Not that He Cares

I do not own Harry Potter and friends. That honor belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Darned insistent plot bunnies. This was written about a year ago when I was attempting to rest to take care of my bronchitis, but the darn plot bunnies were dictating the entire story to me. Unbeta’d as BabyGurl was also sick at that time.


Not that He Cares

Odd how the infirmary at Hogwarts now seemed more chaotic than at any time during the final battle. Hogwarts had received the overflow from St. Mungo’s, which was apparently filled to the brim with the many injured fighters from the battle of Light and Dark forces. Poppy Pomfrey was running about, issuing orders for potions to be given out as she hurried from patient to patient in the crowded ward. Severus was following closely behind, supplying the appropriate potions to the injured occupants. In those frantic first hours, there was thankfully little time for thought or introspection.


Now that the initial rush of patients and emergencies had passed, Severus leaned back tiredly against the wall in Poppy’s office. The medi-witch was out tending to the more gravely injured patients and had insisted that the Potions master take a few minutes for himself. The witch had quickly healed his minor injuries before closing the door behind her.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix had worked together brilliantly in that battle as they worked to protect The Chosen One. Severus snorted as he considered the ludicrous title that had been bestowed to the lithe, bespectacled young man. And yet, somehow, Potter had indeed managed to fulfill the role allotted to him when he was just an infant. For the Dark Lord lay dead at the end of the battle and most of his loyal Death Eaters had been killed or captured.

His thoughts turned to those members of the Light who had been injured in that fierce battle. George Weasley lay still and pale in one of the many beds out in the ward, with his concerned twin anxiously sitting next to him. Their young sister, Ginerva Weasley, likewise had been injured when she proved that she was a foolish Gryffindor and leapt in front of a curse meant for her former Potions Professor. There had been many others who had, like him, been only slightly injured. Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, to name a few. And that left the last occupant of the Hogwarts infirmary: Harry Potter. Not that Severus cared, of course.


Severus had been forced by the madly twinkling Headmaster to continue the blasted Occlumency lessons with the brat, and both had necessarily learned more about the other than either truly wanted to know. Once Potter had managed to become a barely adequate Occlemens, the old coot had then insisted that Severus teach the unholy terror the finer points of dueling. As if he could have refused his mentor! So hour upon insufferable hour was spent in private with the Gryffindor. And if toward the end, Severus thought just a bit more favorably about the young man, well that was completely unintentional. Because Severus didn’t care about the brat, not at all.

Then the moment they had been planning and preparing for had arrived. The Dark Lord boldly attacked the venerable school, careless of the fact that young children might likely be hurt during the altercation. Potter had fearlessly faced the monster who had caused so much pain and anguish in his short life. Severus had broken ranks with the Death Eaters to stand with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix, thus earning him an instant death sentence if caught by his former master.


And now, Potter lay still and unresponsive in a bed in a private room in the infirmary. Poppy insisted that his injuries, though grave, were not life threatening. Not that Severus cared, of course. No, he was simply concerned that he wouldn’t get a chance to berate the young man for his inadequacies during the battle with the Dark Lord.


Weeks passed and most of the injured from the battle had been released from the care of the medi-witch. George Weasley had healed enough that he could return to their shop, albeit on magical crutches. He would need to take care with his leg for a few more weeks, though it was likely that he would always carry a limp as a memento from the battle. Well, at least he would be able to tell the twins apart in the future, Severus thought snidely.

Ginerva Weasley had been released, much to the delight of her distraught mother, but not before the young chit had received a sound lecture from the Potions master on the foolishness of jumping in front of hexes that were meant for another. The witch had then had the audacity to smile up at the stern face of her former professor and had simply said, “You’re welcome, sir,” before standing up and walking out with her parents.

That left the sole occupant of the infirmary: Harry Potter. The young man had yet to wake up, not that Severus cared, of course.

Days passed and the wizarding world celebrated and began to return to normal. And still the young man didn’t wake. Severus only knew because he often watched over his former student in the deep of the night. Truly, that was only his way of helping out his colleague who had overextended herself in caring for her many patients in the recent weeks. It had absolutely nothing to do with Harry Potter himself. Because Severus didn’t care.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Severus found himself drawn more and more to the bedside of the stricken young Gryffindor. Oddly enough, Severus found himself talking to the still form, telling the brat about the happenings of the day and of the dealings in the wizarding world in general. If asked, Severus would have denied all of it, and he resolutely refused to acknowledge the damnable twinkling of one insufferable Headmaster. Because through it all, Severus did not care about the young man.


If Severus had lost weight and if his snarky comments had lost a bit of their bite lately, no one commented on it. He had long ago hexed his mirror into silence, so any thoughts the ruddy thing might have had on his appearance went unsaid. Now almost all of his free time was spent in the small room of the infirmary with the lone patient.

A soft, velvety voice read a passage from an epic tale of magic and adventure that had been written by a wizard for the muggle world. As Severus recounted the trials and travails of Frodo and his faithful companion, Samwise, the Potions master felt rather than heard the movement from his companion.

“Harry?” he quietly inquired. Reaching a hand over to stroke against the slim hand, Severus was surprised when the fingers grasped at his.

Peering closely, Severus could see the eyelashes flutter and then the remarkable green eyes opened for the first time in months. “Wha…,” a weak, raspy voice asked.

The Potions master quickly conjured a glass of water and helped the young man to take a sip before settling him back down into his bed. “Rest now, Potter,” he admonished, “you were successful in your quest and your adoring public no doubt awaits for word of your recovery.”

As he watched the Gryffindor obey him for once, Severus allowed himself a small smile. Leaning over, he gently brushed the fringe of dark hair away from the fading scar before brushing his lips against the forehead. “Sleep now, Harry. We will talk when you awaken.”

Smiling more broadly now, Severus allowed himself to relax. Perhaps he did care after all, he thought to himself, and perhaps he might just allow the brave young man to know that as well. Tomorrow.

~The End?~