It was fully 24 hours before the boy came around enough to make more noise than the pathetic groans and grunts that passed for speech when he had no tongue. The first words out of Severus' mouth when he knew the boy was awake were: 'How stupid are you?'
'Sorry,' the boy whispered, against all his expectations, and subsided without further justifying himself.
But Severus was not done. 'Nott is dead. I killed him, for you, as it was the only way to cease that spell.' A look of anguish crossed what he could see of the boy's face, and he pressed on. 'The Dark Lord has determined that, although I was in the right in keeping him from killing you, that I must remain in here with you, until you are sufficiently recovered. The door is locked and warded; thus I am as much a prisoner as you. This is what happens when you lose your temper, when you do not control your emotions.'
'I said I'm sorry,' the boy said, his voice still quiet and calmer than it should be.
'Sorry will not help us here.' He huffed in annoyance. He didn't know
In the meantime, he was concerned that the boy had lost his will to fight.
'I know, sir,' came another whisper from the boy. 'What can I do?'
'Just rest,' Severus told him. 'The more you rest, the faster the damage will heal.'
'Will I . . . will I be able to see again?'
The voice now contained an edge of fear, and Severus did not want to add to it, but neither did he want to lie to the boy.
But Harry took his hesitation as an answer. 'Oh . . . oh no. . . .'
'Wait now, Potter. It's more than likely you'll regain your sight, but there was a lot of damage. It may take a while.'
'What are the chances, sir?'
'Of being permanently blind?' Severus sighed and considered. 'No more than 20 percent, I would say. If I had access to my potions, I would be better able to help, but I can't summon anything into this room, and I am not allowed to send for things from my chambers.' At least he still had his wand, so there was still hope he could salvage his position.
Silence then, from the boy.
'Tomorrow, we'll remove the bandage. Today,' Severus finished quietly, 'just rest.'
Harry lay on the bed, in darkness and misery, feeling more ashamed than ever before in his life. There was a profound difference, he knew, between courage and rank stupidity, and he had crossed that line when he baited Nott. And now Nott was dead, because of him, and Snape had taken the fall. It was because of Snape that Bellatrix had stopped casting the Cruciatus at him, and it was because of Snape that he'd gotten better from the treatment (or lack thereof) at the Dursleys'. Hell, it was because of Snape that he'd lived past first year at Hogwarts and his first Quidditch match. And now, Snape was in trouble, his position of spy compromised, because Harry was too dumb to keep his mouth shut.
They'd had a terrible time of it, getting Harry to control his thoughts and feelings, when Snape had tried to teach him Occlumency. Harry had never really wanted to learn; he'd thought the connection with Voldemort would be helpful, and that he could see things that were important. It didn't help, of course, that Snape seemed to not want to
But really, it wasn't Snape's fault.
Alone in the darkness of his mind, Harry's thoughts whirled, spinning so fast he could hardly make sense of them. The same issues came up again and again. Why did Voldemort not just kill him? Was it just because he didn't know the last bit of the Prophecy, or was there more to it than that? Something even more sinister? And how was Harry going to escape here, now that Snape was locked in with him? His only hope had been for Snape's outside help to get him out, and now that hope was gone. And he just wasn't up for more mind games with the Dark Lord. He didn't know what Voldemort wanted, and his prospects were grim.
And now he was blind.
Despair closed over him like the lid of a coffin, and he fell into its darkness where it had always waited for him, quiet and unassuming and completely alone.
Severus had let the boy's silence go on long enough. He received food from Avery twice a day and served it out to the two of them, making the boy eat when his obvious lethargy would have prevented it. 'Potatoes at 3 o'clock on the plate,' he'd say, or, 'It's shepherd's pie, at noon,' hoping the boy would show some inclination of helping himself. When Potter didn't, he let it go on for a day, and then decided it was no good to let it continue.
'Snap out of it, Potter,' he hissed at the boy, when Potter made no move to eat the food in front of him. 'I haven't kept you alive all this time so you can starve yourself to death.'
Silence.
'Answer me, Potter! Or are you so arrogant you think you're above pretty niceties?'
The boy only shook his head, with a whispered, 'No, sir.'
Annoyed now – he'd never admit to himself to being
'Shut up,' Potter said, but there was no feeling in it.