Chapter Text
Returning to Hogwarts so soon after the Battle of Hogwarts had not been Harry’s original plan.
After the war had ended, and the ministry and government both in the process of being rebuilt, Kingsley Shacklebolt had offered both Harry and Ron positions in the Auror Office.
Harry and Ron had both thought about it at length and came to the same conclusion.
They had spent enough time nearly dying.
Ron had said it first.
“Mate… I think I’d like a job where dark wizards aren’t actively trying to kill me.”
Harry had agreed.
When Professor McGonagall wrote asking if Harry would consider helping teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and take part in the ongoing repairs of the school, he had accepted.
Ron had followed shortly afterward. Not as a teacher but as the Quidditch coach for the older students who were interested in the sport, but either not on their house team or not interested in playing that formally. Madam Hooch had been delighted for the extra help.
Unsurprisingly, Ron was excellent at yelling tactical advice from a broomstick.
Hermione agreed to come back to finish her NEWTs, although could not face the idea of sitting in a classroom as a normal student - considering her two best friends were now part of the Hogwarts staff.
She instead took up independent study, with the freedom to consult with the professors, and over the course of a few weeks took on the challenge of reorganising the library, which had fallen into disrepair.
Meanwhile in the Hospital Wing…
Severus Snape had survived. This was not, in theory, a bad thing. Survival had been his goal for most of his adult life. It also meant he had outlived two masters - both lunatics in different ways.
Unfortunately, survival came with a number of deeply inconvenient consequences, including but not limited to:
- Persistent weakness from near-fatal blood loss
- A mandatory stay in the Hogwarts hospital wing
- Being treated like a fragile artifact by the entire staff
and, most catastrophically… Harry Potter.
He glared at the ceiling as footsteps approached the hospital bed and promptly closed his eyes.
“Good morning, Professor Snape!” said Harry brightly.
He kept his eyes closed.
“Go away.”
As expected, Harry ignored this, and put a tray on the bedside table with the determined air of someone embarking on a long campaign.
“Breakfast,” Harry said.
Severus opened one eye.
There was porridge, tea, and a Blood-Replenishing Potion.
There was also, inexplicably, a small potted plant.
He stared at it.
“What,” he said slowly, “is that.”
Harry followed his gaze.
“Oh! Neville gave it to me. It’s supposed to help with recovery.”
“It is a cactus.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
Harry shrugged, “He said it builds character.”
“Drink it,” said Harry firmly.
“No,” replied Severus with equal firmness.
Harry stared at him. Severus stared back.
“It’s just a Blood-Replenishing Potion!,” Harry insisted. “Madam Pomfrey said you have to take it.”
“I would sooner duel a Hungarian Horntail armed only with a teaspoon.”
“Professor-”
“Former professor.”
“-you nearly died.”
“Regrettably,” Severus said dryly, “that fact has not escaped my attention.”
Harry crossed his arms. “I will sit here until you drink it. I don’t have any plans for today.
Severus closed his eyes again. Why did he have to survive?
Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall discreetly watched the interaction with great interest from within the safety of the office.
“Five galleons,” Pomfrey whispered.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, “On what?”
“Potter attempting to feed him.”
McGonagall considered this before replying, “Three days.”
Pomfrey blinked.
“That long?”
“He is a Gryffindor.”
Pomfrey nodded solemnly, “Fair point.”
Day 2 of their wager began very much the same, with a slight change. The number of portrait figures cramming in closest portraits to the hospital wing grew.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were in the office drinking strong coffee while waiting for the inevitable arrival of Harry Potter.
As it hit 8am, Harry Potter walked in with another breakfast tray.
Despite having his eyes closed, Severus could sense it. Potter had a presence like a persistent draft.
“You are here. Again.” Severus said.
“Yes.”
“Why.”
Harry hesitated and then said, stubbornly, “You saved my life.”
Severus stared at him, “That does not obligate you to haunt my recovery.”
Harry folded his arms, “Yes it does.”
He felt the beginning of a headache, “You are not my nurse.”
“No,” Harry agreed cheerfully before adding, “I volunteered.”
“You volunteered.”
“Yes.”
Severus closed his eyes as he rubbed his temples, “Why has Madam Pomfrey allowed this?”
Harry looked (momentarily) sheepish.
“Well… I didn’t really ask for permission.”
That explained everything. Business as usual then.
After a few more minutes Severus opened his eyes and noticed something alarming.
Harry had picked up the spoon.
“Potter,” Severus said slowly.
“Yes?”
“Put that down.”
Harry frowned, “You need to eat.”
“I am capable of feeding myself.”
Harry glanced at the tremor in Severus' hand.
He said nothing.
That made it worse.
Snape’s eyes narrowed.
“You are insufferable.”
Harry smiled slightly.
“I’ve been told that before.”
One elderly wizard leaned out of his frame into a neighbouring one, “Did he accept the porridge yet?”
“Not yet!” said a witch from the neighboring portrait.
“Two galleons says he throws it.” one of the figures said.
Sir Cadogan appeared two frames down, “Nonsense! The young knight shall prevail!”
The witch sniffed, “He’s been standing there for ten minutes.”
Sir Cadogan squinted thoughtfully, “Perhaps he requires a sword.”
A quiet voice broke the silence.
“Persistence is often an admirable quality.”
Both of them looked up.
Albus Dumbledore was watching the scene with gentle amusement from one of his frames.
Snape’s expression turned murderous.
“Headmaster.” he said icily.
“Severus.” Dumbledore said, dipping his head.
“Stop encouraging him.”
Dumbledore’s painted eyes twinkled.
“I am merely observing.”
Harry brightened, “Professor Dumbledore, can you tell him he needs to eat?”
Severus closed his eyes.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“Severus,” he said kindly, “you do appear rather pale.”
“I was bitten by a giant snake.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed.
“Which generally suggests one should eat porridge”, added Harry helpfully.
Severus opened his eyes.
“You are both intolerable.”
Harry grinned.
“Thanks.”
Outside the hospital wing, McGonagall sighed.
“Well.”
Pomfrey checked her watch.
“He lasted longer than I expected.”
“Indeed.”
They both listened as Severus finally snapped:
“Potter, if you attempt to feed me that porridge, I will hex you into next week.”
Pomfrey turned back to McGonagall.
“Seven galleons says he does it anyway.”
McGonagall nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll take that wager.”
And thus, without anyone fully realising it, the Hogwarts betting pool was born.