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The first few times Severus awoke, he could do little but acknowledge the fact that he was awake before promptly sinking back into the waiting void. Questions like, Am I dead? And, If I'm not dead, why am I not in Azkaban? And, Why is Potter holding my hand? Were beyond his ability at that point.
It wasn't until the third or fourth time he managed to claw his way out of the darkness, glance around the empty hospital room, turn his head to see Potter hovering… and tried to ask those questions when nothing came out of his mangled throat but voiceless air.
His arms were too weak to push himself up, and Potter had to help him-- help him lean against the pillows, help him hold a glass of water, help him drink. How embarrassing. He didn't realize just how dry his mouth was until the cool water touched his lips. He tried to gulp it down, but Potter was pulling the glass away before he could get his fill, and Severus leveled a glare at him.
Potter smiled. He smiled. "Not so fast. You'll get sick."
Severus was ready to fling out an insult, but still, even with his thirst parched, no sound came.
The smile slipped from Potter's face. "Your vocal chords were damaged when Nagini–" He used his hand to mime Nagini, grasping for his own throat. Thank you for the visual aid, Potter. How would I have remembered without your demonstration?
Severus very pointedly rolled his eyes, and Potter, thick as he was, seemed to pick up what Severus was trying to say and dropped his hand.
"There's potions that will help heal the damage, and you'll have to do voice exercises, but you should be able to recover." Severus lifted his brow and nodded, urging Potter to continue, to explain. What happened? How was he alive? How was Potter alive?
"I rifled through your pockets and found you had the antidote on you." Potter grinned, glanced around conspiratorially, and pulled back the robe he was wearing to show Severus his wand holster. Inside was Severus's ebony wand. "McGonagall had wanted to snap it as a symbolic show of power before I was able to convince her and everyone else you were really on our side."
Potter placed the wand on the bedside table, Severus's eyes watching him all the while.
"You've earned a full pardon," Potter continued on, more softly this time. "And an Order of Merlin. You're free to do whatever you want."
He looked down at his arm, and Severus followed his gaze and saw his unmarked, pale flesh hanging limply from the sleeve of his hospital gown. The Dark Mark had vanished.
Severus dragged his eyes upward, to look at Potter. Potter met his stare with one of his own. Severus glared harder, and Potter sighed, dragging a hand through his hair and tugging it a little. "As for me, well, Dumbledore had a plan."
Dumbledore had a plan. Of course he did. He always had a plan. Not one he was willing to share with Severus. Because Dumbledore's plan didn't include Severus living long enough for it to matter. Severus always knew where Dumbledore's plan would lead him the moment the old man had asked him to kill him.
He was tired. The knowledge that he hadn't failed Lily's son had sapped away whatever energy he had left, and he slipped down onto the bed, rolling onto his side in clear dismissal. Potter sighed again and he thought he felt the boy touch his shoulder and linger there, but Severus was already well on his way back to sleep.
Severus thought that was it. That once Potter had delivered his news and returned his wand, he'd go off and do whatever it was that heroes do once they've saved the world. Sit in a parade. Kiss babies. Get married.
But day after day, Severus would wake up and there Potter would be, sitting in a chair beside him. Maybe thumbing through a newspaper, but just as often Severus would open his eyes to see the boy just looking at him, watching. It made him nervous. Not that he would ever tell him that, even if he could speak.
"You're getting released tomorrow," Potter said. "Have you decided where you'll stay?"
Severus did not feel he needed to share his plans with the boy, but he flicked his wand and conjured up an image of his home in Cokeworth. Potter's face darkened when he saw it.
"You're not staying there," he said. Severus glared. Potter glared right back.
The hospital room Severus was staying in was large, spacious, and private. And paid for with Potter's money. "What? Did you think I was going to inflict you onto some hapless patient?" He joked, but Severus was mute not blind. He had noticed the armed Aurors lingering outside his door.
"It's just a precaution," Potter finally admitted. "Some people are still angry that you killed Dumbledore. They don't care about your reasons, or that the Headmaster asked you to do it."
He was getting death threats. He had been getting death threats for over a year now. It was hardly the trouble Potter was making it out to be, but the boy was under the delusion that Severus needed to be coddled. So, there were people who hated him enough they wanted to kill him for it. Severus had known that since he was fifteen and Black tried to feed him to a werewolf.
"Cokeworth is compromised," Potter insisted. "The Wizarding World knows your address. You can't stay there."
Severus conjured up tiny, illusionary fireworks that, once they exploded, spelled out a single word, emphasized with the sound of explosions: YES. I. WILL.
"No. You. Won't. Severus, if you go back to Cokeworth, someone's bound to try something and you're in no state to defend yourself. You can either stay with me at Grimmauld, or you can go to Hogwarts. When you're well enough to defeat me in a duel, then you can return to Cokeworth, or I don't know. Travel. See the world. Move to Antarctica and never interact with another human being ever again. Whatever you want."
Severus? Severus? What made this child think he could just say his name like that? And what was all that about dueling? Severus could wipe the floor with Potter. Even if he had been rendered blind and one-armed, Potter couldn't defeat him.
Severus gnashed his teeth together and started to lift his wand, but before he could even raise it fully it was flying out of his hand and into Potter's palm. Potter shot him an unimpressed look. "You're a lot slower than you used to be. The venom damaged the nerves in your shoulder and arm. It'll take time, and potions, and therapy to get you anywhere near ready to challenge me." He tossed the wand onto the bedside table and stood up. "I'll be here tomorrow to take you to Grimmauld. Unless you want me to contact McGonagall? No? I'll see you tomorrow then."
Potter smiled, patted Severus on the knee, and let out a yelp when Severus kicked him.
"Oh my God, stop pouting."
Severus wasn't pouting. He was simply expressing his displeasure in the only way he could now, which just so happened to look like pouting. Potter stood in the middle of his hospital room, his hand outstretched. "You're not apparating. We both know you'd probably end up splinching your own head off if you tried. Stop delaying the inevitable and take my hand."
Didn't Potter understand how hard this was for him? He had needed the boy's help in dressing, for Merlin's sake, his fingers not wanting to work right as he fiddled with his many buttons. And Potter– Potter, who wasn't really a boy any longer, with his large, Quidditch-roughened hands hovering by his scarred throat as he fixed his collar for him, his throat that had been ripped open. It had been terrifying, and Potter, with his easy smile that reminded Severus of his father and that eagerness to help that had come from his mother, had been oblivious.
He really was weak, wasn't he? Helpless. Pathetic. Sniveling.
He took Potter's hand, the boy's fingers curling gently around him as he was pulled along through the ether and deposited in front of 12 Grimmauld Place.
Potter was standing close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other, his fingers still tangled up with his own. It had been a long time – over a year – since Severus felt the touch of another person and his skin felt as if it was burning off at each point of contact. Severus quickly disentangled himself from Potter and started up the steps, the boy following at his heels. He felt a palm press into the middle of his back to help steady him, and Severus threw a glare over his shoulder but Potter refused to let go. "What would the healers say if I showed back up with you ten minutes after we left because you took a tumble down the steps?" He asked.
Grimmauld was brighter than Severus remembered. Potter must have done a lot of work to it since Severus had last stepped foot inside. "I'll show you to your room," Harry said and guided Severus, not to the staircase, but down a hall off of the kitchen.
"I set up a small room down here on the first floor so you don't have to spend your time climbing up or down," Potter explained as he opened the door to a plain, but clean and airy little room. "I think this used to be where the servants slept." He said this with a wince, as if he was afraid of insulting Severus, but the potions master just waved it off. That's what he was, wasn't he? First the Dark Lord's servant, then Dumbledore's. "It's safer if you remain here on the first floor, at least until you're stronger and can handle the stairs."
Severus didn't care. He intended to be far away from this place soon enough.
"Once you get settled in, meet me in the parlour and we can get started on speech therapy." Potter grinned and held up a box for Severus to see. "I've made flashcards."
Severus and Potter quickly fell into a routine. Every morning they woke up, Kreacher made breakfast, after which the boy dragged him into the parlour for 'speech therapy.' Severus would stubbornly sit on the sofa, arms folded, mouth pinched tight, until Potter finally gave up. Then Severus was free to go down into the makeshift laboratory Potter had set up for him, or read in his room, until it was time for dinner. All in all, it was incredibly satisfying to watch Potter's frustration continue to mount.
"Why," Potter begged him one afternoon after an hour of trying to coax Severus into speaking. "Why do you insist on making everyone else's life more difficult even when it's to your own detriment?"
Severus shot forward, offended at the idea that he was the one making it hard on everyone else, and held out his hand to conjure up a series of images. Potter going after the Philosopher's Stone. Potter venturing into the Chamber of Secrets. Potter sneaking around the castle at night when they all thought Sirius Black–
"Okay, okay!" Potter exclaimed, his cheeks turning pink as he swiped his hand through the illusions, dispelling them. "You don't have to show me my greatest hits to prove your point."
Severus leaned back into the sofa, satisfied, and watched Potter tug at his hair. "I've realized…" Potter swallowed, licked his lips, and tried again. "I've realized that you've never had any choices. Neither of us did. We've both been under someone's thumb our whole lives, whether we knew it or not. If this is you making a choice, then I won't push you anymore. But I think it would be a damn shame if I never heard your voice again."
What was Potter talking about? All Severus had done since meeting the boy was insult him. If Severus recovered his voice, there'd be no end to the scathing comments. Former students everywhere must be celebrating in the streets to know their most hated professor had now been rendered mute. The boy must be soft in the head. Maybe when the Dark Lord killed him, some of Potter's brain leaked out of his ears. That was the only explanation.
Potter looked up to meet his eyes, held his gaze for a second too long, that all-too-familiar green filling his vision, and stood up, leaving Severus alone.
Potter finally stopped waving his flashcards under Severus's nose and, in the evenings, when alone in his room or down in the laboratory, Severus practiced making sounds.
"Fuh, fuh, fuh," Severus rasped as he paced up and down in front of his cauldron as it simmered. His arm ached from all the stirring, the regenerated nerves burning with overuse. "Kuh, kuh, kuh. Fuh, fuh, fuh."
"Excellent, Severus. You're doing very well."
Severus turned on his heel, robes twisting around his legs to see Minerva coming down the stairs and into his laboratory. Severus strung the two sounds together and managed a strangled "Fuck," at the sight of her.
Minerva gave him a wry smile and came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. She stood there a little awkwardly, embarrassed, and then said, "I'm sorry I tried to kill you."
Severus waved his hand. Honestly, who hadn't tried to kill him by that point in his life?
Minerva's smile grew watery and she rushed at him, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug. "I wish you had told me the plan," she whispered.
Even though her touch burned, Severus leaned into it. He wished he had told her too, but the Headmaster had been firm. No one else was supposed to know. And it had all worked out in the end, hadn't it? The Dark Lord was dead and Potter was alive.
Why didn't he just tell me about the Deathly Hallows? Severus thought as he returned the hug with his good arm. I am a Master Occulumens. The Dark Lord would have never found out. Another, darker thought, whispered– Dumbledore didn't trust you. He believed you would use them for yourself.
"This will kill me, you know," Severus had said to Dumbledore during one of their many talks that last final year. "If the Dark Lord doesn't kill me, I'll be strung up by your Order as a traitor."
"We all die, Severus," Dumbledore said in that wise, grandfatherly way of his. "Not all of us die with a purpose. We will be one of the lucky few."
The lucky few. As if Dumbledore hadn't signed his own death warrant – his and Severus's – because he had to meddle with a cursed ring. The Headmaster had wanted Severus to pay for not only his own mistakes, but for his as well.
Severus put a stasis charm over his potion and went upstairs with Minerva. He looked around, but Potter was nowhere in sight. That was strange. The boy rarely left Grimmauld. Since the Dark Lord's defeat, Potter had become as much of a recluse as Severus himself was.
Minerva helped him with the tea, the pain in his arm making it too difficult to grip anything. "I'm not inviting you back to teach," she said simply as she took the teacup from Severus's shaking hands and set it on the table, prompting a silent laugh from the man. Merlin, teaching. If Minerva had tried to offer him his old job back, Severus might have jumped out of a window. He was never going back to Hogwarts.
Minerva chatted a while about the school, her new duties as Headmistress – Longbottom was getting his mastery in Herbology, he was planning on taking over for Pomona when she retires in a few years, Longbottom, and Severus was happy all over again that his Hogwarts career was over – and then Minerva asked, "How have you been? I was surprised when Harry told me he had convinced you to stay with him while you recuperated."
Severus grimaced. Potter was a confusing subject. He had given the boy his memories because he needed to pass along Dumbledore's plan… and to tell someone, anyone, the truth. He wanted someone to know who he was, even if they hated him, even if it revealed just how truly pathetic he was, at least it would be the truth.
Potter's clinginess was strange. Potter should be disgusted with him, not… not…
"That first week, when no one was sure if you would live or die, Potter didn't leave your side. Not once." Minerva looked at him. "Despite your best efforts, he's come to care for you. I hope you haven't been causing him too much grief."
Him, causing Potter grief? Severus looked so affronted that Minerva laughed.
Potter returned a few hours later, with Weasley and Granger in tow – Severus realized it was the first time he had seen the pair since his arrival – just as Minerva was saying her goodbyes. "I won't hear any excuses," Minerva told Potter as she pinned her hat in place. "I expect you to join Hagrid and I at Three Broomsticks next week. You know how much he misses you."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, blushing, while Granger and Weasley giggled.
"That goes for you too, Severus," Minerva called out, which Severus responded to with a dismissive wave.
"Hello, Professor Snape, it's good to see you up and about again," Granger said. Severus ignored her and busied himself with clearing away the teacups.
"I don't know how you can stand it," he heard Weasley whisper to Potter. "How do you two even communicate?"
"Sev gets his point across," Potter answered. Sev!? Weasley looked just as horrified at the nickname as Severus himself felt. "So, how was your visit with McGonagall?" Potter asked, turning to him.
Severus banished the tea tray to the kitchen and then, very deliberately, conjured a noose that shot out from the tip of his wand. He eyeballed the chandelier, gauged its distance, and then threw the rope over one of its arms. He stuck his head into the noose, giving it a few experimental tugs to see if it would hold his weight. The rope burned against skin.
"See what I mean?" Potter said to Weasley, gesturing at Severus's display. "Come on, Sev, it wasn't that bad."
Thank you for your application to the Stockholm Research Institute. We would like to formally offer you a position to–
Severus quickly folded the letter and placed it inside his pocket when he heard footsteps on the stair. A few minutes later, Potter's mop of messy, black hair appeared in the kitchen. He yawned, rubbed his eye, and plopped down at the table across from Severus.
Potter started nibbling at the eggs and bacon Kreacher placed in front of him, still half-asleep. "What are you doing here?" Severus gasped out, his throat already hurting with the effort.
Potter looked up at him in confusion. "Uh, I live here?"
Severus shot him the same look he used to give him whenever Potter said something egregiously stupid while in class and he was gratified to see the boy still squirming under the weight of his stare. "You're eighteen," he said, pushing through the pain to say what needed to be said. "What are you doing with your life?"
"I'm helping you."
He was using Severus as a crutch, as an excuse not to have to interact with the world. "Quidditch? Auror? Ginny?" Severus managed to push those three words out before his voice dissipated into a breathy whisper.
"It can wait," Potter insisted, getting that same, stubborn look that made Severus grind his teeth.
He wanted to say, No, it can't, and The world is passing you by, and You don't want to end up like me, do you? But he had used up all of his strength. So, Severus sighed, took out the letter and pushed it toward him.
Potter took the letter and looked over it, his face growing dark and dull as he read. "You're leaving?" His tone was neutral, emotionless.
Severus nodded. What did the boy expect? That he would bother to stay on until he had defeated him in a duel, as he had told him in the hospital? What Gryffindor nonsense.
"I won't stop you, but–" Potter looked him in the eye, and Severus hated when he did that, hated when he used Lily's eyes against him. "You don't have to go. You can stay here with me."
Stay here? Exchange one dungeon for another? What in the world was Potter thinking– Oh. Potter reached out for Severus's hand across the table and clutched it. Severus stiffened, unable to relax the muscles in his hand enough for Potter to get a good grip.
He stared dumbly down at their joined fingers. Oh.
He was jumping to conclusions. This wasn't some declaration of love. Potter simply pitied him; pitied his life and wanted to give him the family they both had been denied. That was it. Yes, that had to be it. Severus looked up, hoping he was wrong, hoping that Potter simply saw him as a strange, eccentric uncle maybe, not as a– a–
Green eyes stared earnestly back at him. "Severus, I love–"
Severus jerked his hand away. He rushed out of the kitchen.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just a stupid crush. You don't have to leave."
A crush. Potter had a crush on him, Severus Snape. The universe was full of irony, wasn't it?
What in the world was that boy thinking? How could he have developed a crush on an old, scarred, ugly man like him? He'd ask, if he had the energy, but that would probably result in a lecture on how he wasn't ugly, just 'unique' or whatever bullshit romantics in love spouted off. Hah, the scales would fall from his eyes soon enough. This was a temporary madness brought about by a shared trauma.
"I was always going to leave," Severus whispered as he continued to pack. "You have nothing to do with it."
Potter stood at the threshold of his room, looking so much like a sullen boy coming to his office to serve detention. A swell of pity filled Severus's heart at the sight. He might have, once, cruelly crushed the child's hope, but he found himself unable to say the words, and not because of his damaged throat.
"You don't want me," Severus said as he closed his suitcase. "I would only hold you back. Think about it. You know what the rest of the world would say about us. Do you want to invite that scrutiny?"
"I don't care what anyone has to say," Potter insisted, lifting his chin defiantly. "They're going to talk about me anyway, I might as well do what I want. The only thing that matters is how you feel. Do you… do you think you could ever–?"
"No," Severus rasped out, cutting him off. And then, after a beat, he whispered, "I'm sorry."
But how could he? How could he spend day after day looking into James Potter's face, into Lily Evans's eyes? Making love to such a creature that reminded him of his trauma and pain and failure? It sent a shiver of revulsion down Severus's spine.
Severus picked up his suitcase, and Potter had to help him, had to reach out and catch it before it could slip from between his weakened fingers, his hand not wanting to close all the way. Potter lingered for a few seconds, his body nearly touching his as he plucked at a piece of fuzz from Severus's cloak.
"You'll get over this, Harry." Severus assured him.
Harry gave him a wry smile. "No, I won't, but I'll keep living anyway."
Severus brushed past the boy. He stepped out of Grimmauld Place, ready to start his new life, whatever that may be. It was exciting, having choices, being able to say no. Severus didn't look back.