Snarry Headcanons

On days when it wasn't too warm, he would go out and sit by the lake or visit Hagrid. Hagrid, like everyone else, looked at him with pity, but at least he was good company. Harry missed Ron and Hermione. He missed having people to talk to. 

He'd tried going to the quidditch pitch to go flying, but he'd been pursued by an outraged Madame Pomfrey. 

"Why does it matter if I go flying?" he asked as she escorted him back to the infirmary. "If I'm just going to die anyway, what's the point of not doing what I want?" 

He'd gotten an earful for that, but she didn't have any rational answers for him. Everyone treated him as if he were made of glass. Everyone but Snape. 

Every once in a while, Snape would drop by the infirmary and ask him questions. He never stared at him wistfully. He never shook his head and looked away with sad eyes. He was just as brusque as ever as he interrogated Harry and waved his wand over his chest. There was only one change. Snape was not so antagonistic. They didn't argue with eachother. Harry assumed this had to do more with Snape no longer being under the pressure of being a spy than anything else. Perhaps the fact that Harry had saved his life may have had something to do with it. It wasn't that Snape was grateful, Harry thought. Just that if Harry was competent enough to save his life, he might not be such a useless dunderhead after all. The thought made it hard for Harry not to smile at Snape sometimes. 

Harry found Snape's demeanor around him so refreshing compared to Madame Pomfrey and the other professors that he had actually started to look forward to seeing him. He'd be sure to not mentioned that to Ron and Hermione when they came to visit him for his birthday. 

Thoughts of his birthday kept him up at night. Night was the one time he could really be alone, so it seemed like a waste to not stay up anway, and the ruminating ensured that he wouldn't sleep. He'd often sneak out of the infirmary. In the week leading up to his birthday, he would sneak out every night. Sometimes he would go flying for a bit, but he worried too much about getting caught to enjoy it. Mostly, he would just walk around the castle, remembering everything that had happened over the years. His tried to direct his thoughts more to his early days at Hogwarts, when everything felt fun, like an adventure. He remembered that first year, sneaking around the castle with Ron and Hermione, trying to catch Snape going after the philosopher's stone. 

Without even thinking about it, he found himself sneaking into the library, wandering toward the restricted section, lost in a haze of warm memories. 

"Potter?" The voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it shattered his tender memories in an instant. Snape sat at a table near the restricted section surrounded by piles of books. His pale face was lit by the orange glow of a lantern that sat in the middle of the table. 

"Oh, er... Professor," Harry said, stumbling over his words. "I didn't know you were here. Sorry. I'll just go back to the infirmary." Snape rolled his eyes. 

"I'm not going to scold you for being out of bed. You might as well do whatever the hell you want," Snape said. Harry laughed bitterly. 

"That's exactly what I've been saying," he said, shaking his head. Snape shrugged and looked back down at the huge tome lying open in front of him. Feeling awkward, Harry started to turn around to leave the library. 

Might as well do whatever the hell I want, Harry thought to himself. Why not. Why not be a little reckless. 

Harry sat down at the table with Snape, who showed no reaction. 

"What are you reading?" he asked, trying to get a glimpse of the page Snape was looking at. It didn't seem to be written in English. 

"Trying to break your curse," Snape said without looking up from the page. Harry felt his face grow warm. Snape had come to examine him regularly, and here he was, looking for a solution late at night, even when he had not fully recovered from his own near death experience. While he'd never looked at him with pity, he was apparently devoted to saving Harry's life. Again. 

"Oh, uh... thanks," Harry said self consciously. No reaction from Snape who was fully concentrating on what he was reading. It gave Harry a chance to really look at him. Snape looked simultaneously weaker and healthier. His cheeks looked fuller and more flush with life, and his hair looked a little less greasy. He also looked so thin and so small. Perhaps, Harry thought, it was just that he was seeing him out of robes for the first time. These days, Snape wore muggle clothes. Loose t-shirts and jumpers with jeans. He supposed they were easier to get on and take off and wouldn't irritate his neck, which was still bandaged. He almost looked fragile, but Harry knew better. His eyes strayed to Snape's left arm where the dark mark used to be. It was gone, now, having left a faint scar. Harry had never seen so much of his former professor's bare skin. Snape's arm was pale and smooth, with only sparse hair. As Harry looked at it, he found himself curious about how it would feel under his fingers. 

"Don't be so quick to thank me," Snape muttered. "I'm not making any meaningful progress with it." 

The words landed heavily. Harry sighed. He didn't want to think about his impending death right now. 

"It's my birthday tomorrow," he said, blatantly changing the subject. The last birthday he'd have, most likely. Snape looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed as if he'd said something strange. 

"I suppose it is," he said. Harry shrugged.

"Ron and Hermione are stopping by," he said, trying in vain to have some kind of conversation. Snape just stared at him. The orange light of the lantern reflected in his unblinking dark eyes. Harry didn't look away, even though he was uncomfortable. He found he liked being looked at so intensely. Snape looked at him like a puzzle, not like a tragedy. Harry smiled dumbly. He realized in that moment that he hadn't shaved all week. He must look like a mess. Finally, Snape blinked. Harry stood up. 

"I don't sense anything, Severus," Madame Pomfrey said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. Snape's sneer was back. Harry felt no relief at Madame Pomfrey's dismissal. If Snape sensed something, Harry knew there was reason to worry. 

"You don't sense the very powerful, very obvious curse?" Snape demanded. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. Snape's small but strong hand gripped Harry's arm and yanked him off of the stool and closer to the bed. Harry started to protest as Snape poked a finger into his chest, right over his heart. 

"Here, Poppy. The curse is centered here. You can't possibly miss it," he said. Harry was having trouble not falling over, on top of Snape. Madame Pomfrey tutted and leaned over to examine Harry once more. After a moment, her expression changed from one of irritation to curiosity. 

"Why... yes, there is something here," she said. "Something strange." 

Half an hour later, Harry sat on a bed next to Snape's, shirt off, Madame Pomfrey examining him. To his embarassment, Snape had gotten up from his own bed to oversee the examination. 

Harry had little reason to be embarassed. He was big and muscular from all of the training for the final battle. Sure, he was self conscious about the little bit of weight he'd put on, but all in all, he was a well-built young man. Still, the reality of Snape looking over him so intently made him self conscious. 

"I'm not sure what kind of curse it might be. We'll need to call in a specialist," Madame Pomfrey said before leaving the infirmary. Harry put his arms over his chest. Snape, who stood there in just a t-shirt and joggers, looked at him deadpan. 

"I think Voldemort did it," he said flatly. "I recognize his magical signature." 

A wave of nausea hit Harry like a brick. Voldemort. He'd found a way to leave a little piece of himself behind again. 

"What does it do? Is it just going to keep making me tired all the time?" Harry asked. He knew that was wishful thinking. Snape sneered and looked away. 

---

When Madame Pomfrey returned, three healers from St Mungo's followed her. They didn't even acknowledge Harry before going to work, running their wands over him, murmuring to each other. They had him lie down and spread his arms out. His heart pounded with dread as they worked. He was so nervous, non of their individual features registered to them. His eyes moved around the room until they landed on Snape. He stood to the side of the bed, looking quite small in his oversized t-shirt. Somehow, Harry felt a great comfort at his presence. After all, Snape had been saving his life since he was a child. 

When the healers were done with him, they walked from the infirmary to Madame Pomfrey's office without another word. Harry sat up and covered his chest again. Snape walked to his side. 

"You can probably put that back on," Snape said, indicating Harry's shirt. 

"Why didn't they say anything to me?" Harry asked in a weak voice. He wondered if the Weasleys were starting to miss him. He'd been gone for quite a while now. Snape tightened his jaw, looking at Madame Pomfrey's office door. He looked back at Harry. Harry thought he saw sympathy in Snape's eyes. It unnerved him. 

Harry heard the office door open. He looked over just in time to see Madame Pomfrey walking out, grim look on her face. Harry stopped breathing. Snape stepped a little closer to him, hovering over him. 

"Harry, I'm afraid it's not good news," she said. Her voice was shaky. Harry bit down on his lip. He kept flicking his eyes over to see Snape's hand, gripping the side of the bed. His knuckles had gone white. He wanted to imagine Snape was worried about him. That he cared. 

"The curse is irreversible. And... I'm afraid it's fatal." Her voice broke when she said the word 'fatal'. He thought he heard Snape hiss behind him. 

But Harry didn't feel anything. It was like the words didn't register. He'd heard what she said, but the meaning escaped him. 

"How long," Snape demanded. He'd said it softly. Snape often spoke softly. There was a comfort in that familiarity. 

"A year and a day from the time he was cursed," Madame Pomfrey responded. 

"We can assume it was during the final battle. It's June, now. That gives me eleven months to find a way to break the curse," Snape said. He had said it very matter-of-factly, as if he had no doubt in his own ability. 

"Severus, those were the best healers in all of the UK. They assured me it was irreversible, that there was no ho--"

"So we should do nothing?" Snape shouted. Harry flinched. "You're going to accept that?" 

Snape began pacing around the room. Harry watched him, trying to hold back tears and panic. Snape was a rather small man, but he commanded such presence, even in a pair of faded black joggers. 

"Well, I'm not," he said decisively.