As hurt as Harry was feeling after what he'd heard in the middle of the night, he wasn't about to stand for anybody badmouthing Snape. Well, not about the Samhain stuff, anyway. "No," he argued. "That isn't true. Not the last part."
"Oh, come on," Ron urged.
Harry crossed his arms. "You can think what you want. I'm not going to listen to it."
"Harry--"
Harry interrupted him to turn in the direction of Hermione's voice. "You have Potions class today, don't you? Give Snape a message from me. Tell him I'm sorry. He'll know what about."
"You're sorry," Ron gasped. From the sound of it, he was turning a nice shade of red. Or purple, even. "You're sorry! You're absolutely mental, you are! What have you got to be sorry for, that you didn't have three eyes for those bastards to skewer?"
"Ron, you're not helping," Hermione chided. A scuffling sound ensued, and Harry suspected she was pushing Ron away. "Just calm down," she whispered from a short distance away. "Harry's not himself. Can you blame him?"
"Harry can hear you," Harry called. "And I'm managing just fine, thanks. I owe Professor Snape an apology, and--"
"He owes Snape an apology!" That time Ron sounded like he was positively choking. "Of all the nutters things I've ever heard, Harry, that's the nuttiest, bar none!"
"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione flatly commanded. She took a few steps toward Harry. "I'll tell him, yes. Is there anything else you need?"
Harry took a moment to think about that. "I need Ron to say we're all right."
Ron sort of mumbled for a second before he admitted, "Well, 'course we're all right, Harry. I just... I just think you haven't really realized what that git put you through."
"That git," Harry snarled. "Saved my life! Again!"
"Yeah, well it took him long enough!"
"He did what he could!"
"Maybe we'd better leave," Hermione broke in. "We'll come by later when tempers are cooler."
"Yeah, do that," Harry agreed, his teeth still clenched. "And let's all agree here and now that we're not going to talk about Snape, all right? Is that goddamned good and clear? Don't you two even mention Snape to me! I can't bear it!"
"Fine," Ron snapped.
Hermione, however had gone strangely silent, until she said, "Oh. Hello, Professor."
Harry's breath froze solid in his chest. "Professor?"
No answer.
"Um, he walked on past," Hermione admitted, a niggling sound telling Harry that she was worrying her lips with her teeth. "He was carrying some vials, probably went into Madame Pomfrey's office using the corridor entrance." She sighed then, and said to Ron, "Even you have to admit that Snape's been working day and night preparing Harry completely fresh potions for all his... er, injuries."
"Yeah," Ron did admit. "Even during class. He's brewing away while we get stuck doing bookwork. Well, all of us except his little pet creep."
"You don't mean--"
"Yeah, I do mean," Ron groused. "Malfoy. He gets to be up at the demonstration table, snarky little teacher's pet that he is, and help Snape make batch after batch of glop."
"Malfoy's helping brew my Potions?" Harry sucked in a huge, panicked breath, only to find he'd accidentally inhaled a Bertie Bott's Bean. He tried to breathe again and couldn't, at least not until Hermione abruptly pounded him on the back. Shite, did that hurt. All over the pinpricks that hadn't quite healed over. And worse than that, it gave him the creeps to have Hermione's hands on him, which was just plain ridiculous! At least she hadn't touched his skin. That made it bearable. Barely.
Once recovered, Harry didn't know what to say. Draco Malfoy was helping make his Potions? And Snape was letting him? It was beyond strange; it was downright alarming. The only thing he was sure of was that wanted to be alone to think about it. "Um... you said lunchtime. I think I'd better eat, okay?"
"An excellent notion," Madame Pomfrey practically sang as she sailed into the ward from her office. "Professor Snape has just dropped off both halves of your Sight Restorative. You remember the procedure, Mr. Potter? Green first, with food, and an hour after, blue."
"I can't see green from blue," Harry pointed out. "Though I think I can smell them apart. The follow-up potion's absolutely gross. Tastes like licorice that's been half-digested and vomited back out."
"Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Potter?"
"Well, maybe it's more like rotten licorice that's been half-digested and--"
"Are you quite sure you can't perceive any colors whatsoever?" the Medi-Witch clarified, impatience ringing in her tones. He heard a wand swishing in front of his eyes, heard a quiet Lumos Maxiliare. "What can you see?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" she echoed in disbelief.
"Pitch black," Harry clarified.
Her robes rustled as she put something away. The wand, he suspected. "Well, drink your potions anyway." She waited while he sniffed them both, then set the blue one aside. "Very good, although I'm sure you'll be able to see light before too long, and detect color as well. Ah, here's your food."
Harry felt the tray descend on his legs, then lift up to float slightly above. Patting around, he found what seemed like a carrot stick, and began munching it. It turned out to be a turnip stick, and as he chewed his way through it, he realized that he didn't really care if Ron and Hermione stuck around for the whole meal and saw him making a total mess of himself.
Apparently, Poppy Pomfrey did. "Well, off with you!" she shooed the students. "You'll be needing your own lunch too, and the house-elves only serve another fifteen minutes, you know. I wouldn't think Miss Granger would care to give them extra labours."
"Hermione," Harry reminded her between bites. "Give the professor my message. Don't forget."
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Over the next two days, Harry grew used to being interrupted every few minutes, or so it seemed, by loads and loads of visitors. Every single one of his teachers stepped in, with the notable exception of Snape, though he was around plenty. Harry heard him sometimes, a low voice beyond the wall, talking to Madame Pomfrey each time he delivered a fresh batch of potions. He could make out enough words, too, to know that he was telling the Medi-Witch just how to use each brew, no matter that he'd given her the same instructions every time he'd come. It irritated Madame Pomfrey, Harry could tell, but Snape didn't appear to care at all about that. Even when she told him, point blank, that she'd been healing children since you were here at school, Severus, he'd merely replied Mr. Potter's treatment will not be compromised for anything, Poppy, not even your considerable pride.
It didn't sound to Harry like the man positively hated him, and he certainly hadn't stopped making his potions as he'd threatened, but that was little solace after the awful things he'd heard Snape saying to Dumbledore. And too, there was this business about Snape letting Malfoy help make the various salves and elixirs Harry was taking every day and night. It gave him the heebie-jeebies every time he had to swallow something, but he did trust Snape, so he went ahead and swallowed anyway. After all, Snape was a Potions Master. He'd know if something had been adulterated. And anyway, Harry was pretty sure that even an angry-at-that-stupid-Potter Snape wouldn't hesitate to expel Malfoy if the Slytherin boy actually tried to poison him.