Harry became aware once again in a vaguely familiar room on a bed with crisp sheets. Blinking blearily, he realized after a moment that it was the hospital wing at Hogwarts, although the curtains around his bed had been closed. He began moving around to try to sit up, but was stopped by a cool hand on his shoulder. He looked to his right and saw the blurry visage of Albus Dumbledore.
“Do not try to get up just yet, Harry,” Dumbledore cautioned him, sliding Harry’s glasses onto his nose for him. “You have been through quite the ordeal.”
Harry opened his mouth to ask one of his many questions, falling into his usual pattern when Dumbledore met him in the hospital wing, but closed it quickly when he remembered. The movement made him realize that his mouth felt strange, almost thick or full, and he frowned.
“I am sure you have many questions, Harry. I will do my best to answer them,” Dumbledore reassured him.
“First, your friends are perfectly fine. They have been healed and sent home with no lasting damage from their escapades.
“Secondly, Voldemort is indeed dead, thanks to you once again, and the majority of his followers have been rounded up and arrested. Professor Snape and your friends had the presence of mind to take advantage of their longer-lasting confusion, and that plus the quick response of the Order helped us to overcome them, and prevented most of them from escaping.
“Po… Ape…?” Harry could not resist attempting to ask, although the words came out severely garbled, as he had known they would.
“Professor Snape, Harry?” Dumbledore asked kindly, and Harry nodded. “He is doing as well as can be expected. However, further details are at his discretion to reveal. You may ask him yourself when you feel up to it, he is on the opposite side of the wing from you.”
Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise, and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes, Harry, some of the damage done to you is in the process of being reversed,” he explained.
Harry gulped back sudden overwhelming emotion, then paused. Some? He looked back at Dumbledore with a question in his eyes.
Dumbledore, fortunately, forewent his tendency to beat around the bush and answered the question directly. “You may have noticed already, but your fur and spots are completely gone. They actually appear to have shed as soon as Voldemort was dead. Your tongue is already growing back nicely, Harry, or so Madam Pomfrey and the specialist from St. Mungo’s say. They just finished determining what was used to remove your fingers and begun treating that, though they are confident that you will regain full digits and dexterity within the next few days.”
He paused, and Harry silently urged him to go on.
“Your legs, however, they are quite certain they cannot restore.”
Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach once again and looked away. He shook himself slightly. What was the big deal? He had already almost gotten used to the idea of being stuck that way forever, now he was going to be mostly healed, what was the big deal? And really, of all things, he would probably get by the best without his legs. He would still be able to speak, to communicate, to write, to use his wand and say spells.
Dumbledore gave him a brief moment before continuing. “A physical therapist from St. Mungo’s will come in the next few days and begin helping you learn how to move around without them. There is quite a bit more that can be done for you than was done for you while under Voldemorts purview, although Severus did an excellent job of healing your legs properly. You will be fitted for prosthetics and learn to walk again. You will find that with time, no one would be able to tell what you are missing unless they can see the prosthetics, or so the Healers have said. Even quidditch will be possible eventually.”
Harry looked back up at Dumbledore at that. Quidditch? Flying would not be beyond him? Then he remembered another question he had had. How long had he been a captive? What was the date?
Though it was embarrassing, he made another attempt at communicating, his newfound freedom and being tantalizingly close to answers too much for him to wait. “Ooow.. oo..” he tried, but knew that it had not succeeded when the twinkle in the periwinkle eyes dimmed.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore said sadly, “I don’t understand. I know this must be frustrating for you, but Madam Pomfrey has assured me that your tongue should be restored enough in the next couple of days to be able to speak. Please try to be patient.”
Harry nodded shortly, a wave of fatigue settling over him. He yawned, and Dumbledore rested his hand on his shoulder once again.
“Rest, my boy. You are still healing, and Madam Pomfrey would have my head if I kept you up too long. Sleep.”
ooooo
When next he woke, startled out of a nightmare, the ward was dark, but in the light of the moon he could just make out a figure sitting in a chair by his bed. Startled, he tried scoot backwards, but stopped when he heard a familiar voice.
“Relax, Potter. You’ll wake the matron if you fall out of bed.”
Snape! This time, Harry was surprisingly glad to see him.
They were silent for a moment, and Harry’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He saw Snape shift and realized the man was bundled in a robe with a blanket across his lap, but that his hands were still shaking slightly.
“You look well, better than the last time I saw you,” Snape said at last.
Harry nodded and gestured to Snape, trying to convey his question with the frown on his face, though he knew his features were likely not visible in the dim light.
Snape paused, then sighed lightly. He raised one hand and watched it shake for a moment before letting it drop back to his lap. “Nerve damage. Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus,” he said matter-of-factly. “The Healers have managed to diminish it somewhat.”
Harry nodded, and the two allowed the comfortable silence to grow. Eventually, Harry slept once again.
He was awoken in the morning when Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore came in to check on him. The matron immediately went tutting over to where Snape still sat by Harry’s bedside, admonishing him for being out of bed too soon. Dumbledore merely smiled at the scene, a knowing twinkle in his eye, then turned to Harry.
“My boy, it is good to see you awake. You look healthier even than yesterday.” He clasped his hands before him. “Now, your friends have requested to visit, and as you are awake and seem to be doing well, and Madam Pomfrey has already been wheedled down to allowing two at a time for no more than five minutes, I am inclined to oblige them.”
Harry looked horror struck at that, and Dumbledore’s twinkle dimmed.
“Harry? Is something the matter, my boy?” he asked.
Snape, who was occupied with trying to shoo the bustling matron away from him as he slowly stood, answered for the frozen Harry. “I do not believe he feels ready to see his friends just yet, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore looked over at Snape, then frowned at Harry. “Why ever not?”
Harry looked back at Snape, and Snape rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t know,” Snape began sarcastically. “Probably because he has already been paraded in front of many people in a humiliating state, and he wishes to avoid further embarrassment. At least wait until the boy can speak for himself, it will only be another day. Then he can decide for himself.”
“Is that what you wish, Harry? Would you rather wait?” Dumbledore asked kindly, although he still seemed slightly befuddled that Snape, of all people, understood the situation.
Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. “All right, I will let them know,” he acquiesced.
ooooo
By the following day, Harry was able to speak and begin trying solid foods once again, something his stomach greatly appreciated. His tongue felt thick and awkward still, but he was assured that exercising it would help and that in the next few days it would feel as limber as usual. He was amazed by how strong the flavors felt on his new tongue, and enjoyed experiencing foods in a way that he had not been able to for a while, even if his fingers were still not re-grown enough for him to feed himself.
He was also finally able to ask all of his own questions. He learned that it was now early August, and that Voldemort had been defeated on July 30, the day before his sixteenth birthday. Also, the only Death Eaters that had escaped had been of the lower ranks, and were not thought to be a considerable threat.
His fingers were nearly grown in by the next day, although he still had difficulty managing utensils, and he allowed his friends to visit at last. It was slightly awkward at first talking to them. He felt simultaneously embarrassed by what they had seen that he had been reduced to, and somehow older than and cut off from them, by all that he had experienced over the past two months. They told him that Ron, Neville, and Fred had all been injured in the Final Battle, but had recovered completely. The only remnant was a scar on Ron’s forearm, but he did not seem saddened in the slightest at this.
They all seemed to awkwardly step around the issue of his missing legs, and he wished that they would not. Perhaps because the prospect had been all too real for two months, he was already beginning to feel some amount of closure about this loss. He was still sad, certainly, that his legs could not be fixed, but he was realizing that once he was fitted with prosthetics and he had learned and practiced enough, and enough time had passed, it would affect him rather little. He knew, for Madam Pomfrey had warned him, that he was in for a fair amount of work to get there, but he was confident that he would get there. And because of the mechanisms by which a wizard flew a broom, the specialist from St. Mungo’s (to Pomfrey’s chagrin) had mentioned that he may be back to flying as usual before he was walking completely normally, and that he likely would not require prosthetics to fly at all, although he had cautioned that the physical therapist would know better. Harry was feeling glad, for lack of a better word, that if one of his losses had to be permanent, that it had been his legs, rather than his tongue, or fingers, or even eyes.
Two days later, once his fingers had completely grown back, the physical therapist visited. She set him some exercises for his tongue and hands, and praised the progress he had made so far, then began working with him on skills he would need to learn to live without the lower half of his legs. Before she left, she gave him the magical version of a wheelchair, which was essentially the same as the muggle version, albeit a bit more sleek looking, and with an option of switching between magically-powered and manually-powered. However, she cautioned him to use the magically-powered version only when completely necessary, since he would need to work to build his arm muscles.
Once she was gone, Harry lay in bed, feeling sweaty and tired. As he began to think he might drift off to sleep, he heard what sounded like a muffled curse. As he listened more closely, he heard a thump and then several more curses in what was definitely Snape’s hiss.
He debated for a moment, then swung the blankets back off of himself and scooted to the edge of the bed. Pulling the new wheelchair into place, he carefully locked the wheels, braced himself, and then swung himself over into the seat. Pleased at his success, he situated himself comfortable, unlocked the wheels, and then began wheeling himself out from between his curtains and towards the sound he had heard.
He approached the curtains around what must be Snape’s bed with some trepidation. He had not seen Snape since several days before when he had told Dumbledore off for forcing Harry into seeing his friends. Actually, Harry had not even left the area immediately around his bed yet, staying within the enclosure of the curtains, although he had known that Snape was also still in the hospital wing.
When he pulled back the curtains, he saw Snape sitting on the edge of his bed and appearing to fumble with one of the cuffs of his shirt. He looked up when Harry came between the curtains.
“What, Potter?” Snape snapped, clearly in a foul mood.
Harry shrugged. “I heard you from my bed. Do you need help?”
“I am fine, Potter,” Snape insisted, then turned his attention back to his cuff. As he watched, Harry realized that he was struggling with buttoning it with his shaking fingers.
“Shouldn’t Madam Pomfrey be helping you, if you’re getting dressed? Is she discharging you?” Harry asked.
Snape scowled. “They cannot help me here any longer, so there is no reason for me to be here. I am returning to my own quarters. And the button is just stiff,” he added.
Harry was silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure I can’t help you?”
Snape opened his mouth to speak, but then met Harry’s eyes and paused. He sighed. “I suppose it is only fair.”
Harry inched forward carefully, working to maneuver around two chairs that partially blocked the path. When he reached Snape, he took the cuff of the starched white shirt carefully in his hands. A bit clumsily, his fingers still slightly stiff, he slowly fitted the button into the loop.
Snape pulled his hand back and nodded his thanks. Harry was just about to back out when the professor spoke.
“Has Dumbledore spoke to you at all about plans for the rest of the summer?”
Harry looked up, surprised. “No. He mentioned that I don’t need to go back to the Dursleys anymore, at least not for safety reasons. He seemed to think it wouldn’t be too hard to get them to give up my guardianship.” He swallowed. “I’m not sure… He hasn’t said if I’m just staying here for the rest of the summer, or…”
Snape nodded and finished his sentence for him. “Or whether another family will take you in? Perhaps even permanently?”
Harry nodded.
“Would you like that?”
Harry shrugged and looked away. “It’s complicated now. With all this.” He gestured to his legs and the wheelchair. “I don’t think many wizards have wheelchair accessible homes. And I know I’d be a lot to deal with.”
“Nightmares?”
Harry’s eyes snapped back to Snape’s.
“I’ve heard you, some nights,” Snape explained.
They sat in silence for another minute, then Snape added, “Too much mothering at the Weasleys?”
Harry quirked one corner of his mouth up.
“Well, if the Headmaster does not object, you are welcome at my place.”
Harry froze.
“I was planning on returning to my quarters at Hogwarts, at least while I get back on my feet. You should be perfectly able to maneuver within those rooms. I am not sure if…” He gestured to his hands. “I may not be staying long, with brewing... “ He shook himself slightly. “I have plenty saved up as it is, and my house could be easily converted, if you would like to stay with me more long term.”
Harry blinked, paused, and then blinked again. Slowly, he nodded.
Snape looked uncomfortable, but somehow Harry got the impression he was pleased. “Well. That’s that, then.” He stood. “I will see you shortly.” He held out a hand that tremored slightly to Harry, and Harry shook it. Then, without further ado, Snape stood carefully and walked past Harry and through the curtains.
Harry made his way back to his bed with a vague smile on his face. He swung himself back into the bed and fell asleep with the thought that things seemed to be looking up, after all.
Chapter 4
The End.