as someone with all the honours of a fallen hero. You had been a hero after all, we wouldn't have won if it hadn't been for you and your sacrifice," Harry explained. "And I felt people had to know of your role. Especially the people around you, McGonagall, Flitwick, me and my friends… every one of us who had wronged you at some point."

Harry then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I felt many things when I found out you were alive. Many contradictory things, things that I still feel. But I still knew one thing, I needed to help you heal. And I needed to convince McGonagall to let you stay here."

At that, Snape's eyes hardened. Harry sighed.

"Yes, I'm sorry to tell you this. But she wanted to take you to St Mungo's so that you could get better treatment there. She told me later that she was uncomfortable with you here. I convinced her to let you stay, and she made me promise to help Pomfrey in looking after you," Harry explained. "But I probably would've helped anyway, to be honest. I want to."

Snape's eyes squinted and narrowed, boring into Harry's, and he offered a lopsided smile.

"I know, weird, right?" Harry said, "But it's true. You deserve to heal here at Hogwarts, with Pomfrey and myself. And once you're well, you deserve to then decide what you want to do with your life. I told you before and I'll say it again: you are free."

The Slytherin didn't seem convinced, though.

He lowered his gaze, his eyes falling onto his Dark Mark on his left forearm. His hand grabbed his forearm, covering the Drak Mark, his jaw clenched so hard that his teeth rattled.

At that, Harry got up from the chair and leaned closer to him, at Snape's eye level.

"Hey," Harry murmured in a low, soft voice, "you did what you had to do to survive. You may still have that mark, but you are free. And safe."

Snape nodded, but he didn't raise his eyes.

Knowing he wouldn't get much more out of this conversation, Harry got up and gently removed some of the pillows to place Snape in a lying position. He then snapped his fingers, blowing out most of the candles.

"Ready to sleep?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded and threw his head back, opening his mouth. Harry poured four droplets of the Healing Potion into his mouth, letting him swallow. Snape sighed and closed his eyes. Harry took the covers and pulled them up, making sure they covered him up until his neck and then smoothed them.

"Good night," he whispered.

Snape didn't respond.