The wound pains her even though it is not hers.
Minerva watches as Severus unwraps the bandages around his neck for the final time. She has been watching Poppy unwrap blood-soiled bandages and replace them with fresh ones time and time again, not just on Severus, but on several others, as the days have ticked past.
This time, as the wrappings come undone, there is the barest hint of rust tainting them. The wounds have finally closed. There is a small table beside him, laden with an assortment of potions and a scrap of flannel. She watches as he opens the first bottle, pours the anti inflammatory onto the flannel and attempts to pat the wound.
“Let me help.” she breaks the silence, surprising him out of his reverie. She wonders if he was even aware of her presence. He eyes her hesitantly and she can feel the despair rolling off of him in waves, can see the brokenness in his dark brown eyes.
He nods.
She closes the distance between the two of them and thinks about how this is the first time in over a year that she’s stood so close to him. She takes the flannel and starts to dab at the puncture marks on his neck, wincing in sympathy when he flinches.
“What’s next?” she asks, eyeing the line-up of colorful bottles.
He hands her a bottle she does not recognize, but she trusts him. The thought sends her reeling as she pours a tincture that smells of eucalyptus and witch hazel onto a clean corner of the flannel and repeats the process of gently patting the wound. She trusts him.
And, oh Merlin, does that make her ache.
She studies Severus carefully as she puts her hand out and waits for the next potion. He looks as if he’s shrunken into himself, rumpled and sickly and pale in his grey hospital robe. Exhaustion sits so heavily on his face, she wonders if there is enough rest in the world to help him. His hands are trembling, one more than the other, and she knows it’s permanent. An unfortunate aftereffect of a prolonged Cruciatus; she doesn’t know how long ago that happened, doesn’t know how to ask. He hands her a small pot of healing cream.
With gentle fingers, she rubs the thick paste into his skin until it disappears. He cannot stop himself from hissing in pain and she makes soft noises on a whim. She wants to say something, has wanted to say something since they first found him in the Shrieking Shack barely clinging to life. Ever since her stomach twisted and her heart skipped when Harry was facing Voldemort for the final time.
“Severus Snape was never yours.” Harry had yelled. “He was always Dumbledore’s.” She’s hesitant to admit her head has been a little fuzzy ever since. She wants to say something, but she just doesn’t have the words.
She hated him.
He had betrayed them all, had killed Dumbledore and stood by Voldemort’s side as they seized the castle. She hates herself a little, for never realizing the truth. How long had she and the man in front of her been friends? How many times had she depended on him to help her out, back her up, or just plain be there for her?
“I can hear you thinking.” Severus croaks out and he sounds absolutely wrecked.
“I’m sorry.” Minerva sighs and accepts the strip of bandage dipped in Essence of Dittany. She drapes it over the snakebite and keeps it in place with a temporary sticking charm. He moves his hair back, covering the small square, and looks relieved to be able to do so. “Severus, I -”
“Please, don’t.” he whispers, and even as soft spoken as those two words are, his voice is still dry and gravelly, making him cough. There are two untouched potions left and he picks up the pain reliever, swallowing it back once he’s able to breathe.
The lines of pain fall from his face, but he still looks weak. It will be another few days of bedrest before he can stand on his own again. The venom that coursed through him nearly finished him off, but his body will heal, and so will the wounds on his neck.
Minerva wonders if their relationship is far too broken to fix, or if time will heal that too. She holds nothing against him, knows the truth now and understands. Still, she cannot look at him in the same way anymore, fears they will never be the same.
He reaches for the final potion and Minerva recognizes the orange of the Invigoration Draught. She takes it from him and puts it out of reach. “You should rest, instead. There will be plenty of time to take this later.”
He nods and lays back down, sleep already settling in.
--
The scars pain her, even though they are not hers.
Minerva watches as Severus wraps a light grey scarf around his neck and tucks the ends into his buttoned up winter coat. The scars are faint, a bubble of light pink that barely sticks out against the paleness of his throat, but she knows they feel larger than life to him.
He still dabs them with Dittany every night, but it hasn’t made a difference in months now. Still, she knows it brings him comfort so she says nothing about it.
They walk the path to Hogsmeade together, their boots crunching over day-old snow and their breaths creating faint wisps of silver in the cold air when they exhale. December has arrived and with it, Christmas is creeping. There are boughs of holly decorating the lamp poles that light up the still-dreaming streets of the small town.
They look at each other and share a look, thinking of how quickly the wizarding town has bounced back from the events in May. It makes something warm burst inside of her. They enter the Three Broomsticks and choose a corner table.
It is still early, especially for a Saturday. They left the students in the care of Flitwick and Pomona, decided they could use a break for the morning. Running a school is a big responsibility, so they do it together now; headmaster and headmistress.
“We should allow the students a Hogsmeade weekend before they go to break.” Minerva brings up, as she flips through the menu Madame Rosmerta has brought. It feels pointless, considering she always orders the same thing.
“Stock them up on sweets and then send them home to their parents?” Severus asks, a faint smile on his lips. “Better them than us.”
Madame Rosmerta returns with mugs full of hot coffee and tea, confirms they want their usual and leaves them alone again. Minerva sips her tea and pretends not to notice when Severus sloshes a bit of coffee as he picks up his cup. His hands still tremble, despite the many nerve regeneration potions he’s taken.
They sit in silence and it still feels a little off. They’ve finally talked about what happened, about the nightmare of the year they both experienced. They finally grieved the loss of Albus together, finally shared what they had been thinking whenever they passed each other in the halls that wretched school year.
They had gotten very drunk off of Lucius’ expensive whiskey (and that was a strange relation that had been formed after Voldemort’s end. She thinks he’s only trying to save what little reputation they have left, by throwing money and expensive gifts at every avenue they can think of. She’s tired of carrying hatred in her heart and so she accepts his gifts, accepts his request to reinstate him onto the Board of Governors, and lets Lucius Malfoy be) and she saw Severus break down in tears for the first time in years. That alone was her proof that he trusted her still.
She just needed to trust him.
Their friendship has been shaky, as if the foundation has been rebuilt upon uneven ground. Some days she looks at him and all she can feel is hurt, but she reminds herself that isn’t him. He didn’t come back from the brink of death feeling like before; there are scars he’s desperate to hide, but he’s done what he can and now he has to learn to carry on.
Their friendship feels the same way.
They have to learn to carry on, for both of their sakes. Madame Rosmerta returns once more and she sets plates in front of each of them before taking her leave again. Severus pulls out a small vial of potion and she frowns as he drinks the pain reliever.
Healing will take time, in every sense of the word. She wonders if it’s the nerve damage in his neck that’s bothering him today, or if it’s his left arm. She knows he won’t answer in such a public space, despite the near-emptiness of the room, so she doesn’t ask.
She cuts into her poached egg, watches the yolk break and spill over crisp bacon and toasted bread. Their silence feels off, but it’s also as comfortable as it’s ever been. She watches him cut into his own breakfast, smiles faintly at his choice of pancake toppings, and wonders if the scars in their friendship are there to stay, or if they can heal a little more.
Minerva has missed his presence in her life, is glad to have him back, sarcastic comments and sharp tongue and all. Perhaps things will never be as they were. Still, as the honey drips from his lips and he struggles to close his mouth around the comically large bite he’s just taken, something in her lifts.
She cannot help but laugh at him and he scowls at the sound, but his eyes are soft despite his furrowed brow and she knows they will be okay.