It was hard to tell time in the small, closed room. He felt like he had barely been asleep for an hour when the door opened and a crowd entered “ obviously, the morning shift had arrived. Two Healers and several nurses convened by the side of his bed. The girl rose from the cot and joined them.
“Well, well, Mr. Snape,” the oldest one of the Healers said in an overly hearty voice, consulting the chart in his hand. “Looks like we are doing much better.”
Snape scoffed inwardly. The Healer might be doing better; personally, he still felt like hell.
“The temperature’s down, the injuries are mending nicely “ we might actually be able to try some food today. A bland, soft diet, Madam Granger, and let’s see if we can’t put a bit of weight back on those bones, shall we? Well, Mr. Snape, I leave you in Madam Granger’s capable hands.”
There was an acid retort already queued up on his tongue, but he swallowed it at the last second. True, Miss Granger was not his idea of the ideal caregiver, but if someone like this condescending idiot was the alternative, he knew which he preferred.
She left with the contingent and returned a few moments later carrying a tray with a covered dish and several potion vials. Setting down the tray on his nightstand, she turned to him with a determined look. “If you’re going to get back on your feet, you need to eat. Now, you’ve had quite a bit of damage to your inner organs, and you haven’t had much other than water and potions by mouth for the last four days. So I think we should proceed slowly. These first.” She handed him two vials. “One to help with pain, the other for nausea. But you know that, of course, Professor.”
“I am not a professor any more,” he said, bite in his voice. “I haven’t been a professor in years.”
She grinned. “You’ll always be Professor Snape. I called you that for six years, and I’ve always thought of you like that. It’s too late to change now.”
His mouth turned down in a bitter smirk. “I find that hard to believe. I know quite well what my students called me behind my back.” The greasy git. The over-grown bat. “And the worse things I have been called since.”
She took the vials back after he had drained them. “I never called you names,” she said, her face growing serious. “I may have not thought much of you at times, but I never called you names. “ Are you ready to try and sit up?”
Without waiting, she pulled out her wand and with a gentle motion, the head of the bed started to rise. It had only gone up a few inches when he drew in a hissing breath “ he didn’t care to think what this would have felt like without the pain potion. He had been flat on his back since he had been brought to St. Mungo’s, and his abdomen and injured joints, damaged almost beyond repair in the attack, did not take kindly to suddenly being expected to bend.
“I'm sorry,” Hermione said, sympathy in her voice, as she stopped the motion of the bed. “I know it hurts. Tell me when the pain subsides, and I’ll raise you up another couple of inches. I couldn’t move you much before without aggravating your injuries. Tomorrow, we’ll start range of motion exercises. It won’t be pleasant, but if you want to regain full use of your limbs, it needs to be done.”
A few minutes later, he gave her the signal to continue. It took another ten minutes of dizziness, nausea, and pain before she got him up into a half-sitting position. When she approached him with the cloth to wipe the sweat from his face, he took it from her roughly. “I have full use of my arms, at least, so I'm quite capable of doing this myself.”
“Fine.” She pressed her lips together. Turning, she lifted the lid off the covered dish. “Do you think you can eat?”
Inside, there was some congealed, sickly-grey blanc-mange. The smell was enough to send his stomach roiling. “Not that,” he said flatly.
“Do you always have to be difficult?” Hermione demanded. “I'm afraid your choices are limited.”
“There has to be something else.”
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. “All right, then, I’ll go and…” At that moment, there was a knock, and before either one could answer, the door was already shoved open.
Potter.
The young man’s face was hard as he stared at the man in bed. “Snape.” The word was filled with loathing.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” The girl got between them, blocking access to the bed.
“Get out of my way, Hermione. I need to talk to him.”
“Did you talk to Scrimgeour? Did he tell you?”
“Yes, he did,” Harry answered grimly. “And more than that. He let me see the memories.”
“Then you know he is innocent.”
“Innocent.” Harry spat out the words. “He hasn’t been innocent since he was a babe in arms. Now get out of the way, or…” He pulled out his wand.
“Go ahead, Potter,” Snape’s voice sneered from the bed. “I am confined to bed, and I don’t have a wand. With luck, you might actually succeed in cursing me this time. That would be a novel experience for you, would it not?”
“Oh stop it, you two,” Hermione said in exasperation. “Harry, put that wand away now, or I’ll call security. And I mean it.”
Reluctantly, the young Auror lowered his arm.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “If you saw the memories, you know that Dumbledore ordered him to fulfill the Vow. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Granger, I don’t need you to be my advocate,” Snape broke in stridently. “If Potter has something to say, let him say it.”
“I need some facts. And you better have a damned good explanation.” Potter’s very stance exuded defiance.
“I don’t recall owing you an explanation of any kind,” Snape said sharply. “If you ask nicely, Potter, I may answer. If I feel like it.” With satisfaction, he saw Harry’s hand tighten around the wand. “What memories did you see?”
“Mostly talks between you and Dumbledore.” Harry stepped closer to Snape’s bed. “Mostly about you and Malfoy and the Unbreakable Vow and the order he gave you. But there was one thing…” He stopped, clearly agitated.
“Spit it out, Potter,” Snape said snidely. “Kneazle got your tongue?”
Harry was obviously fighting for self-control, his hands in fists at his side. “At one point he said to you, ‘...if you hadn’t been there in Godric’s Hollow….’ I always thought Riddle was alone. But you were there, weren’t you? You helped him kill my parents!”
Snape regarded him for a moment, his lips curled up in disdain. “Think, Potter. I know it isn’t your strong point, but indulge me. Dumbledore knew within a short period of time that Voldemort was gone, and he knew exactly what had happened, down to the fact that your mother had sacrificed herself for you. How do you think he knew all that, if all the eyewitnesses were dead?”
“It’s ‘Voldemort’ now, is it? Not the Dark Lord any more?” Harry sneered.
“Are you listening, Potter? Yes, I was there.”
Potter had his wand out again, blind rage on his face. “And you let them die, didn’t you? You did nothing to save them.”
“I was not the Secret Keeper; I had no idea that the house he was taking me to was where Lily and your father were in hiding. I didn’t know until your father opened the door and Voldemort killed him.” The Dark Lord had been in a good mood that evening. He had taken aside his young disciple and told him to come with him, that he had a special treat for him. But he had not known then what was about to happen.
He would never forget the horror of that moment, the moment he realized that Lily and her baby were what the Dark Lord was after that night. He had in cold terror watched James fall “ not because he regretted his death, but because he knew Lily would be next.
“And then you let him kill my mother, and you would have let him kill me.” Potter’s voice was icy in judgment.
“Again, Potter, try to engage your miniscule reasoning abilities. Why, do you think, would Voldemort kill your pureblood father without hesitation, but offer to let your Muggle-born mother live? Think!”
Harry stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said in a whisper. “I never thought…”
“Of course you didn’t think,” Snape interrupted him. “That much is obvious. He offered to let her live because I asked for her life. As a reward for services rendered, so to speak.” He had been one of Voldemort’s most trusted advisors, even then, the one chosen to infiltrate the enemy’s circles. He had brought him the prophecy “ oh, what he wouldn’t give if he could have that moment over! “ and Voldemort had been more than pleased. He had offered him any reward, within reason. He had declined, at the time.
“You. Trying to save her.” Harry’s voice was dripping with disbelief. “Why would you try to save the filthy ‘Mudblood’? I remember what you called her.”
“Believe it or not, Potter, we both grew up in our last two years. Your mother was a friend of sorts.” He had been angry, embarrassed at having this Gryffindor girl defend him. He had apologized, awkwardly, in a roundabout way, some time later. She had accepted. When they had been in NEWT level Potions together, fighting for the top spot in class, a friendly rivalry had developed. James had hated it.
“I don’t believe it. She would have never been friends with a slimeball like you.”
“Whether you believe it or not doesn’t make it any less true,” Snape spoke sharply. It had been a risky move, prostrating himself before the Dark Lord, reminding him of his promise of a reward, and asking for Lily’s life. He had worded it wisely, of course. Voldemort had laughed. “You fancy the Mudblood redhead, do you? I shall allow you your little toy. I have no need of her.” It could have just as well cost him his life, speaking up right then, but he hadn’t cared. She had been kind, and bright, and beautiful. He had loved her, with all his lonely, neglected soul, knowing her an unreachable prize.
“So you would have saved her and let me die? Is that what you are saying?”
“I tried to save you, all of you. It was I who gave Dumbledore the information that Voldemort was after you. It was my information that sent your parents into hiding in the first place.” It had been the threat to Lily that had sent him back to Dumbledore, offering his services. And Dumbledore believed in one thing “ the power of love. When he had seen into Snape’s mind, had seen what he felt for Lily, he had believed him. He had known that the regret Severus felt at endangering her was as real as the Dark Mark on his arm. And so he had become Dumbledore’s spy.
“But when push came to shove, you didn’t give a damn about my life, did you?”
“I could not save both of you.” And frankly, he hadn’t cared. Right then, Lily was all that mattered. Voldemort was after the baby. His life was forfeit. But his mother was expendable in the Dark Lord’s plan; there was a chance for her. And so he had thrown himself at Voldemort’s mercy, risking his own life, only to watch Lily throw hers away for her son. The hateful brat standing before him now, looking so much like his father it made Snape want to vomit.
“As if you gave a damn about me, Snape!”
“He did save you, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “Don’t you see? If he would have not spoken up for your mother, if Riddle would have just killed her the way he killed your father, you would have died, too. It was because she was given a choice that the old magic was invoked that protected you. If he had not been there, she would have not been given that choice. He did save you.”
“You stay out of it, Granger,” Snape snarled at her. God, the last thing he needed was another Muggle-born Gryffindor girl defending him.
“If he saved me, it was purely by accident,” Harry said bitterly. “Remember, it was Hagrid who rescued me from the rubble of the house. If you were really on Dumbledore’s side, Snape, why did you not take me to him after my mother was dead and the curse rebounded on Riddle? Instead you left me there to die.”
“Did you ever think why the house was reduced to rubble? A normal Avada Kedavra doesn’t do that, ” Snape cut in sharply. Seeing the blank look on Harry’s face, he continued, derision in his voice. “When the curse rebounded, it released an enormous amount of energy, enough to blast the house to rubble along with Voldemort’s body. Your mother’s sacrifice protected you even from that; I had no such protection. You were buried in the rubble, and I was in no shape to come to your assistance. I barely made it back to Hogwarts to give report to Dumbledore. I spent over a month in the hospital wing.” He had been injured, grieving, hurting, knowing that he was to blame for Lily’s death. He had never fully recovered. But one thing he had sworn to himself: that he would repay his debt, atone for the mistake that had cost her her life. And he had, from that point on, protected her brat. Oh, he had hated him, for living when his mother had died. He had hated him every time Lily’s eyes looked out at him from James Potter’s face. But he had done his best to save the fool from any true harm, despite the boy’s persistence in going off on harebrained schemes on a regular basis. The reckless Gryffindor.
Harry looked at him, for the first time uncertainty on his face. “You lie, Snape.”
“He’s telling the truth, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I do.”
“Miss Granger, I told you to stay out of it!”
“It was he, Harry, who helped us that last year of the war,” Hermione continued undauntedly. “Those hints that helped you find the Horcruxes? The warnings of Death Eater attacks? The way Ginny was mysteriously freed when she was taken captive? He did all those things.”
Harry was silent. It was, Snape thought, quite satisfying to for once see him slowly deflate, the air taken out of his sails. “You saved Ginny?” he asked in a near whisper.
“I did.” The words came from Snape’s lips unwillingly.
“You saved my wife.” Harry’s lips moved stiffly, disbelievingly, and his shoulders sagged. Snape could almost see his presuppositions crumbling.
Hermione walked over and pulled Harry into a hug. “Leave now,” she said gently. “Think about this some more later. You have hated him long enough. It’s time to let go.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Snape heard Harry whisper.
“Try.” She held him tightly. The young Auror stood quietly in Hermione’s arms for a minute, his face contorted with emotion. Finally, he gave Hermione a final squeeze and stood up straight. He swallowed hard, gave one nod in Snape’s direction, and left without another word.
Hermione gave a breath of relief and turned back to her patient.
“He married her, did he?” Snape said with a sneer.
Hermione nodded. “Two years ago.”
Snape smirked. “If I had known I was saving her for a fate worse than death, I might have reconsidered.”
“You,” Hermione said sternly, the tone of her voice undermined by the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “are absolutely despicable. Just so you know. Sir.” Her voice softened. “How are you? It must have been hard to talk about this. And you still so ill.”
There it was, that look on her face again. Snape turned his head away, suddenly exhausted, physically and emotionally drained.
He flinched when he felt her hand on his shoulder.
“I told you, I don’t need your pity,” he said bitterly.
“Tomorrow,” she said conversationally, as she awkwardly patted his shoulder, “I shall bring you a dictionary so you can look up the definitions for ‘pity’ and for ‘empathy.’ It is high time you learned the difference. And now, I’ll get you something to eat.”