“Breathe in, hold it, breathe out.”
No matter how many times a day he had to go through with this, Snape couldn’t help but feel embarrassed with the whole ‘breathing exercise’ thing. It was such a simple function, one that he had done all of his life without thought or difficulty.
Now, he was hard pressed to inhale a proper lung-full of air.
“Deep breaths, Mr. Snape. Good. Now let’s check your neck.” One bandage was all he needed the past two days. In truth, he didn’t need it anymore, as sticky strips and plasters with a few cotton pads were more than enough for the bite-wound. However, his mending throat itched terribly, prompting him to unconsciously scratch until it had bled. Thus, the return of the dreaded bandage.
“Does it still itch, Mr. Snape?”
“Hardly.” His voice was no longer his own. His words didn’t flow smoothly and silkily from his mouth, but were rather ground out sparingly, requiring far more effort than had before been necessary. Each word was a grating of stones, ugly to his own ears.
“Very well. I suppose we can be rid of it ten,” with a swish of her wand, the witch made the bandages disappear, making his exposed skin tingle. “No scratching, you hear me young man? If I see so much as a single scrape, I will cut your nails to the quick, tape your fingers and bin your neck in a cast so quick you won’t be able to say ‘Protego’!”
“Certainly, Misses Ward.” She must be related to Mrs. Weasley. He hastily drank a last Blood Replenishing Potion. Or Mrs. Pomfrey.
“Stay put, and I’ll go get you your breakfast.” Ordinarilly, this may seem like a rather insensitive remark for a newly ‘crippled’ man, but such was not the case. Shortly after a tricky procedure that healed his T11 vertebrae, Snape had been taught how to remove himself from his bed and into his chair. The staff had learned afterwards that it was unwise to keep an unoccupied Snape alone in a room without anything to read for more than two minutes. Snape offered a curt nod before turning to read The Daily Prophet. As usual, it was full of useless drivel, but the wizard was more concerned with crushing his growing sense of unease rather than the article about the house elf liberation movement, S.P.E.W.
With every passing day there were fewer and fewer people in the ward. Most had recovered or had been moved to a less critical care unit. A few poor souls hadn’t made it. Where once there were ten there now was two. One of them had come in not twenty minutes earlier due to an unfortunate accident involving liberal amounts of Firewhisky, pumpkins filled with said brew, and a few dozen Chinese Fireworks on a dark night.
Why am I still here? The answer to his question plagued him more than the answer did. It had been nearly a week since Voldemort’s defeat and he had yet to find anyone willing to act as a caregiver.
He couldn’t ask any of the Hogwarts staff or from the Order. He had no intention to tell anyone anything regarding his motives more than the bare minimum the Potter boy had agreed to reveal. This left everyone very little to deal with when it came to Severus Snape, and needless to say most were at a loss of what to think of him.
Except that damned Potter boy.
Sure, it was far more agreeable for his migraine-prone skull, but this new level-headed, thoughtful, humbled Potter was really starting to ‘freak him out’. It was very hard for Snape to continue disliking the boy who had saved his life, the whole wizarding world, and was somehow NOT acting like a pompous brat in need of a deflated head. Not that I need to hate him anymore...
Breakfast came then in the form of French Toast. Snape had never had this typically Muggle meal before now, but the sweet maple syrup, egg, and brown sugar-drenched-and fried bread was delicious as well as filling. He’d almost badgered the last ‘secret ingredient’ from the cook before he’d been forcibly returned to his room during his ‘excursion’ the other day.
Perhaps I’m not so different from the boy? Snape almost shuddered at the thought.
“Visitor for you this morning Mr. Snape.”
“Bring them in,” the ward door creaked open followed by a rustling of emerald and tartan robes.
“Good morning Minerva.”
“Good morning Severus,” with a discrete glance at the witch, Snape noticed that she looked far less stressed than her previous visit, although her face was somewhat pinched. He knew that look. It was the ‘I have something of great importance to discuss that has been worrying me greatly not that you should be terribly concerned’ look.
“Severus, I understand you don’t have a ... a caretaker yet?” He shook his head before taking another bite of the sweet bread. Would she just get to the point already? Either his Occlumency was failing or McGonagall had become a Legilimens (or she knew by now that Snape was a really impatient sort) because she straightened her back and leveled a piercing at the younger wizard.
“I thought you should know that Potter has offered to fill in this position until you find yourself a more suitable replacement.” Snape all but choked on his toast.
“He did what now?” Minerva’s gaze softened to one of pity.
“Severus, I would strongly encourage you to take up the boy’s offer, at least for the time being. It would do you good to get out of here,” she motioned a gesture to the now very familiar ward.
“I’ll consider it.” In all honesty, Snape was taken quite aback by this proposal. It had been a very, very long time since anyone had voluntarily taken care of him. It reminded him far too much of the time when Lily had helped him with a broken leg one summer. She had trailed him around all she could then, fussing in a very motherly way that he was not all that uncomfortable with her doing...
“All of the arrangements are made for your return, Severus. All we need is your agreement.” The witch resigned to the doorway before he looked back at her. She seemed genuinely concerned, but was it for him, or herself? Merlin knows their last encounter did not end so splendidly.
“You have a second chance Severus. She would hate for you to waste it.” No other words were said as she left with a flutter of tartan and green.