Walk the Shadows

'I would like nothing better,' Severus said. 'Alas, we are stuck together, you and I, and we shall have to make the best of it.'

Potter snorted again and turned away, rolling over on the bed. 'Whatever.'

'I warned you . . .' Severus used his wand to levitate the boy, who squawked with indignation as he rose off the bed. With a swish and flick, he sent the boy floating into the bathroom, and he followed, manually turning on the taps and adjusting the temperature. Wand still up, as Potter shouted protests from his position near the ceiling, Severus let the water run long enough to get a good few inches in the deep tub, and then lowered the boy into it with a splash.

Sputtering, Potter swiped hair off his face. 'You stupid, slimy—'

'Git?'

'Yes!' he said fiercely.

'Indeed. Now, you'd be better served if you removed your clothes . . . or would you like me to do that for you, too.'

'No! I'll do it.' And he immediately started pulling off his soggy shirt.

Satisfied, Severus moved to the door. 'I expect soap to be used liberally, Potter. We'll change the dressing on your eyes when you are through, but try not to get it wet, regardless.'

As he closed the door to the bathroom, the boy muttered, 'Yeah, well, shouldn't have dunked me then . . .'

Severus returned to his place before the fire, and smiled.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Harry griped and muttered through his whole bath, though he did use a liberal amount of soap, and he did try not to get the bandage on his eyes wet. He didn't like his chances for being able to see again, and he certainly didn't want to do anything to jeopardize them. But Snape was such a git! And mean! And sarcastic and snarky and completely unsympathetic!

And he'd tried to talk Harry through his vision, and tried to ground him, help him through the pain. It hadn't worked, of course. Voldemort was too close, he thought, and his anger too harsh. And, of course, Harry was rubbish at Occlumency.

But Snape had tried. And he had warned Harry about washing, really. And Harry had to admit the potions master was right about that; he was ripe. How many days had it been since his eyes were injured, since Nott died? He didn't know. It was hard to track the days when he couldn't see, and even harder, when he refused to eat, and couldn't sleep properly. He'd been falling into a black hole with smoothed sides that he could not climb, and though he still did not know how to get out of it, at least he realized someone was watching him from above, and might be able to throw him a rope.

Maybe.

Washing his hair was hardest, with trying to keep his face dry, but he leaned back into the water, keeping his face out, to wet it, and then, after shampooing, to rinse. Probably there was some residue, but without his wand, he couldn't cast a proper spell to get it all out. Not that he was allowed to use magic on summer hols anyway, not till he was seventeen . . .

A sudden thought struck him, making the constant trembles from Cruciatus worsen. He'd used magic, at the Dursleys, when the Death Eaters had come for him. If nothing else, if he lived to get out of this place, and his eyesight was restored, he had an expulsion from Hogwarts to look forward to. Or a trial like the one last year, at any rate.

Rage and despair warred inside him as he finished washing, scrubbing his skin violently, teeth clenched and all his muscles tense. He rinsed off more slowly as his rage subsided, leaving him hollow inside. When he was done, he stood unsteadily in the tub and groped for a towel where he remembered them being before. The soft cloth was gentler on his skin than he had been, and soothed him, at least a little. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went back to the other room, feeling his way along the wall.

'Professor?'

'Yes, Potter?' Snape's voice came from near the fire, he thought, and sounded very neutral to his ears, without that same tone of condescension he heard so often and expected now.

'Could you . . .' He sighed and swallowed his pride. It hurt his throat, going down. 'Could you help me with clean clothes, sir?'

'Yes, Potter.'

He heard Snape rise and walk toward the chest of drawers, a drawer opened, and then the side of the wardrobe. Movement again, closer. 'Come here, Potter,' Snape said. 'Toward the sound of my voice. I've laid your clothes out on the bed.'

Hesitantly, Harry obeyed, having to trust a man who hated him so readily and fervently. He took two steps, small ones, and then a bigger one, and his hand brushed the top of the bed. Groping again, he found the clothes: shirt, jumper, pants, under clothes.

'All right then?' Snape asked. As Harry nodded, he continued, 'Let me give you some privacy, so you may dress.' Harry heard the door close to the bathroom, and hurriedly pulled on the dry clothes, wondering what had taken the snark out of the snarky man.

A few minutes later, Snape had him sitting in a chair by the fire, and was changing the dressing on his eyes. He had Harry open his eyes briefly, to check for damage. Harry could discern light, but no shapes, and the light burned. He closed his eyes quick again as tears formed against the burning. Snape didn't say anything for long moments, but pried one lid up, and peered at him, then pried up the other, shielding the light from his eyes with his own body.

'What is it?' Harry asked after the second lid had been replaced. 'Are they getting better?'

'It's slow going,' Snape said. 'It'll be some time before we know for certain.'

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. It was his own stupidity that had brought him to this. All of it.