The next time he opened his eyes, Snape was pleased to note that he felt much better, though his throat still hurt and he was still stuck in a hospital wing at St. Mungo’s. He was not awake for long before a Medi-Witch bustled in, looking slightly harassed. 

“Let me tell you, Mister Snape, it’s not an easy task keeping all of your visitors in line.” He merely raised an eyebrow at the comment. He had visitors? The last time he had bothered to check, he was considered a bloody bastard by all of the staff of Hogwarts, a murderer by all of the wizarding world, and a lousy git by the students. Those who are still alive, anyway... 

“You’re throat is on the mend, I’m pleased to say. We had lots of trouble sealing the wound due to the nature of the bite, but one of your former students, Miss Granger I think, proposed we use Muggle clamps on your arteries until we could control the bleeding.” While she had been talking, the witch had been casting diagnostic spells and pulling out what Snape new to be vile-tasting potions. Oh, the irony. 

The witch did not cast the spell into Snape’s stomach like her colleagues, but rather tilted his bed to a slightly more upright position. Her patient dutifully took the nasty elixir, but not without a slight grimace. 

“Now, while you’re up we need to check your breathing.” The witch summoned a stethoscope and cast a warming charm on the end. Seeing this, Snape gave her a glare that clearly said something along the lines of ‘I’m not a bloody three year old, damn it!’ The woman carried on with her inspections, apparently oblivious to the death glares. She asked her patient to take a few slow, deep breaths. Her brow creased ever so slightly as she listened. 

“Hmm. We’ve only managed to fix your spine down to your eleventh thoracic vertebrae, which in turn impedes your breathing somewhat.” The Medi-Witch banished the stethoscope and summoned a chart of the spinal chord instead, pointing out the infernal bone stationed just before the end of the spine’s major curve. 

“Of course,” the witch continued, pulling out some fresh bandages and some salve, “the fact that you barely had a throat also impedes this, but I’m sure with the right amount of rest and potions, your pneumonary system should be right as rain.” Snape couldn’t help but notice that she said nothing about his legs being, as she had put it, ‘right as rain’. 

His train of though was cut short as the witch delicately peeled off several layers of the bandages surrounding his neck. As gently as she could, she rubbed onto the last layer what Snape recognized as a version of the Essence of Dittany and of the Wound Cleaning potions, as well as a few other concoctions he couldn’t name. She cast a small Numbing Charm as she began to wrap up his neck again. While Snape was grateful that the pain was gone, he knew that this meant there was no chance of him trying to talk for a while either. 

“There. How does that feel?” Snape nodded his head to tell her (as best he could) that he was fine. “Now, before we let any visitors in, we need to have a little chat.” The witch summoned a piece of parchment and an inked quill, should he have something to ask. 

“Usually we’d have no problems fixing a spinal chord injury, but I’m afraid that wasn’t the case. What with the snake bite causing profuse bleeding, we had applied the clamps, which severely reduced blood flow to your nervous system, both spinal and cranial.  

“Some venom was not removed from your spine until it had damaged a lot of cells. That, and coupled with reduced blood flow to your head for a bit, we were incapable of completely restoring the damage.” She gave a small, sad smile. “Even we cannot revive what is dead. 

“Never the less,” she continued, not leaving Snape any time to dwell in overly negative thoughts. “I am certain that with the right amount of patience and physiotherapy, you may be able to get some movement out of your feet yet!” 

Snape paused to consider this. Would St. Mungo’s offer this physiotherapy? The witch read his question, the sad smile returned to her face. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Snape. That would be more of a Muggle approach. Usually, we would find a Muggleborn expert to act as a caregiver for patients, but given the state of things,” she gestured towards the various curtained beds that surrounded him. “We’ve been really pressed for extra hands.” It was odd that he had failed to notice them before, seeing as the room was almost packed with other patients. However, he noticed that not a single one made a sound. Look at them, Snape, a cruel little voice in his head jeered. Look at all the poor sods stuck in here with the likes of you. I wonder if they’d be a bit livelier if they knew they shared a room with a Death Eater. 

“Mr. Snape? Did you hear what I said?” He shook his head, trying to rid himself of these bothersome thoughts, as he turned his attention back to the nurse. 

“What I was saying, Mr. Snape is that we can offer to progressively train a close friend or family member some of the basics of these physiotherapy sessions until things quiet down a little. It says here that you usually reside at Hogwarts, correct?” Snape gave a small nod. 

“Excellent. We’ve been receiving lots of owls asking for additional help, seeing as some of the...victims are in a rather precarious position and are in no state to travel. We can send one of our more qualified people to help Mrs. Pomfrey, and they can teach whoever you chose while you’re there.” Sensing the Potions Master was about to protest, she gestured for him to hear her out. 

“Now listen, no sense in making any decisions yet, Mr. Snape. You’ll still be stuck here until your throat heals up.” The witch smiles sweetly as she went for the door. “I’ll let your visitors come in now.” The poor man blanched at the multitude outside of the door. 

Her smile didn’t seem so sweet anymore.