Rehabilitate

The next day was just as busy as the last, involving negotiations with the Goblin Nation, an interview with a Belgian newspaper, the signing of the paperwork for the Lily Evans Magical Orphanage, a few hours of work put into the reconstruction of the Hogwarts Grounds, and another few hours helping out in the hospital wing.

All this would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for the constant interruptions by near strangers, who wanted to thank Harry personally, felt the need to divulge their most horrible experiences from the war (although the actual horridness varied drastically between persons), and were quite desperate to let him know that they had been on his side all along, doing their absolute best to fight the forces of evil. At first, Harry had gotten annoyed at those people whom he viewed as cowardly, deceitful or overly self-righteous. He had even blown up a few times, resulting in swift punishment in the form of a newspaper article questioning his emotional stability after such trying times. It had taken a stern lecture from Hermione and a snide comment from Draco about his dreadful inability to make proper use of his fame and power, for him to start acting empathetic towards those who deserved it, and polite towards those who did not.

Today, Harry used his newfound skills of not listening in a polite manner, to spend his time pondering yesterday’s meeting with Snape. It occurred to him that the fear Snape had displayed might only partially be caused by Harry himself and might have a lot more to do with the man’s state of complete helplessness and dependence. After all, Snape had never appeared particularly terrified of Harry in the past, quite the opposite. He had always seemed in control of himself and the situation, safe for the few occasions on which he had lost his temper and become violent. For someone like Snape, who was used to relying on himself above all others and who rarely accepted kindness from anyone, having been too often hurt in the past, being unable to defend himself physically or verbally must be his own special kind of hell. To add to this, Snape could not have known whether he was surrounded by friend and foe. In fact, the possibility of being viewed as a traitor had been high no matter the outcome of the war. And concerning Harry in particular, Snape might have expected to be blamed for many things, including sending him to his death, although in that he had only been the messenger.

Harry hoped that his summary of recent events, in addition to his oath had given the man some peace of mind. But still, his physical state of helplessness remained, and Harry was determined to ease Snape’s suffering as much as possible. Since watching the memories and returning from the dead, Harry’s had gained a completely new perspective on Snape’s role in his life and the war in general. Although the potions master had certainly caused him a lot of hurt, not least of all by delivering the damned prophecy to Tom, Harry believed that those actions had their roots in the harsh realities of Snape’s upbringing and childhood. He had been abused, bullied, and cast aside. It was Voldemort who had valued him for his brilliant mind, his undeniable talent in both potions and the mind arts. Harry dreaded to think what could have happened to him, had he not had the support of Hermione and the Weasleys during his time at Hogwarts. If the school had been no more of a refuge to him than Privet Drive, he might have never learned to love well enough to not only defeat Tom, but also to have a reason to go on living. Snape’s difficult past and his desperate actions during the war ignited in Harry a feeling of kinship. During the first sleepless nights after the battle, Harry had confessed to Ron and Hermione, as they sat huddled in front of the hearth in the Gryffindor Common Room, his fear of having been irrevocably changed by his experience with death. That he could feel it calling to him, and that he was not at all sure whether he had made the right decision in coming back.

He knew that his talk of death frightened his friends, but he was also certain that they preferred to be told. They reassured him that they were glad he had come back, that they would miss him terribly if he left, and that they would always be there, if he needed someone to talk. Hermione recommended a mind healer, Ron threatened him with Molly’s wrath and grief, if she ever found out about his dangerous ruminations. Although Harry had, in equal measures, been comforted and perceptive of the emotional distress caused to his friends, the conversation had also made him feel alienated and imperfectly understood. Ron and Hermione, as close to death as they had come during the war, and as much as they had seen their own suffering and hardship, were fundamentally life-affirming people. They could not fathom longing for nothingness in the same way as Harry did, from time to time. To be known and understood fully in this regard was one of the secret hopes which drove Harry to seek out Snape’s company, for he imagined Snape to be something of a kindred spirit in his relationship to death.
However, before such topics could ever be discussed between them, Snape needed to regain his freedom, both legally and physically, and Harry needed to gain his trust. Thus, Harry began to plot.

First, there was the trial to win. With Hermione’s and Professor McGonagall’s help, he had been working on that since the first day after the battle. They interviewed Order members, students and teachers who might have something positive to say about Snape’s contribution to the war effort. They came up with extenuating circumstances for all his crimes that they knew off and Harry clipped together pieces of Snape’s memories with his own, of Snape saving his life, leading him to the Sword of Gryffindor, and giving them the crucial pieces of information through his tears. Harry hoped that they would not have to use the memories at the trial, as Snape would probably prefer to keep them private, but if the alternative was Azkaban, there could be no question of which option to choose. Finally, Harry had given interviews to the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, Witch Weekly, and some important European newspapers, in which he made sure to stress the essential role Snape had played in winning the war. Accordingly, Snape’s reputation had improved greatly over the week following the battle. Still, there were many who were calling for a kiss-on-sight order for anyone bearing the Dark Mark, and Anti-Death-Eater sentiment was, understandably, at an all-time high. The papers reported stories of lynch mobs breaking into people’s homes, because they suspected a Death Eater to be hiding within. It was therefore not at all clear whether Snape would win his trial or not, even with Harry throwing all his political weight around. When given the opportunity to speak with members of the Wizengamot, he had casually remarked that he looked forward to seeing them at the trials, which he would attend to give evidence in defense of several people, and where there might be an opportunity for them to get to know each other better. Going by the greed in their eyes, the implication of gaining Harry’s favour by voting for the defended parties was clear. But even if all his preparation and maneuvering failed, and Snape was found guilty, Harry had made tacit plans to negotiate for Snape’s release into his custody. And if it came to it, he was not above breaking into Azkaban, although he did not wish the life of a fugitive upon Snape nor himself.

Before the trial, they needed to find a better method of communication than blinking, as Harry wanted to make sure that he acted in Snape’s interest. None of his careful planning would be of any use if Snape did not trust him and was not participating willingly. With this in mind, Harry once again made his way to the hospital wing late in the evening, carrying the latest edition of a potion’s journal which McGonagall had recommended, as well as a week’s worth of newspapers. When he approached the curtains separating Snape’s bed from the rest of the hall, he hurt shuffling and grumbling from the inside. Instinctively, he crept closer on silent feet and listened intently.

“… can’t believe … your kind. … don’t deserve any …, … a highly trained professional … can all die, … all I care. … isn’t my responsibility … murderers and rapists. … made your bed, … lie in it…. Ha! … exactly what you deserved. … high and mighty now … bet you’re wishing … dead … serves you right …”

Realizing what he was hearing, Harry hastily stepped through to find a woman in healer’s robes hovering over Snape’s bed, aggressively casting cleaning spells at his prone and naked body. Her features were twisted with disgust and hatred, as she muttered vile and degrading things to her patient. Within the blink of an eye, her wand went flying as Harry bodily forced himself between her and the bed. He pressed the tip of his wand into her throat and snarled: “What the fuck are you doing?”

The woman’s eyes were wide with shock, before she pulled an air of indignation around herself like a cloak. “What am I doing?”, she countered shrilly. “I am a professional healer, young man, and you are interfering with patient care.” Her lip curled in a quickly curbed expression of distaste. “Get. Out.” Harry growled at her. Without letting her out of his side for a moment, he flicked his wand to feel blankets gently cover the man behind him.

The healer drew herself up to her full height. “You have no right to dismiss me! I am a St. Mungo’s healer, here on special request from the ministry. You’ll be in big trouble when I tell your headmistress about your behaviour, young man!”

Harry smiled cruelly and lowered his wand. “Ah, well, if that’s the case”, he purred. “What was your name, again?”

“Master Healer Margaret Maladies.”

“Right. Kreacher!” The old house-elf popped to Harry’s side. “Please escort healer Maladies and all her belongings off Hogwarts grounds.”

“What!”, Healer Maladies screeched. “You can’t do that!”

“I think you’ll find that I can” Harry hissed quietly. “I am the bloody saviour of the wizarding world, and I just witnessed you assaulting a war hero.” He spat the last words into her face. “I will take this up with your superiors. Good day.” With that, he turned away and let Kreacher push her out of the room with a combination of physical shoving and magic.

Her screeching gradually faded away, as Harry let his head fall into his hands, and attempted to calm his thundering heart. “Cunt”, he whispered under his breath. He peaked through his fingers at the still form on the bed in front of him. “I’m so sorry, you had to go through that, sir.” Harry tried to gauge Snape’s response from his face and was met with a completely vacant stare. For a heart-stopping moment, it appeared to Harry as though he were standing over a dead body. Then, he saw the gentle rise and fall of Snape’s chest and was flooded with relief. Harry searched Snape’s eyes for any signs of life or recognition but found nothing. The unsettling emptiness was not simply the blankness of successful occlusion, but instead the vacuum created, when the mind detached from the body. Harry cursed. Snape seemed to be in a fully dissociated state, from which it was difficult to return. “Snape!” Harry called his name but did not receive any response. He hadn’t really expected any. Shaking, slapping, or shouting at the man seemed out of the question. They would only serve to drive his mind further away from his body. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and pondered his options.

Having had his own fair share of panic attacks and breakdowns over the last months, Harry knew that breathing and counting helped him, but that he would only fully calm down once he could retreat to a safe environment. For him, this had been Ron’s room in the Burrow and the Gryffindor Boys Dormitory, alternately. In his current condition, Snape was too fragile to be moved, and Harry would not have known where he would feel safe, anyways. He resolved to find out as soon as possible. Even though a change of environment was not possible, there were still things Harry could do to make Snape feel safer.

Taking a centering breath, Harry took out his wand and cast a specified diagnostic charm. The overpowered cleaning spells Healer Maladies had used, had scrubbed off a layer of Snape’s skin, possibly leaving it irritated and raw. There were ointments to soothe irritation or itching, but which would suit best would be determined by any other potions that patient had imbibed, and any allergies that were present. For that, Harry would have to look at Snape’s medical chart.

“Do you mind if I take a look at you chart?”, Harry asked nervously. As expected, he received no response. Harry tapped his wand on his thigh in indecision for a moment. He cast another look at Snape’s face, thinking.

“Alright, I’m going to look at your chart, and if you want to obliviate be later, you can do that. Does that sound fair?” Harry picked up the thick scroll from the bedside table and read through the summary at the top. Named there was the bite from Nagini, which had resulted in paralysis from the neck downward, as well as injuries to various parts of the throat, which prevented most swallowing and speaking. There were also other injuries listed, which Harry had not known about, like a magical burn, where the Dark Mark used to be, a recently broken wrist and a sprained ankle. These took longer to heal than usually, because Nagini’s poison had wrought havoc on the natural healing abilities of the body. Jumping to the treatment section, Harry saw that Snape was on a regiment of pain, nerve, nutrition, and regrowth potions, and that an ointment was applied to the magical burn as well as the bite wound, which would serve the purpose of soothing skin irritation. Setting the scroll back down, Harry called Kreacher.

The elf popped in softly and bowed. “Kreacher has removed the screeching illness from the school grounds, Master Harry.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. Could you get me the aloe vera based ointment from Madam Pomfrey’s stores and”, Harry thought for a moment. “Whatever comfortable sleepwear Snape has in his quarters, as well as some thick woolen socks?”

“Right away, sir.” Kreacher popped away and returned momentarily with the requested items.

“Thanks. How do you feel about bodyguard duty, Kreacher?”

“Has someone been bothering Master Harry?” Kreacher asked, cracking his knuckles.

“Not for me, for him,” Harry pointed towards the bed. “Could you make sure that nobody comes in here who means to do him harm? And come and get me immediately, if something happens?”

Kreacher tilted his head and looked between Snape and Harry. “Master Harry wants to protect filthy half-blood death eater potions master?”

“Yes,” Harry said, deciding to let the insults go.

“Will he be useful to Master Harry?” The elf queried, skeptically.

“He already was. He helped end the war.”

Kreacher seemed unconvinced but nodded his assent. “Kreacher will be watching.” He popped away.

Harry opened the tub of ointment and performed the spell that would spread a thin layer of it over Snape’s whole body, making his magic as gentle as possible. He felt immensely grateful that he did not even have to lift the blanket to apply the ointment. That most certainly would have been a breach of privacy Snape could not forgive. Next, he spelled the soft black silk pajamas and the woolen socks onto Snape’s frame, before tucking in the blankets by hand. He did not dare to move Snape’s head to fluff the pillows, for fear of further injuring his neck. Throughout it all, Snape’s eyes remained vacant. Harry conjured himself a comfortable armchair and settled in. A swirl of his wand and a whispered expecto patronum had Prongs merrily prancing around him. When the stag saw no immediate danger, he trotted over to stand beside the back and nuzzle at the blankets. Harry smiled at his patronus and mentally nudged him to settle down. Prongs huffed and laid his head on the blankets. Satisfied, Harry opened the potions journal he had brought with him and began to read in a calm and quiet voice.