Amelie Leveridge and Severus Snape

Amelie Leveridge and Severus Snape Chapter 32

Recap:

"I love you Dad." She whispered, as I rushed into the hospital.

"I love you to." I replied, before shouting to anyone who could hear me.

"Can I have some help here please!" At once, a young male healer rushed over, his eyes widening at the sight of my dying daughter, who lay barely conscious in my arms.

"Oh dear!" He bent down, and took my daughter from me.

"What's your name sweetheart?"

"Amelie." She forced the words out of her mouth. "Amelie Snape." And with that, she lost consciousness.

Chapter 32

Amelie's POV Finally!! I was getting sick of Snape's view of the world ;)

Harsh sunlight coarsed through my eyelids, causing me to clamp them shut even tighter. I groaned in protest as the whiteness continued to penetrate my solace of comforting darkness.

Movement in my hand caught my attention, as though something was clamping down on my fingers.

Against all my will, I forced my eyes open, and blinked as the stark white blinded me.

Wherever this place was, they sure liked white.

The walls were white, the ceiling was white, the floor was white. Not to mention the furniture.

My mind felt hazy, groggy even, as I sat myself up. The world seemed to swim around me, as I swallowed to try and clear the dryness in my throat.

It took all this time for me to realise where I was.

Hospital.

I furrowed my brow as I tried to think of why I was here. Surely I was just visiting someone, right? I seriously doubted it.

I glanced down at my body, and sure enough, a flowy white hospital gown covered my pale skin.

Again, something moving in my right hand caught my attention. I swivelled my head round so fast, that I was sure I heard my neck snap.

Dad?

What was Snape doing here? Holding my hand?

None of this made any sense to me at all.

I looked deeper at the thin figure of my father, slouched in a chair by my side.

His eyes, though closed, looked pained, as though it took too much effort to keep them that way. His forehead was creased, and frowned just as his mouth. Dark bags lay under his sleeping eyes, and gentle snores rippled from his chest, bringing some noice to the otherwise silent surroundings. His limp hair was even greasier than normal, and looked unwashed. His unhealthily thin hand was wrapped firmly round mine, as though I might slip away if he let go.

I wracked my brains to find the reason for me to be here, and for my Dad to look so...worried.

I threw the covers roughly off me, but winced in pain as my leg was met by the clean air.

My leg.

A large cut ran from mid thigh down to my ankle. It was a deep pink welt, angry bruising in purples and greens ran the full length of it, as did a scar that had started to form instead of the cut.

And with that, the clouds of my mind lifted, and it all came back to me.

The Thestrals.

The Ministry.