Work Text:
Harry stared out the window of the office, trying very hard to see the quidditch tryouts below. It was so frustrating that he had to sit in detention with that pink old hag, especially since he had really wanted to give Ron his support. Alas, Toad Woman seemed to think he was a threat to the ministry that needed to be tortured into silence.
Even after her "lesson" had really sunk in, she still made him come back over and over again, making him cut deeper and deeper into his hand. If this kind of thing kept going, Harry was sure that he'd be able to see his bones and tendons soon. And that would just be disgusting.
"Mr. Potter! I do not see you writing. Are my detentions too boring? Must I come up with some other punishment for you, young man?" came the high-pitched, grating voice of the most awful woman in the world from behind him.
"No, professor. I was distracted. I'm sorry," Harry gritted out, hoping his voice didn't sound too hateful.
A moment later, a thick curtain fell over the window, obscuring the faint view of the pitch that he had previously been afforded.
"Now, finish your lines. I believe that only a few hundred more should do it."
Merlin, Harry hated her.
Without the quidditch pitch to look at, all Harry could think about was the pain. That, and his absolute hatred for Umbridge. So much so that when Harry looked down at the blood-soaked parchment, he realized he had not been writing "I must not tell lies" for a while. Instead, he had been writing "I must not hate her", which had devolved even further into “I hate her”. Crap. Now the cuts on his hand looked really jumbled and stupid. And Umbridge was probably going to curse him. The woman really seemed on the brink of going insane.
So, when Umbridge finally ended their detention, he booked it from her office. A straight beeline for the door. Whatever consequences he would receive from what he had written were a problem for future Harry.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Future Harry really wished that Past Harry hadn't left this problem to him. Because as he packed up after Defense class, the horrible woman told him to stay behind. He wanted to run, but McGonagall had told him to stay out of trouble, so he obeyed.
"Yes, professor?" he asked.
"It would seem that our nightly sessions aren't really getting through to you, so I'm assigning your detention tonight to Mr. Filch instead."
Filch? A Filch detention? That was leagues better than enduring low-level torture for several hours. There was some kind of catch to this, surely.
"Oh. Um, yes, professor. Same time?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter. Report to his office at seven o'clock."
Hm. Maybe there wasn’t a catch.
With a sigh, Harry left the classroom and ran to catch up with his friends. Filch's detentions had quite the reputation, Harry knew, and he was glad for it. If polishing an entire hallway of suits of armor was his punishment, it would still be far better than cutting himself open over and over again.
With any luck, maybe Harry could play it up like it'd been absolutely awful so that any detentions he got from her for the rest of the year would be with the sour old man.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Severus sat at his desk, at a loss for what to do. One of his students had gotten a detention from Umbridge. Laura Niggle, a third year, had whispered to her friend during class that their Defense textbooks were stupid. This was something Severus personally agreed on. Unfortunately, the child had walked away from her detention at nearly midnight, and Severus had found her sobbing on the floor of the main dungeon corridor during one of his rounds.
Normally, Severus wouldn't allow a break in curfew for anyone, but once the child had tearfully explained what was wrong and why she was out so late, he had instantly forgiven the broken rule. Umbridge, that insane old hag, was using a Blood Quill on students. Any student who had detention with her had been subject to a kind of torture, not to mention the dark magic associated with such an awful object.
That left Severus with a few options. He couldn't confront Umbridge directly. She was swiftly gaining power, and that would likely only lead to his own firing, which would be detrimental for the children he was meant to protect. He could inform all the other staff, which he most certainly would be doing, so that they could team up against her. The headmaster could even call upon the ancient magic of Hogwarts itself to throw her out. But that would just mean that Fudge would put a new fool in her place.
That only left Severus with one way to directly help the student population. He would have to track down every student who had detention with her and make sure that they received the necessary medical attention. He had briefly considered tasking each Head of House with this, but he couldn't risk someone as powerful as Minerva, useful as Sprout, or clever as Flitwick getting fired. No, it had to be him. He was the only one sneaky enough to go unnoticed. Especially since Umbridge had seemingly taken to favoring the Slytherins.
The plan was flawless in every aspect but one. Many of the students most affected were students that needed a harsh punishment. Not people like Laura, of course, but people like Fred and George Weasley. And Potter. Severus did not want to have to help brats like them.
With a sigh, the man stood. It was time to start his rounds.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
The halls were desolate, just as they should have been. It was silent, except for the muttering of paintings and the soft taps of his shoes against flagstones. It was a peaceful night, one that seemed to be devoid of children breaking the rules.
It wasn't until Severus had reached the west wing tower that he realized something was off. Some paintings down the corridor were looking at each other, horrified, and whispering. Others were looking at Filch's office door, with a similar look of horror on their faces.
This, on its own, was concerning, but there was also the fact that the whispers and mutters of the paintings were silent in the already soundless hallway. That could only mean one thing. A silencing charm.
Given the fact that Severus had truly seen it all, the man just rolled his eyes and strode towards Filch's office. He even felt a bit of glee. He was about to catch someone in the act of pilfering from the caretaker's office, after all.
With broad yet silent steps, Severus made his way towards Argus' door. He felt the chill of a silent barrier wash over him as he passed through it. Then, the professor stopped dead in his tracks, ice climbing up his chest.
He had expected the sounds of whispers. He had expected silent giggles and the loud shuffling of files and contraband. He had even expected to hear portrait gossip. Instead, he suddenly understood the looks of horror on the paintings' faces. Because the sounds filling the hallway weren't of delinquent kids stealing from Filch. They were the sounds of a child screaming in pain and a loud cracking.
Filch must have finally snapped and decided that truly punishing a child was worth the headmaster's wrath, Severus thought as he surged towards the door.
He didn't bother with an unlocking or blasting charm. He just barreled through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges.
"Argus Filch, what in the name of Merlin are you doing?" he shouted at the grisly old man standing in the middle of the room.
The room was a horrible sight to behold. A boy, no older than a fourth year if his small, skinny frame was anything to go by, hung from the ceiling by his wrists, naked from the waist up. Filch stood in the middle of the room, back towards Severus, with a braided leather whip in his hand. To make everything worse, there was blood everywhere. Dripping down the child's arms from where iron manacles bit into his skin. Flowing from opened welts on the boy's back. Seeping into the leather of the whip. Staining Filch's hands.
Filch, who seemed unaware of how horrific the scene before him was, simply turned leisurely around.
"Professor Snape, good evening! I'm doing a detention."
"Argus, you and I both know that you are not permitted to harm students!"
"Ah, but I am now!" the terrible old man cried with a sick gleam in his eyes.
Filch sauntered over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and gingerly took a piece of parchment out of it.
"See, Professor? The minister for magic himself signed a decree saying that staff may use whatever mode of discipline they wish during detentions."
Severus stared down at the document in Filch's hand, a numbing rage filling him. Cornelius Fudge, no doubt on request from Umbridge, had allowed this to happen. And of course Filch, who had been itching to hurt students again for almost fifty years, had gone overboard and grievously injured a child. Severus was going to have Umbridge's head, and Albus, once he was informed of this, would surely have Fudge's.
"You've done more than enough, Argus. Cut the boy down before you kill him," the professor growled.
"Ah, but you might not want me to do that yet, Professor," the man replied with a sickening grin. "We've finally got our hands on the student you and I both hate the most, after all."
Severus felt cold dread grip his heart. No. Surely not.
Unruly mop of black hair.
Short for his age.
Ratty sneakers.
Gryffindor robes in a pile in the corner.
A pair of circular wire-frame glasses thrown haphazardly on top of them.
It couldn't be.
It could only be.
"Harry Potter!" Filch crowed with glee.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Harry couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid as to think that Umbridge was through with him being tortured. Of course she just wanted someone else to be doing to torture, and for the torture to be much worse.
Harry was absolutely certain that he hadn’t felt anything as painful as the whip since the last dream that made his scar hurt. Hell, maybe he hadn’t felt this much pain since Voldemort had put him under the cruciatus curse. It was so painful that all he could do was just hang there and scream himself hoarse.
That horrible Umbridge. At first, he had been confused and utterly humiliated when she had frozen him solid and pried his shirt and robes off. Then, he had been terrified when he suddenly found himself having a pair of iron manacles locked around his wrists, and those manacles being lifted towards the ceiling, dragging him along with them.
That had been nothing, however, to the pain that followed. Harry had seen glimpses of whippings in movies Dudley wasn’t supposed to be watching before, and he had even been belted before, but neither of those experiences could prepare him for the utter suffering that it really was. Umbridge had stayed and watched for a while, clearly getting as much pleasure out of watching him hurt as Filch was. When it had gotten late enough, she had instructed Filch not to stop until he thought Harry had good and learned his lesson. Then, she had strolled off, leaving Harry to his fate.
Shortly after that, the only possible thing that could have made the whole situation worse happened. Snape showed up. Severus “my hand might just slip” Snape. The only other adult in the whole school that Harry was sure would revel in his pain rather than relieve it.
For a few minutes, Harry let a shred of hope curl in his chest. Snape sounded outraged, and didn’t seem to realize that the tortured student was Harry. Maybe the man would rescue him before he made that realization? Of course, Harry wasn’t that lucky either. Filch had told him, and seemed to be trying to convince him to let the “detention” continue. Snape was silent. The hope died in Harry’s heart.
A stuttery sob climbed up Harry’s chest and forced its way out, hurting his already torn-up throat. Tears cut through the sweat on his face, and Harry found that he really could not stop them. Everything hurt so bad, and there was no end in sight. Umbridge had won, and Harry knew it. He just hoped that he didn’t have to be there when Filch and Snape bragged about breaking the spirit of Harry Potter.
Then, Harry was collapsing to the ground. A strangled cry escaped his lips as his body hit the stone floor with a thud. The chains fastening him to the ceiling had been cut. The next moment, hands were on him, gently squeezing around the cuts and welts on his back, working the manacles off of his bruised wrists, and carefully rubbing the blood flow back into his fingertips.
Harry couldn’t make sense of it. Why weren’t the hands hurting him? Why wasn’t Snape taking his best chance of finally harming Harry Potter? Had another teacher arrived? A quick glance upwards, one that took tremendous effort on Harry’s part, confirmed that no, no other teacher had arrived. Snape, the cruelest teacher in the whole school, really was gently tapping the sides of Harry’s face and looking at him with concern shining in his eyes.
A question formed on Harry’s lips, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate. His ears were ringing. His head was pounding and his back was throbbing. His wrists ached. Nothing made sense. Snape was speaking to him. All Harry could produce from his mouth in response was a low, pained whine. Absolutely pathetic.
The world blurred and shook on its axis for a moment, making Harry feel as though he was going to vomit. The only thing that his eyes could make out as his brain melted into mush food a moment was the crumpled, yet stiff, body of Argus Filch laying on the floor. There was blood wetting his hair that Harry wasn’t entirely sure came from the whipping. Then, he was being lifted. Carried. Snape was carrying him. He was slung over the Dungeon Bat’s shoulder like a sack of… something. Harry couldn’t think right. It was as if his mind was filled with fog. Whatever it was, it was really funny. Snape, one of the most notorious Harry Haters in the school, was sprinting down the corridors with the kid he so hated draped over him. Absolutely comical. Anybody who happened to be sneaking around at this hour was in for a treat.
As the potions professor was taking Harry wherever Snape thought they needed to go, Harry let his head droop. He didn’t care that his nose bumped into Snape’s back with every step. He didn’t care that falling asleep after a terrible amount of blood loss was a bad idea. He didn’t even care that all of this was so bizarre. He was just tired. So, in the few minutes that it took for Snape to reach the moving staircases and start to ascend them, Harry had let his mind drift into the peace of unconsciousness.
— — — — — — — —
Severus kicked the double doors of the hospital wing open with the hopes that the slamming of the door against rock would wake Poppy even if whatever wards she had set up didn’t. Fortunately, luck seemed to be on Severus’ side. Poppy Pomfrey was already striding towards him, shock written all over her face.
“Severus, what in Merlin’s name-” a gasp, “Severus, is that a student?”
“Yes, Poppy. That madwoman Umbridge got her little lapdog Minister to sign a ludicrous decree stating that staff could administer whatever punishments they deem necessary. Potter was the first one Filch got his hands on.” Severus explained bitterly as he shifted the increasingly-heavy body of the fifteen-year-old boy draped over his shoulder.
“I can’t believe Argus would hurt a student this badly…” Poppy trailed off.
“Yes, well, he’s been wanting to do it for half a decade. Not to mention the fact that he hates Potter as much as I do,” Severus commented as he carefully laid Potter face-down on a nearby bed.
Without the weight and warmth of the boy on his shoulder, Severus became suddenly and disgustingly aware of how wet the entire upper left side of his body was. Potter’s blood had soaked through his robes, shirt, and undershirt, spreading as it went. It had also completely stained the hand that had kept the boy in place as he had run, and Severus was also uncomfortably aware of the warm, red substance dripping down his arm and soaking into his sleeves. The thought alone made him feel utterly sick.
“He’s out cold, Severus. Go fetch dittany and bruise balm while I wake him.” the matron commanded.
Happy for something to do to take his mind off the blood, Severus immediately went for the potions cabinet. He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, not keen on hearing the boy’s hoarse whines or seeing his pain-filled eyes again so soon.
He was not so lucky. Even from across the room, the professor could hear the softly spoken spell to wake the boy. He could hear the choked gasps Potter took and the quiet shushing of Poppy as she tried to calm him.
Then, when Severus turned back, his eye caught Potter’s. The pain he felt in that moment was unbearable.
Half of that pain was Potter’s, the hurt and confusion projected so loudly from his mind that it was impossible to ignore. The other part was the absolute crushing guilt that overwhelmed him as Severus saw those familiar green eyes fill with inescapable suffering. It hurt even more when he broke eye contact and was met once again with the gruesome scene of the child’s small, thin back. How had Severus never noticed how small Potter was before? How frail-looking? How had he ever expected to keep his promise to Lily without this knowledge? How had he ever mistaken this boy for James? James had been a large, imposing boy. Harry was small and skinny, more like-
“Severus! Potions!” Poppy shouted from beside Potter’s bed.
With a jolt, Severus realized that he had just been standing there, looking like an idiot. Snapping back to focus, he quickly made his way over to the boy and the matron. Poppy snatched the potions from him and cast a simple numbing smell over the child’s back. This was for the best, Severus knew. Dittany, when in high concentration, did not just heal wounds. It cauterized them, then healed the burns. It was highly painful for the one being healed. It also only worked on open wounds. Severus would have to find something else for the welts.
Potter sagged with relief when his back was numbed, and a Severus found a small amount of relief in that alone. Sure, Potter may have been his most hated student, but Severus was not as cold-hearted as to take happiness in his pain.
Suddenly, Severus stiffened. He may not take happiness in a student’s pain, but there was someone else who did. Someone who had easily outmatched his reputation as the worst person in the school without even trying. Someone who had been getting away with torturing students enough that she had felt safe to take it up to the next level. Someone that Severus was going to kill.
“Poppy, do you need any more here? I think the headmaster would like to know about this,” He said, deceptively calm.
“No, I can handle it from here. Bring Albus down here to have your discussion. I would like to speak to him as well.”
“Right.”
And with that, Severus strode from the room.
— — — — — — — —
Rage, white-hot and blinding, filled Severus as he descended the steps leading to the Defense classroom. He could not be held responsible for his actions once he met Dolores Umbridge face to face on that night. He could not be blamed for what he was about to do.
That’s why, for the third time that night, he simply knocked the door down rather than knocking.
That’s why he strode over to the hidden door to her quarters and banged on it as loud as he possibly could.
That’s why, when she appeared in her frilly pink nightgown, asking what was going on, he simply wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
That’s why he barely felt it when the stupid woman decided to use an unforgivable curse on him. Even twitching and writhing on the floor, the only thing he could think of was his rage.
This woman hurt a student. She had nearly killed a student. One that he was specifically tasked with protecting.
This woman had tortured many students, exposed them to dark magic, and made them terrified to walk the halls of a place they were meant to feel the most safe.
Severus must have been screaming, because when the extreme pain that had been gnawing at the edges of his blind anger finally vanished, his throat hurt.
“He attacked me, it was in self-defense!” the evil pink toad cried, fake tears in her eyes.
Two strong, bony, distinctly old hands lifted him from the floor. They kept a firm hold on him, even as their owner’s voice spoke from above his head.
“I don’t care what Severus did, there is no excuse for using an unforgivable curse on him!”
“Y-you’re both doing this on the orders of Dumbledore!” Umbridge shouted madly, “You’re trying to kill me so that the Ministry no longer has power here! It will never work!”
Severus felt his anger resurface. It gave him the strength he needed to place his feet back firmly on the ground and stand. But he did not rush Umbridge again. He knew that she had given him enough nerve damage to prevent another attack. So instead, he turned to the fierce old woman behind him.
“Minerva. She’s been…she’s been torturing students. Tried to kill Potter tonight…” Severus whispered hoarsely.
The revelation had the intended effect. Minerva’s eyes widened, then her mouth set into a straight line. She then carefully maneuvered Severus over so that he could lean on the wall, and turned to Umbridge.
“You’ve attacked how many of my lions?” Minerva asked in a deadly whisper.
“I-I’ve only done what’s necessary to stop the spread of that awful Potter boy’s lies!” Umbridge stammered.
“How many? How many of Severus’ snakes? How many of Pomona’s badgers? How many of Filius’ eagles? How many children in this school have you hurt, Dolores!” the Head of Gryffindor roared. It was times like these that made Severus glad that he was on her side.
With a thrill of happiness, Severus realized that Umbridge looked completely terrified.
“And you tried to kill Potter tonight? What on Earth do you think gives you the right to execute a student?”
“I-I-I wasn’t trying to kill him! Argus was just so excited to finally be able to properly punish students again-”
“WHAT?” Minerva practically shrieked.
Then, without hesitation:
“Stupefy!”
Umbridge went flying. Down her little, pink entrance hallway. Past her frilly, magenta loveseat sofa. Until she slammed into the rose-tinted wood paneling of the living room wall opposite to them. Minerva stood where she was for a few seconds, shaking. Then she stalked over to where the toad had landed, kicked her, spat on her face, then put her in a full body bind. All was quiet after that, the only sound being Minerva’s heavy breathing.
“Minerva?” Severus tried.
The woman whipped her head around, rage still blazing in her eyes. Severus quickly came to the decision that McGonagall was not to be spoken to when she was that angry, so he tried to quietly make for the door. Only, his legs were shaking like mad, so he ended up just tripping over the carpet and falling.
Humiliating.
When the quiet footsteps of the person he was closest to calling a friend finally made it to his side, Severus tried to push himself back up. For the second time within ten minutes, the man felt himself being lifted by the older woman. He was glad that she ignored the touch of pink on his sallow cheeks.
With the wrathful rage he had been feeling since he had stumbled across Potter completely faded, it suddenly became painfully obvious that Minerva had seen him in some pretty embarrassing situations. Screaming and twitching on the floor. Losing control and attacking someone. Tripping over the carpet. Pathetic.
The woman didn’t seem to think so, however. She just seemed rather worried.
“Severus? Severus, are you alright? Merlin, no, of course you aren’t. I can’t believe she did that to you…”
“I will be fine, Minerva,” Severus muttered, “This is not the first time I’ve come into contact with that particular curse.”
Severus felt the hands holding him up tighten.
“Makes me want to kill her,” the woman growled.
“Just wait until you see what she had Filch do to Potter. Then you’ll see why I was trying to strangle her to death,” Severus muttered with a weak and breathy laugh.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t, then. Not now. I will take you to the hospital wing, then retrieve the Headmaster.”
“Alright.”
The pair slowly made their way back up to the hospital wing, Minerva practically carrying Severus. His legs still trembled, making him miss a few stairs. His muscles still ached from the wild thrashing that came with having one’s entire nervous system set ablaze, making each breath feel like an impressive feat. He would have surely fallen if not for the old witch.
For as wrinkled and bony as that woman was, she was still unbelievably strong. Once again, Severus was glad that she was on the same side as him. He was also glad that she, too, had the task of keeping Potter safe. Having someone as strong and strict as her around to keep the boy in check was probably making his job multitudes easier in ways that he hadn’t even realized.
“Here we are.” Minerva murmured.
They had stopped right outside the hospital wing doors.
“You better go get Albus before you see Potter. Most of his wounds are likely almost healed now, but it will still be a disturbing sight. I would rather have Albus down here when you see it.” Severus whispered back, not trusting his voice to not be scratchy if he were to speak any louder.
Minerva nodded stiffly and slowly released Severus. When he didn’t immediately fall over, the woman took a cautious step back, hands still out, then another, then turned and strode away.
— — — — — — — —
Harry lay on his bed face-down, trying very hard not to move. The numbing spell that Madam Pomfrey had put on his back had long since worn off, and every movement hurt like crazy.
Madam Pomfrey was rummaging around in the potions cabinet and muttering to herself. She had said something about getting a sleeping potion for Harry, likely the same one she gave him after the Triwizard Tournament the previous year. And personally, Harry was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. He had had enough of nightmares about Cedric and even visions of terrible things. And after everything he had gone through that night, Harry felt that he deserved a peaceful sleep. For a minute Harry really, truly thought that he was going to be able to drift off laying on his stomach as he was, even if it was a little uncomfortable.
That was, until Madam Pomfrey’s loud, commanding voice boomed through the hospital wing, jolting him awake again.
“Severus Snape, what on Earth did you do?” she shouted.
Harry opened his eyes in time to see Snape stumble over a slightly raised stone just past the entrance and almost fall. All of his limbs were trembling and he looked utterly drained. Dumbledore wasn’t with him. What had happened?
“I took a detour on the way to the Headmaster’s office,” Snape simply said.
“Let me guess. A detour to Dolores Umbridge’s quarters.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?” Madam Pomfrey asked scornfully.
“I was so angry about, you know, her torture of students that I tried to throttle her.”
Harry felt his mouth drop open in disbelief. Snape, the number one child hater of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was so pissed that Umbridge had hurt Harry and some of the other students that he had tried to strangle Umbridge? Maybe Harry really was wrong about him…
“Severus!” Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut back in.
“Unfortunately, she survived.”
“Severus!”
Snape rolled his eyes.
“She decided that the best way to get me to stop strangling her wasn’t something reasonable like stupefy, but something absolutely ludicrous like the cruciatus curse.”
Madam Pomfrey gasped.
“Yes, well, I have some nerve tonic in my personal stores, so if I could just use your floo…” Snape said with the utmost casualness.
“Absolutely not!” Madam Pomfrey scolded, “You are going to lay down before you fall over, and I am going to get the nerve tonic.”
Snape sighed.
“Poppy-”
“No.” She cut him off. “Bed.”
Hanging his head like a reprimanded child, Snape skulked over to the bed next to Harry’s. The whoosh of the floo sounded as Harry watched Snape through cracked eyelids. The man sat down, pulled off his boots, then laid back. Harry didn’t know whether to feel amused or sick. On one hand, this was a side of Snape Harry had never seen. It was really entertaining to watch. On the other hand, Snape had taken a hit of the cruciatus curse while trying to avenge Harry…
“Stop staring at me, Potter,” the man sneered, “I’m not a rare beast on display at the menagerie.”
“She really used an Unforgivable on you?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Potter. Now leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry. I just- It’s just- I know how much it hurts,” Harry said quietly.
Snape froze. For a moment, the man just laid there, staring upwards. Then, he turned his head towards Harry.
“Excuse me?” he asked in an icy whisper.
Harry flinched. He probably should not have mentioned that. In a moment of pure childishness, he opted to squeeze his eyes shut in order to escape whatever glare Snape was giving him.
“Potter, do not ignore me. What do you mean, you ‘know how much it hurts’.”
Harry gave up on squeezing his eyes shut and looked back up at Snape.
“Um, w-well, Volde… You-know-who used it on me. In the graveyard. Because I wouldn’t play his weird little games,” he whispered.
Snape slowly sat up, staring owlishly at Harry the whole time.
“You mean to tell me that you were put under the cruciatus curse by the Dark Lord himself and still managed to escape?” he asked breathlessly.
“U-um, yeah?”
“You, a fourteen-year-old boy, were put under a curse that incapacitates most adults who come into contact with it, and still managed to escape?”
“Well, he also used the imperius curse and some regular jinxes and hexes, too.” Harry mumbled. “It wasn’t just the one curse.”
Snape looked absolutely dumbfounded.
“And it was really a stroke of luck that I escaped. If our wands weren’t brother wands, or if the portkey hadn’t worked both ways, I would be dead right now.”
Before Snape could question him further, the floo whooshed again, and Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the grate.
“Severus. Lay down. You need to rest.”
Snape slowly laid back down, still staring at Harry with a look of astonishment as he went. It was only when Madam Pomfrey came over with a silvery potion that he finally turned his gaze away.
“Thank you, Poppy.” the man murmured as he reached for the vial.
Madam Pomfrey batted his hand away.
“Absolutely not. Your hands are shaking worse than a porlock facing a dragon.”
Harry looked away, knowing that being fed a potion would be embarrassing for Snape. He didn’t need the audience of a kid he hated on top of that.
A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey appeared at Harry’s side.
“We can’t risk moving you, Mr. Potter, or your wounds may reopen. I’m going to spell the appropriate amount of potion directly into your stomach. It will feel strange, but do try to keep it down,” she said as she pointed her wand at a vial full of a light purple potion.
“Wait, Madam Pomfrey, can I stay awake while Dumbledore is here? In case he wants me to tell him what happened?”
“Absolutely not, young man. The headmaster could be here for a very long time and you need sleep.”
“You aren’t entitled to be part of every conversation, Potter,” sneered Snape from the next bed over.
“You are not part of this conversation, Mr. Snape.” the matron thundered. Then, with a brisk flick of her wand, the curtains were drawn around Snape’s bed.
Harry frowned, wondering why Snape was being so nasty again. It was all too confusing. First, Snape had saved him from torture without even looking like he didn’t want to, then he had helped Madam Pomfrey heal him, then he had looked horrified when Harry had told him about being put under the cruciatus curse, but now he was being mean again? It didn’t make any sense. Leave it to Snape to make everything hopelessly confusing.
But Dumbledore would make it make sense. He was really good at that. That was why Harry needed to stay awake. He needed to talk to Dumbledore, needed to understand why the old wizard had basically abandoned him all year, needed to know why Snape was acting the way he was and why any of the things Umbridge had done had been allowed to happen. Harry needed to stay awake so he could finally have answers.
But before Harry could protest again, Madam Pomfrey had already tapped the vial in her hand and half of the lilac liquid vanished. Only seconds later, Harry began to feel overwhelmingly sleepy. Suddenly, speaking to the headmaster for the first time that year seemed unimportant. Suddenly, the complicated feelings he was having about Snape didn’t matter. The desire for answers paled in the face in front of the desire to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The last thing Harry saw before he slipped away into nothingness was Madam Pomfrey drawing Snape’s curtains back open, and the cruel, mean, evil man looking at Harry with absolutely no hatred in his eyes.