"Did you truly think no one would note your absence during most of last night's dinner?"
Harry shrugged, unconcerned. The movement was made difficult by the weight of gravity already pulling his shoulders up as he hung upside-down off the couch. His heels were hooked over the sofa's back, holding him in place, and his long hair trailed on the floor below.
"No one said anything about it," or the missing bag, "so it's not a big deal."
Snape looked over at him, face sharpening in disapproval when he again caught sight of Harry's unusual position. "If you were meant to be in that direction, your feet would have been on your head."
"That would look pretty dumb, though, wouldn't it?" Harry grinned, purposely missing Snape's point and gently swaying back and forth so that his hair dragged across the ground. Snape's disapproval deepened and he returned to his potion with mutterings about how Harry's hair looked enough like a mop without him using it as one. Harry chuckled quietly and reached up (down?) to twist the strands into a little bun. Their evening's Occlumency lesson had ended early, as Snape needed to return to his brewing, which was in a time-sensitive stage. Content to remain in the dungeons until kicked out for curfew, Harry had chosen to stay.
"I've used mops, and they're a lot straighter than this."
"Perhaps 'a nest' would be appropriate once more if you would only allow me to trim it."
Harry's hands clamped protectively over his head. "You're not cutting my hair."
Snape huffed. "It would do you good."
"I will if you will," Harry said, knowing that would never happen and he would thus be safe.
Snape gave him a dirty look. "Perhaps I might just hold you to that."
Glancing over to the kitchen once more, Harry caught sight of the dining area and beamed. In all of the time he had spent here, there had only ever been the one chair at the table. It made sense, as Snape was a solitary man and Harry couldn't imagine him inviting other professors down to his quarters for a spot of tea. When he'd eaten dinner here on Monday night, Snape had somehow acquired another chair for him to sit in. Harry saw now that the second chair was still there, and it made a warm feeling start up in his chest. Deciding to save that thought for later consideration, he brought his attention back to the conversation. "Right. Anyway, did you poison Umbridge?"
If Snape was caught off-guard by the abrupt change in topic, he did not show it. Harry watched his upside-down figure closely (he kind of looked like a hanging bat from this angle, Harry thought with amusement) for any telling signs of guilt, but the man merely hummed and began to stir his cauldron. "Dragon Pox is a highly infectious disease, especially to those who have never been vaccinated."
"There's a vaccine for that?" Harry asked, mildly curious.
Snape whirled around and barked, "Excuse me?" with surprising speed. Startled, Harry's careful control slipped and he fell completely off the couch, yelping as his head made contact with the ground and his neck cricked. He toppled ungainly over, the ceiling spinning above as he found himself laying on his back.
"Do you mean to tell me that you have never received a vaccination for Dragon Pox?" Snape demanded.
"I don't know! Don't parents usually get their kids treated as babies? I wouldn't remember that, and they're not exactly around to ask."
"They do not administer the Dragon Pox vaccine until the age of six, as the side effects can sometimes be severe and dangerous to young children. As such, it is not a pleasant experience and you ought to have remembered it at that age."
"I was with the Durselys by then, and I can tell you right now that they never took me to any wizarding healers." Harry clambered to his feet, swaying slightly from disorientation as the blood that had been settling in his head as he hung off the sofa slowly dissipated back into the rest of his body.
Snape was standing fully facing Harry, the stir stick in his hand dripping a puce-coloured potion onto the floor where it sizzled and left glassy patches on the flagstones. "And you were never given it upon entrance to Hogwarts? That is when muggle-born students are treated for such things."
Harry shook his head, then winced. He reached up one hand to gingerly rub the throbbing spot he'd fallen on.
"I suppose, being a half-blood whose location was meant to be kept secret, your name was never placed on the list of muggle -born and -raised students," Snape mused to himself, finally setting down the stir stick. He walked over to Harry, hand batting away the fingers rubbing at his head and pushing the hair aside to examine his scalp. Harry bowed his head slightly to let Snape get a better look, oddly touched by the gesture as Snape clucked his tongue. "One more thing for Madame Pomfrey to examine."
"What?" Harry exclaimed, head jerking back up to meet Snape's uncompromising glare.
"I think a trip to the hospital wing is in order," the man said firmly, guiding Harry towards the door.
"What about your potion?" Harry asked, fruitlessly trying to dig his heels into the floor. He did not like the hospital wing.
"You are more important. I will take care of it later. It is ruined by now regardless."
Harry made one last desperate attempt. "How are you gonna explain this to other people who might see us in the hall?"
"Potions accident. You ingested something, and it has caused a rash."
"Where?" Harry asked, knowing his skin looked perfectly normal.
Snape smirked. "Somewhere they cannot see. Would you really like me to tell them the location?"
Harry blanched and began to walk faster. He just managed to snatch his book bag off the floor before he was escorted out of the door and into the hallway.
"You don't have to take me there yourself," Harry said weakly. "I can go alone."
"Ah, but where would the fun be in that?"
Harry resisted the urge to swing his legs back and forth like a toddler as he sat on the edge of his usual hospital bed. Snape and Madam Pomfrey were off in the corner, whispering together and occasionally glancing at him. She had been proper horrified when Snape informed her that he had been given none of the usual medical care magical children got beyond the age of one and a half, and her first step in proceeding had been to conduct a full medical examination. After taking a quick potion for his knocked head, he'd had to endure invasive and drawn-out diagnostics charms that took ages longer than the usual quick ones he normally received. Other humiliating tests ranged from tapping his knee to test his reflexes to holding an enchanted candle near various body parts to see if his magical core was stable. Apparently, if there were any leaks in his core, the outflow of magic would "blow" the flame out. He had no idea how this worked and feared the boring lecture he might get from Snape explaining it all if he asked. Madam Pomfrey had seemed more and more serious as the exam went on, which made him nervous. After she had finished, she drew Snape aside. That had been a while ago now, and they were still talking.
His fingers trailed along the bedframe, searching for the carving he knew was there. He smiled when he found it. In their third year, when Harry was convalescing from the dementor's unexpected attack on their quidditch match, Ron had scratched the words "Harry Potter's luck strikes again" into the wood, putting one tally mark below it. This was the same bed that Harry always seemed to end up in, and Ron had defensively explained that it would probably make the bed a valuable artifact when Hermione looked ready to blow up at him for defacing school property. Every time Harry landed back in here, he or one of his friends would add another tally mark. Even Hermione had added one once when Ron was being a prat during the Tournament. Harry glanced over at the adults once more to make sure they weren't currently looking at him. Seeing that they were bent over Madam Pomfrey's clipboard again, he took a broken quill nib from his book bag and added another tally mark. He looked at the depressingly long number of tallies with a sigh, knowing there were more visits from his first and second year not accounted for. On a whim, he added another two for his most memorable visits during that time: one for his convalescence after the Philosopher's Stone, and another for the night he spent regrowing all of the bones in his arm after Lockhart got ahold of him in second year.
That temporary distraction done, Harry tossed the quill nib back into his bag and resumed trying not to swing his legs.
Umbridge was apparently in here somewhere. If so, he couldn't see her anywhere. Dumbledore had said she was quarantined, but Harry had assumed that meant the beds next to her would have been moved or something. As it was, he appeared to be the only patient. Was she in another room? There was one corner that was always sectioned off with privacy curtains, so he supposed that might be a kind of staff ward. If it were, it made sense to place her there. Harry wondered why she hadn't just been taken to St. Mungo's if she really were too ill to stay by herself in her own rooms.
Harry felt eyes on him again and looked up to see Snape's furrowed brow. The man did not look to be in a very good mood, and Harry wondered if it was because he had not expected this to take so much time. He held his hands out at his sides and shrugged his shoulders at the man as if to say You're the one who wanted to come here, not my fault. Snape closed his eyes as if pained and returned his attention to Madam Pomfrey. Harry huffed and threw himself back on the bed, stretching out along its length in a dramatic expression of teenaged ennui. In his book bag he had the latest letters from Mary and Callum, and he reread them for something to do.
After what seemed like ages, the adults walked back over. He propped himself up on his elbows to look at them.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey began, face professional but a sad look in her eyes that made him slightly uncomfortable, "Your test results indicate that you are suffering from the lingering effects of long-term malnourishment and a couple of poorly-healed old injuries."
"Oh," he said dumbly. None of that surprised him, but he was pretty sure nonchalance was not a reaction that would exactly smooth either of the furrowed brows directed his way. The idea of faking surprise, frankly, seemed exhausting, so he was left with embarrassment and an unshakable awkwardness.
"I take it from Professor Snape that the circumstances of how this came to be is already fully known and that the situation is being addressed?"
"Yes, ma'am." Harry had not liked discussing his life with the Dursleys with Snape in the village, and he did not like talking about it with the mediwitch now. She softened slightly at his clearly reluctant look.
"There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, Mr. Potter."
This, of course, had the effect of making him want to childishly hide under his blankets in further shame. Snape, who had never fallen victim to soft pity in his life but understood how Harry felt because of their similar histories and a deeper knowledge of Harry's personality, cleared his throat and began discussing their "next steps" in a business-like tone.
"Fortunately, the large dose of Skele-gro you were forced to ingest in your second year because of that incompetent twat Lockhart—"
"Severus," Madam Pomfrey chided quietly. Whether it was because of his unexpectedly unprofessional phrasing or because he had insulted another (even if a former) professor in front of a student, Harry wasn't sure. He had heard worse insults towards both himself and others from the man in private and merely smirked. Snape paid her no heed.
"—seems to have helped increase your bone density." Bone density? Was that a problem? "Nutritive potions may help correct your stunted growth."
"Stunted!" Harry squawked, affronted.
"Your height is not indicative of a genetic disposition towards short, Potter. Do not give me that glare; this may prove a boon, as malnutrition is something we can work on with due care. You already grew this fall, if you do not remember, and without yearly returns to that foul place, there is significant hope that we may continue this trend."
Harry refrained from quipping back, hoping that silent agreement would make this go by faster.
"An appointment will be set up with a professional eye healer to check your prescription. This will probably occur some time after spring break. As for the old injuries…" Snape took a deep breath, and Harry instinctively knew he would not like what he was about to hear, "they must be reset. This will be uncomfortable, but not painful. After this is done, we will start an inoculation regimen. For today, we will begin with the Dragon Pox." He cast a meaningful look at the curtained-off corner, confirming Harry's suspicions as to Umbridge's location.
"Best get it over with, then," Harry sighed. Madam Pomfrey nodded and strode purposefully off. He turned his attention to Snape, who still looked unhappy. His face was pinched, and only knowing the man as well as he did allowed Harry to distinguish the expression as something other than annoyance. "What is it?"
Snape slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, hand falling to rest on Harry's shin. "Can you truly not guess that I am displeased to hear unsatisfactory news about your state of health?"
"A very guardian-like attitude, you're getting better at this already," Harry said cheekily, but the smile fell when this only seemed to worsen Snape's mood. "But you said you could fix it."
"We can."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem, Harry, is that it never occurred to me to check any of this in the first place. If it were not for your throwaway comment about the Dragon Pox vaccine, I would never have thought of taking you to a healer."
"You didn't know." Harry tried to bolster Snape's spirits and make him less despondent, especially as he personally did not see any fault in the man's actions. Snape had done more for him than anyone else ever had.
"I ought to have," Snape snapped back, although he wasn't angry with Harry. "I knew of your history, had more than enough reason to consider that a full medical check-up was necessary. It simply never crossed my mind."
"That's alright, then. It's not like you purposely kept me away from medical care or whatever."
The self-flagellation on Snape's face twisted into something uglier and more pained. "Yes, your stellar past examples of adult behaviour truly give credit to your absolution of my failure."
Harry was unexpectedly hurt at this. The man grimaced apologetically and his hand slipped from Harry's shin. He missed its warmth.
"How can I, in good conscience, take you in? Become a… a guardian to you? I am ill-equipped to provide what you need."
Sitting straight up in alarm, Harry tried not to let his voice crack with the fear that gripped him. "Don't even say that! What about the village, and the bed, and all of the hours you've spent teaching me Occlumency and Defense and Potions so I can survive this bloody war and actually have a future? Who else has done that for me? I don't need a guardian to coddle me or manage every detail of my life. Forced or not, I've become too self-dependent for that. You're not changing my diapers or whatever. You're just supposed to be there for me when I need you."
"This is not a matter of doing your laundry, Harry! This is your health, effects upon which can impact the rest of your life!"
"Yeah? And who else is here with me right now? McGonagall? Dumbledore? Sirius? No, you are!"
"Inexcusably late!"
"A lot has been going on—"
"If I cannot manage to handle your basic needs when life gets busy, then I am not a fit caretaker."
"So you made one mistake! You didn't abandon me after I fuc—"
"I know you are not about to swear at me! And I am not abandoning you."
"Well I'm not abandoning you either, so if that's what you're trying to make me do with this little speech, you can just give it up!"
"You two will STOP shouting at one another in my infirmary this instant!" Madam Pomfrey berated them, hurrying over to tell them off. Harry realised that both he and Snape had been yelling and flushed. Snape cleared his throat and stood. The mattress decompressed from his weight as he moved off, and Harry stared resolutely at the rumpled blankets as he fought to calm down.
"The curtains—" Snape suddenly began.
"They are warded with silencing charms," Pomfrey said, calming down. Harry looked up to see them turned towards Umbridge's corner and realised how close they had come to being overheard by the most disastrous person who could learn of their situation. Well, second to Voldemort, he supposed.
He didn't have the chance to think about the conversation (he guessed it may have been more of an argument) as the two adults gave him a very potent pain preventative that made everything a little bit silly as they used charms to reset his ankle and one of his ribs.
As he took the potion, Madam Pomfrey warned him that he would feel buoyed spirits. Moments after swallowing the draught, a fuzzy feeling took over his head and he wondered if this was what Daniel Papparaldo felt when he was… de-stressing… from school. He giggled and burped as Snape pulled the empty bottle out of his unresisting hand and set it on the bedside table.
Snape asked him quietly about the stories behind each injury as they worked, and Harry told him. Some distant part of him was amusedly aggrieved at being taken advantage of when he felt so floaty but the potion had him in an excellent (and sharing) mood so he didn't bother keeping his silence.
"Ankle was Dudley. He stomped on it when we were kids, maybe eight? It hurt a lot, and I had trouble walking for a while. Hey, that tickles!"
"Does it still pain you now?"
"Only when I'm running or land on it wrong."
"From now on, it ought not trouble you any more," Madam Pomfrey said before asking him to take off his shirt so she could treat his rib.
"And this?"
"Fell out of a tree, hit a rock. Got rid of the rock when I was gardening the next day, though! Ha, threw it over the fence into Number Six's garden. Her husband hit it wrong with the lawnmower the next week and I heard Aunt Petunia crowing over how much the new blades would cost them. Don't think she knew it was my fault."
Madam Pomfrey gave Snape a look that Harry couldn't decipher in his present state. He merely said, "The exciting behaviours of suburbia inhabitants."
Harry giggled again and decided to send the Dursleys a postcard titled "Dear suburbia inhabitants" with nothing on the back but a drawing of their neighbor buying lawn mower blades. Maybe Snape would help him. Not with the drawing, though. Snape was really bad at art.
The pain potion, for being so effective in the moment, did not last very long. It soon wore off, leaving Harry feeling sore but not unbearably so. His mood plummeted as its effects faded. He found himself staring forlornly at the ceiling. They had to wait until it was fully out of his system before administering the vaccine, which meant a standard wait time of half an hour.
Everything seemed gloomy and dull as the pain potion's high wore off. If this, too, was a part of Papparaldo's recreational routine, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be a part of it after all. A heavy sigh escaped him.
He listened to the sounds of Snape settling into the chair beside the bed and remembered their argument. It was just so dumb. All of that because of a Dragon Pox inoculation? It wasn't worth screaming over.
Irrationally, he felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. They frustrated him, and he tried to repress them, but his efforts had the opposite effect. Soon his face was flushed with embarrassment as tear tracks ran down into his hair and Snape, obviously noticing, cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Are you in pain?"
"No." Harry sniffed.
"Ah."
A stretch of silence.
"Do you… want water?"
"No, thank you."
More silence.
"It is the potion that has caused this emotional response," Snape said, as if reassuring both Harry and himself.
"I know," Harry whispered.
A hand reached out towards him, and thinking it was meant to comfort him and feeling uncharacteristically needy, Harry grasped it gratefully. Only then did he belatedly realise it had been intended to straighten the blanket that had been placed over him. He started to stammer, but still caught up in that overwhelming need for consolation, he did not let go. Snape did not pull his hand out of Harry's hold, but he did inch his chair closer so that he was not bent over so much. The nearness of the man further soothed the stupid ache in his throat. Harry dashed the tears away with his free hand in the cautious hope that no more would follow.
Snape's fingers were long and slender. Harry could feel a slight raised ridge on the palm near the base of his pinky from what felt like a scar. Running his finger over it idly, Harry wondered if Snape had gotten it from a knife when working with potions ingredients. He didn't look over at the man. The gyroscopic range of emotion he'd felt within the last couple of hours alone had him wrung out, and he was not looking forward to the vaccine and its promise of further discomfort.
"You will likely need to stay in the infirmary overnight," Snape said.
Harry grimaced, remembering Umbridge. "Do I have to? What if… if she gets up to use the loo or something and tries to strangle me in my sleep?"
"I doubt that is likely."
"What if Filch or Dawlish come in to talk with or check on her and see me?"
"I am sure you could conjure some believable fiction in that teenage brain of yours. It is the vocation of people your age to mislead adults, I believe."
"I won't get any rest here. I hate this place."
"Madam Pomfrey would be honoured to hear that you think so."
"I won't be able to do good in class 'cause I'll be so worn-out."
"Do well, Potter. Did no one ever teach you basic grammar?"
Harry's hold on Snape's hand tightened briefly in annoyance, but nothing painful and with no real intention of retribution. "It would be easier to do well if I could sleep somewhere comfortable for the night."
"You cannot be released to Gryffindor Tower; your peers do not have the sufficient medical knowledge to assist you in case of a bad reaction."
"You do."
Harry held his breath, waiting to hear what Snape would say. He had practically insisted earlier that he was an unfit guardian for him, and Harry was still afraid that whatever funk of guilt Snape had worked himself into this time would make the man take back his offer of a home for the summer. This felt like a test of that.
Snape did not immediately answer. Harry wondered if he, too, was contemplating the bigger question Harry had not asked.
"Perhaps it could be arranged," he said slowly. Harry's grip on his hand tightened again, but this time it was out of relief.
Madam Pomfrey soon came back. By the time she had, Harry's emotions had stabilised. He sat up and didn't protest when Snape's hand slipped out of his grasp. Madam Pomfrey noticed the movement and smiled. Harry sneaked a glance up at Snape just in time to catch the blank mask falling into place. Wondering if embarrassment was the emotion Snape was trying to hide, Harry smirked to himself a little. The expression quickly fell when Madam Pomfrey approached with the vaccine.
The process was soon over. Harry didn't feel any effects, but both adults warned him that it would take a few minutes to settle into his system. He grabbed his bag and made to get up. Madam Pomfrey began to scold him, but Snape stopped her. They spoke quietly for a minute, then she sighed and patted Harry's shoulder.
"Alright, Mr. Potter. If you should require anything else, I am sure you know your way here."
Harry gave her a wry nod and left with Snape. As they walked back down to the dungeons, he could sense Snape's disquiet. Having had a glimpse into the man's insecurities every now and then, he could guess what the black-robed wizard was thinking about.
Well that won't do. Guilty is the last thing he should be feeling. "Thank you," Harry said simply, looking straight ahead. He saw Snape look at him out of the corner of his eye but did not return it.
He never did get a response, but that was okay.
By the time they had returned to Snape's quarters, Harry was starting to feel unwell. He stood off to the side, watching mutely as Snape transfigured the sofa into a bed. The man stood with his hands on his hips, staring at it with clear satisfaction, and Harry smiled as he imagined that Snape was thinking about the dilemma of trying to find a bed for him in the village.
"Bet you wished you could have done that back in the cottage, huh?" he asked. His words came out strained, and the smugness drained from Snape's frame as he turned to Harry with a furrowed brow.
"Beginning to feel ill?"
Harry nodded and swiped a hand through his hair. He walked past Snape and collapsed onto the bed face-down. After a moment, he heard Snape move into the kitchen. He listened to the sounds of cooking and cleaning idly.
He had begun to shiver when Snape came back over with a mug in hand. He handed it to Harry, who sniffed it. Vegetable broth. He took a slow sip as Snape took out a book and sat in the armchair.
The warm broth was nice. A thought occurred to him, and he asked hopefully, "Do I have to go to class tomorrow?"
"Yes." Snape turned a page.
Harry sighed and went back to his broth.
In the grate, the fire was crackling comfortably. He had a strong sense of deja vu, remembering moments just like this in the village. The memories were enough to make him smile and relax further into the bed despite the effects of the Dragon Pox inoculation.
Snape shifted in his armchair, crossing his ankles. Harry looked over at him speculatively, wondering if this was what the summers would be like. He hoped so.