Harry chuckled. "Severus wasn't expecting the sound effects. I think it freaked him out a bit. He was probably joking about the artificial child."
"Probably?"
"Well, you know Severus. Can you ever tell when he's being completely serious when he uses that tone of voice?" Harry asked. His guts clenched as he realized that if he wasn't successful in this healing venture that he would never hear that tone of voice again.
Unsurprisingly, considering how long he'd known him, Ron caught his reaction. "Are you all right?"
Harry shrugged. "I've been trying to stay positive, but every time I think about what that bastard did to Severus, I just . . . ."
"Yeah, I know. But if anyone can heal him, it's you," Ron said. "Look what you did for me."
"I can't undo the torture he suffered," Harry said, trying hard not to dwell on the physical and sexual abuse Severus had endured in those two days Burke had had him.
"We'll get him through it," Ron said, patting his back.
"We'll?" Harry questioned.
"Yeah, we'll. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't given you the idea that you could heal me," Ron said. "Come on; let's brew up some illegal blood magic."
"Will you help me get this cauldron going?" Harry asked, turning to hide his stinging eyes.
A little over an hour later, the potion was brewed and the cauldrons Harry had used were cleaned and put away.
As Harry turned to leave, Ron asked, "Are you going to leave those cauldrons burning like that? Won't they explode?"
"No. They're safe. That's Severus' long-term project table. Sometimes he leaves things burning for weeks over there."
They left the potion lab with its strangely keening experiment behind and returned to Severus' infirmary room, the Sanguinis Philos a warm presence in Harry's left pocket.
Now attired in her normal white robes and wimple, Madam Pomfrey was just finishing checking Severus' vital signs when Ron and he arrived. Hermione had pulled back from her bedside chair to give the mediwitch room to work.
Poppy eyed the blood red liquid in the large, wine-bottle sized container and asked, "Sanguinis Philos?"
"Yes," Harry answered, hoping he wasn't about to hear a diatribe on blood magic.
After a moment, Poppy said, "You're the strongest wizard I've seen, Harry. If anyone can help him, it's you."
"Thanks, Poppy," Harry answered, warmed by her words.
Poppy gave his arm a squeeze as she was leaving the room. She still seemed subdued. Clearly, she was still upset by the extent and nature of Severus' injuries.
Harry couldn't blame her. He couldn't let himself think about what had been done to Severus without going a little crazy, and right now, he couldn't afford that luxury.
Stopping beside the bed, Harry extracted a small vial that he'd put in his pocket while in the lab. He carefully filled it with the Sanguinis Philos potion. He put the larger bottle on the bedside table and then reached down with his empty left hand to lift Severus up from the pillow. Holding the tiny, vial between his ring and pinkie fingers and palm, he reached out with his index finger and gently nudged Severus' mouth open.
After yesterday, he'd thought he was prepared for the sight, but when he saw the raw flesh where Severus' tongue should have been he nearly lost it. Steeling himself, he opened the vial and tilted it to Severus' open mouth. Once the potion was in, he dropped the vial and quickly moved to massage Severus' throat to make sure the liquid was swallowed.
Thankfully, Severus didn't choke.
Harry sat back to wait a moment for the potion to make its way into Severus' system. When sufficient time had passed, he reached out to collect Severus' nearby left hand. The bridge for his magic formed with surprising ease. Well, perhaps not so surprising, considering that he linked his power to Severus' system nearly every night.
He reached out magically, letting his energy flow through the familiar neural paths. The damage that was still there was . . . daunting. He could feel Poppy's spells and potions working on repairing the hurt places. Because he could, Harry fed his power into Poppy's spells, enhancing them. Then he moved along, to the maimed areas no mediwitch could repair.
Although he had no experience with these things, he thought the tongue might be the easier job. So, he tackled that first, feeding energy to the gaping wound that was all that was left of Severus' tongue. Within moments, he sensed a layer of new flesh blanketing that hideous wound. Right now, all he wanted to do was close the opening, which, fortunately, happened quickly.
The hand was another matter entirely. Beyond the complexity of all the bones, vascular channels, muscles, and neural paths of the hand, he was going to have to get rid of the dead tissue at the end of the cauterised stump before he could grow new flesh.
Harry concentrated on blasting away that burnt tissue. Working fast, he tapped into those frightening power reservoirs he had and encouraged the cells to reproduce healthy tissue to seal the area where Severus' hand had been amputated. The burned flesh was reluctant to grow new tissue, but he pitted his will against the recalcitrant cells and soon the resistance crumbled.
He did what he could to seal both sites. As he finished up on the hand, he could feel his power waning under the intense drain. He made a frantic search of the stump and tongue sites. He couldn't find any holes or dangerous openings in veins. Only then, did he allow his exhaustion to claim him.
Harry was hardly aware of breaking the connection with Severus.
His knees gave out from under him, and he swayed forward. From a muffled distance, he could hear Hermione calling his name.
*~*~*
Harry repeated that process every day for the next week. The only change he made was to make sure he was sitting down when he linked with Severus. That way, when he blacked out from exhaustion afterwards, it was far less dramatic.
Mercifully, Poppy's potions kept Severus unconscious during the entire week. Severus' other injuries were entirely healed by that point. It was only the missing hand and tongue that declared the savage torture he'd so recently suffered.
Harry was sitting beside Severus' bed, finishing up the lunch tray that Dobby had brought him, when Severus opened his eyes a week later. Harry didn't even notice the change at first. His entire universe was focused on the healings he gave Severus every afternoon. Due to the resulting exhaustion, he spent his evenings and nights unconscious on the bed on the far side of the room. His mornings passed in a numb parade of checking the new growth and helping Poppy with the daily routine of seeing to an unconscious patient's physical needs.
It had gotten so that Harry could tube feed Severus as competently as Poppy. Fortunately, the rest of Severus' care could be handled magically, so they didn't have to worry about actually changing diapers or disposing of catheter bags.
Ravenously hungry from yesterday's healing, Harry scooped up the last of his mashed potatoes, wondering if he could possibly convince Dobby to bring him a third helping. He was placing his fork on the tray on the bedside table when a stray glance Severus' way fixed his gaze on those beloved black eyes.
Harry dropped the fork and took hold of Severus' nearby left hand. "Severus."
Understandably enough, Severus' face filled with confusion.
Harry was glad to see it. Confusion meant Severus was thinking, or attempting to think. There had been a very real possibility that his lover would wake up insane after all he'd suffered.
Severus opened his mouth to reply. A harsh, incomprehensible grating sound filled the air instead of his beautiful, rich voice.
Harry could tell the exact moment Severus' memories kicked in by the change in expression on his face. One moment, Severus was charmingly befogged; the next, bleak despair filled his eyes.
"You're all right," Harry insisted, squeezing the hand he held. "You're safe at Hogwarts. Most of your injuries have already healed, and I'm working on repairing your hand and tongue. You're going to be whole again, Severus. I promise."
Harry couldn't interpret the emotion in Severus gaze.
Severus' mouth opened again. He lifted his right arm up towards his face. It froze halfway there and Severus simply stared down at the stump with its layer of new growth. Harry had the clear impression that Severus had forgotten his hand was missing. After a second, Severus' left hand slipped out of Harry's grasp and rose to his mouth, his index finger dipping in to feel around. He seemed to be exploring the scope of his injuries.
Harry was intimately aware of what he'd find, from the inside out, as well as visually. He'd spent the last week patiently coaxing the quarter inch of flesh there into existence. The same could be said for Severus' right hand, which now had a tiny quarter inch bud of new flesh flowering at the end. It mightn't be much to show for the amount of power he'd fed into Severus' system, but since the growth was impossible at all, Harry wasn't complaining. He was convinced that the hand and tongue would grow back in time. That was all that was important.
Severus' finger slowly left his mouth. Harry saw him draw a deep, shuddery sounding breath before he squeezed his eyes closed and turned on his side to face the wall.
He couldn't imagine what Severus was going through. What would anyone be feeling after having been raped, tortured, and mutilated? Severus Snape was one of the strongest men he knew, but that kind of nightmare was enough to break any man.
The worst part was that Harry didn't know how to comfort him. What could he say or do that would take away what that bastard Burke had done to him? At a complete loss, Harry laid his hand on Severus' shoulder.
Severus gave what Harry suspected was an instinctive flinch at the contact. He'd been hurt so badly; it was hardly surprising.
Harry's automatic response was to pull his hand back, but he stopped himself at the last moment and left his hand on that bony, blanket-covered shoulder. Giving the shoulder a light squeeze, he softly said, "It's just me. Do you . . . do you want me to remove my hand? Is it making you uncomfortable?"
Harry wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath until it whooshed out in a relieved gush when the dark head on the nearby pillow gave a negative shake.
Abandoning his chair, he perched on the bed beside Severus' hips. "Are you in pain?"
Poppy had Severus on some major painkilling potions, but there had been no way to tell if they were strong enough while Severus remained unconscious.
Another negative looking shake of Severus' head followed his question.
Harry knew his lover had to be in some pain. Those potions couldn't keep the kind of discomfort rebuilding Severus' tongue and hand engendered completely at bay, but clearly it was of a manageable level. Harry was doing his best to buffer the discomfort magically, but his principal focus had to be the healings, so he wasn't certain what level of pain Severus might be facing.
But Severus said he wasn't in extreme pain and he didn't mind his touch. Harry tried again, "Can you look at me so I can see your eyes?"
Severus seemed to be hugging the truncated stump that was all that was left of his right hand to his chest as he lay there on his side facing the wall.
There was no telling what Severus was feeling. Just thinking about how he'd be if their positions were reversed filled Harry with a cold dread.
Perplexed, he watched Severus give yet another negative shake of his head to his request to look at him.
He hadn't anticipated that refusal. All he really wanted to do was take Severus into his arms and hold him until the hurting passed. Wondering if Severus had a similar need, he softly said, "I know you're hurting. I was so damn scared that I'd lost you; I still can't believe you're really here. Can I . . . can I hold you? You can say no," Realizing that Severus couldn't, in fact, say 'no', he quickly rephrased, "I mean, you can refuse if you'd rather not. I'd like to just lie down beside you and put my arms around you for a little while. Is that all right?"
Braced for another negative head shake, it took Harry almost a minute to realize that he'd received a visibly hesitant nod of agreement.
Harry quickly toed off his trainers. Moving as if Severus were delicate as fine porcelain, he eased onto the bed. Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to hold Severus while sitting outside the blankets wrapped around his lover, he shifted in the bed until he could slip beneath them.
He settled down on the bed behind Severus. Spooning himself to Severus' back, he carefully eased his left arm under him and snuggled in close.
After the last week and a half of non-stop worry and fear, feeling the living, breathing warmth that was Severus in his arms felt like sheer nirvana to Harry. He inhaled deeply, taking in as much of Severus' familiar scent as he could as he lay there hugging him.
He tensed as Severus moved in his arms. At first he worried that Severus might by trying to move away from him, but then he realized how totally wrong his fear was. His throat tightened in a choking knot as he felt Severus' left hand and the stump of his right hand clutch Harry's own hands tight to Severus' chest.
With Severus' tongue gone, he couldn't even determine if his pain were emotional or physical. He suspected it was probably both. He knew from personal experience that those pain reduction potions were only so effective.
As for the emotional damage, what man could have endured what Severus had gone through and emerge unscathed? Harry knew they were damn lucky Severus was still sane. He was awed by his lover's fortitude. He didn't know if he could have survived what Severus had been through with his mind intact. But the admiration he felt didn't tell him how to help the man.
Harry hadn't a clue as to what he should say, if anything. Somehow, it had been easier finding Severus and dealing with Burke than handling the damage the bastard had caused. He wished that he'd been able to help Severus the same way he had Ron, that his lover would have woken up whole and healed instead of . . . broken. Or better still, he wished that he could have prevented the whole thing from happening. That was what he really wanted.
