The Prince's Tale

Snape

One day the Professor woke up all by himself. He had opened his eyes to find me staring at him and the first thing he said was "what the-"
He propelled himself upwards, but could not go any further so he he supported himself on his elbows. He frowned at me. Clearly the sickness had weakened him but had not in the slightest altered his character.
"What do you think you're doing? Why are you here?" he said menacingly.
I managed a small smile although inside, I was shivering.
"I'll take that as a thank you for all my pains," I said.
He glared at me through half spent eyes, uncertain of what to do, uncertain of his surroundings, uncertain...even of himself.

"And you are...?"

"I should hope you knew," I said, "since you brought me here."

He looked around quickly, then back at me, almost as if he was doing some quick calculations in his head. I could tell he was trying to do some very serious thinking, but his mind was too weak to do so. He looked hesitantly around him, and closing his eyes for a fraction of a second longer as if in resignation he said, "and how long...have I been here?"

"How long have we been here? Almost three weeks," I said, smiling faintly.

He looked at me blankly. I think for the first time since I have known him, he was uncertain. Everything before that had been mapped out in front of him. Everything he did, he was told to do. He felt like his way forward was clear. Now he didn't have a way forward, and he wasn't even sure of what happened backwards. He was at complete loss with himself and probably with the outside world too. I think he looked like a man who just landed in the middle of a world that did he did not belong in.

***

I didn't know what I was doing. I was bustling back and forth, skidding across the floor, trying desperately to think clearly and act appropriately at the same time. I just knew that if I acted, at least I did something. If the Professor dies, well at least it wasn't because I stood idly watching him bleed to death.

I have no idea how the wound came about, but I knew I had to stop the blood flow. But you see, I am a journalist. I haven't ever witnessed so much blood in one go, and secretly, I thought I was going to faint. It was a sickening sight.
I remember rushing into the room holding all the things I had grabbed on the way, towels and clothes and my small aid kit from my bags. But this was an emergency that would have required extra attention in the hospital itself, and I wasn't sure if I could handle it all alone. Snape was definitely not going to be of any help. I stood for a second hesitating with all my tools, and thrust a towel at the place where the wound was. The blood was flowing so quickly it was starting to flood the towel too. It made me sick.
I applied the towels to his wound as I had nothing else to impede the flow. I half-heartedly wanted to see a reaction, even a wince, but Snape did not budge.

And then there was the problem with the clothes. I never actually pondered upon the fashion of Severus Snape, but now when I had to, his robes seemed extremely complicated, and I didn't have much time for a detailed analysis. First of all, there were a great deal of buttons that led all the way to the neck. Just buttons, buttons, buttons, even on the sleeves. I felt like I was again, probing where I shouldn't be, and trying to brush my embarrassment aside, I kept reminding myself that this was a state of emergency. So I worked to unbutton his robes clumsily at least to the point where the wound on his neck was exposed so that it would be easier to clean.

Again, I had no idea what I was doing. I tried to tell myself that I did, but as I worked to clean the wound and everything around it, I felt like I was gaining slightly more confidence, and that perhaps, the professor would be fine. Everything I did was done manually, and I felt incredibly limited without my wand, but seeing as I didn't know any healing spells it wouldn't have been very useful anyway.

By the end of the day, I was drained out. All day I had spent next to his bedside, checking that he was still breathing, bringing in new supply of cleaning clothes. The blood had stopped flowing, and that was a good sign.

And for the next three weeks, the torture of sleepless nights dragged on and on and on. Although I stopped the flow of blood, the professor was delirious, and he was not waking up. Only on occasional nights he sat up abruptly but he was unaware of it, still in a frenzied state. However the task of taking care of him was made a lot easier by some books that I had found that contained certain healing spells and potions. The more research I did, the more I was led to the conclusion that this was probably the Potions Master's house himself. I had no tools for making the potions, but I found a cauldron in the corners of the house, and in the small kitchen, I set to work with the ingredients I had. I made a wound cleaning potion that would make my task a lot easier throughout the day, and the Tergeo spell seemed particularly useful. Even then I wished for someone more professional than me. I was busy all the time, and I had seemed to have forgotten about everything. About my wish to escape. About my family. I had completely forgotten that there was even an outside world.

And three weeks passed in that little home, and every day I told myself to be calm, and patient. So that's what I did.

***

"You're ill."
"Nonsense."
"No, you have to lie down and rest. You're weak."
"I will not take orders from-"
Snape blanched as he tried to force himself up, but was forced to lie back down. He scowled at me as I smirked at him victoriously.
"I told you."
"Why am I here?"
"That's something I've been meaning to ask you, actually."
Snape lay quietly, glaring at me from the corner of his eyes. Secretly, I liked him better when he was ill.
"And why exactly are you here?"
"Again sonething I've been meaning to ask you."
He stopped to think, still glaring at me. Then he closed his eyes.
Better that way, I thought. I was starting to get annoyed at all the questions, the same questions being repeatedly asked as if all of a sudden I had miraculously come up with an answer to them.
Then-
"Get out."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Snape's eyes were still closed, and I stared at him in disbelief. If he hadn't looked so sick, I would have been tempted to slap him.
I stood up to go, silently raging. At the entrance I turned around.
"Do you have any idea what I've been through?"
He didn't answer.
"How hard I've been fighting for your life? How I've been doing things I've never dreamed I'd ever think of possibly doing? For you? I ran about scrambling to do what's best for you while you lay there moaning, being utterly useless-"
He snapped his eyes open, but he did not look at me.
"How would you like it if a stranger was staring at you while you are just trying to get some rest?" he said.

Trying to get some rest. Wasn't he doing that for weeks??

I struggled for words, but found none.

"Good, I'm glad we had that clarified," he said, turning his head away, "Besides, I didn't ask you to save my life."