|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-17 18:08:00
|Entry tags:||fic, post-dh: ewe, rated: pg-13|
Hogwarts takes care of its own, for maraudersaffair
Title: Hogwarts takes care of its own
Word Count: ~9,075
Warnings: A little angst, a little UST, DH spoilers, a little AU (if you consider the DH epilogue canon)
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't make any money from them. I just let them have a bit more fun than JKR ever did.
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over, but Harry still feels responsible for its victims. Including Severus Snape, who lies in a healer-induced stasis until someone discovers a cure for the curse that entered his bloodstream with Nagini's venom.
A/N: Couldn't have done this without my amazing betas, who were willing to read and comment on very short notice.
Every night, between midnight and three o'clock in the morning, the corridors on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's were dimly lit, full of shadows, and empty of people. Every night, between midnight and three o'clock, Harry prowled these corridors, huddled under his invisibility cloak, roaming up and down the wards set aside for victims of the Battle of Hogwarts. He still didn't know the names of the patients in every room, every bed, but he was working on it. That was Emily Weatherbee's room. A fifth-year Hufflepuff who had been hit by one too many hexes and whose mother never left her side. Percy Weasley was next door, having started babbling incoherently the morning after the battle. One or more of his family stayed with him around the clock. Charlie was there now, and Harry was due back the next afternoon to share a shift with Ron. The room across the hall was empty, because the Auror had died alone, day before yesterday at about quarter past two in the morning, before Harry could memorise his name.
"Harry." Healer Pye nodded from his seat at the healer's station. His quill was poised over the chart in front of him. More charts were piled on either side of him.
"Augustus," Harry said. "Two more empty rooms tonight."
Pye's smile was worn and tired, but very welcome. "Both of them recovered enough to be sent home yesterday."
Relief flooded through Harry, and he whispered, "Thank you."
"No change in Professor Snape though," Pye continued, scrawling a note on the chart in front of him, then adding it to the stack on his right and retrieving another from the stack to his left.
Harry nodded in acknowledgment and walked on. He ended his vigil and removed his cloak in the room furthest away from the healers' station. Severus Snape lay unmoving in that bed, suspended on the edge of death – a last ditch effort to give the healers time to halt the curse imbedded in Nagini's venom. Harry dragged the chair close to the bed, perched on the edge of the seat, and reached for Snape's hand. Fingers entwined, Harry found a measure of peace in the steady rasp of Snape's breathing.
At four o'clock, Harry yawned, stretched, and stood up. He laid the hand he held back on top of the covers and let himself out quietly.