Thanks to T. Pratchett for 'Mr Bunnsy'
Sequel to Mine
Harry frowned down at his page, brow wrinkling. He hated mathematics more than just about anything. He always had. Even back at his old school he'd groaned when Mrs Taylor had told them all to get their maths books out.
Mr Lupin didn't use maths books though. He wrote the sums on his blackboard, usually while sitting at his desk holding his wand. In Harry's opinion that was the only part of maths lessons that was worthwhile, watching Mr Lupin wave his wand and seeing that chalk scratch away at the board, dancing as if to a playful tune.
Neville didn't seem to think much about it, tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth he would already be writing the sums down. Neville liked maths, he said the numbers always did what they were supposed to, and never surprised you. Harry, who couldn't get the numbers to do one thing he wanted them to do, disagreed.
And for Neville the dancing chalk was just another part of the day. He didn't even seem to notice the magic. Harry did though. No matter how many times he saw it, there was always something exciting when someone picked up a wand and waved it. There was always something that made Harry hold his breath as he waited to see what would happen next. He didn't think he would ever get tired of it.
Harry blew a strand of hair out of his eyes and sighed heavily. Reaching for his eraser he rubbed at the page, frowning down at the mess of smudges and crossed out numbers.
"Having trouble, Harry?"
Mr Lupin was at his shoulder and Harry looked up crossly.
"I can't get this to take away," he complained. "Why won't it work?" He looked over at Neville's neat page with a sour grimace.
"Ah, I think I see the problem." Mr Lupin's finger traced his page. "You've borrowed here, to take the nine away from the five."
"You told me to!" Harry defended.
"Yes, I know." Mr Lupin's voice was patient. "But I also told you when you borrow you have to pay back, right? Here?"
Harry squinted at the page, a light dawning. "I forgot," he said sheepishly.
Mr Lupin chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Try again," he ordered kindly, so with a sigh Harry buckled back down.
"I've finished," Neville said proudly.
"Put it on my desk, then you may take your book to the reading corner."
Harry sighed enviously as Neville trotted over with his book then raced to the reading corner. There were rows of interesting books on the shelves in the corner, with pictures that moved and almost told stories by themselves. There were also big squishy cushions and a potted plant that liked to tickle your ears while you read. He sighed loudly again but Mr Lupin only nodded firmly at him, so Harry had no choice but to bend back over the hated sums. It was all so unfair sometimes.
It was all so unfair sometimes, Snape thought as he surveyed his First Year Potions class. A sea of faces stared back at him, each more useless and lazy than the last. How pleasant it would be to see just one intelligent look, he thought glumly. Just one keen student.
A Ravenclaw boy put his hand up eagerly.
Snape turned on him with a snarl. "Put your hand down, boy," he snapped. "When I want to hear your inane questions I'll ask." He tapped one foot as the crestfallen boy dropped his hand. "Better. Now, if you could possibly bring yourselves to gather around the large cauldron for the final stage? Thank you," he murmured sarcastically as the students filed past him. "So kind of you. We're going to add the dried gizzards you just sliced. If you did your jobs the potion should thicken and start to turn brown. If however you have completely failed to follow instructions, as I have good reason to suspect you have, then the potion will stay yellow. In which case instead of a handy vanishing solution we'll have, what? Miss Jenkins?"
Poor Jenkins jumped a mile. "S... sir?" she stuttered.
"A mess, Miss Jenkins," Snape said. "A huge mess and a waste of my valuable time. Rather like the bulk of your house. Now, who would like to add their gizzards first?"
"I would, sir!" the Ravenclaw boy said smartly. He pushed forward at the same time as the Hufflepuff girl flung herself backwards, her eyes and nose red. The result was a general heave of the surrounding students and the instant upheaval of the ancient old stand the large cauldron rested on.
It happened very quickly and in slow motion all at once. The red eyed sniveler was pushed backwards towards the gently bubbling cauldron, her out-flung hand perilously close to the flames. Instinctively Snape darted forward and pushed her away, but not before the contents of the cauldron had shifted violently, sending most of its gluey yellow mixture into Snape's face.
The lesson was nearly over by the time Harry had finished his last sum. He happily deposited his book on the tutor's desk and then bounded to the corner, leaping onto the biggest cushion and giggling as he tumbled over onto his back.
"That corner is for quiet reading, Harry," Mr Lupin called over. "Not athletics."
"Yes, Mr Lupin," Harry said dutifully, scrambling back into a sitting position. "What are you reading?" he asked Neville. The round faced boy marked his place with one finger and closed the cover around it. Depicted on the front was a beautiful garden, flowers waving gently under a soft summer sun. Even as Harry watched a fat bumblebee buzzed by, circling the drowsing head of one flower before happily settling on its golden petal.
"Not the teddy bear book again!" Harry exclaimed. "It's so boring!"
"I like it," Neville said with a shrug. "He has adventures, you know."
"Yeah, with a dumb old rabbit." Harry rolled his eyes. "They don't have any pirates or sword fights or anything!"
"There doesn't have to be a sword fight in every book," Neville defended. "It can be exciting without swords or fighting or people getting mad at each other." The boy opened the book and showed Harry a picture. "See? They've turned really small in this chapter. Look, even the flowers are over their heads."
Harry studied the bright coloured picture. It actually did look rather interesting. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing at the page. "Look at the ant!"
"This is the exciting bit," Neville confirmed. "Listen." With a frown and a finger following the words Neville began to read from the page, and despite the lack of pirates Harry settled in to listen. Big Ted and Mr Bunnsy might look a bit soppy, but they actually were quite brave. By the end of the chapter Big Ted had made a harness from straw and they were riding their mighty ant steed up the side of a towering hollyhock.
Neville's voice trailed away as the door to their classroom opened and Professor McGonagall strode in. She flicked them a quick glance and then hurried over to Mr Lupin's desk. The tutor rose to greet her.
"Harry, look," Neville said, pointing up at the big old nursery clock on their wall. It was well past three o'clock.
"Where's my dad?" Harry wondered. He glanced back at the Professor and Mr Lupin, feeling his heart start to beat harder in his chest. Their heads were together and they were speaking in low and urgent tones. Now and then they looked over at the boys, their faces worried.
"Where's my dad?" Harry repeated more loudly, clambering to his feet. Silently Neville stood too, leaning against his shoulder.
"Just a moment, Harry," Mr Lupin called, forcing a smile on his face. Harry wasn't reassured. Professor McGonagall was saying something else, her face averted.
Harry hated to cry in front of other people. Even if he fell over and hurt himself, even when he was picked up and carried away by a giant dog, he would rather get mad and stamp his foot, than cry. But suddenly he couldn't help the panicked tears that welled up in his eyes or the way his throat closed up so he could hardly whisper.
"I want my dad," he said. Then he started sobbing.
"Poppy assures me your eyes will be right as rain by tomorrow," Dumbledore said and Snape felt a comforting pat on one hand. He stiffened and slid it under the covers Madam Pomfrey had insisted on tucking around him. He had argued that it was his face that was burnt, not his feet, but she had very firmly pushed him down onto the hospital bed, and what was he supposed to do? Storm out? When right now he'd be hard pressed to find the door without falling over his feet?
"She told me the same thing," he said evenly. "I have no cause to doubt her."
"Minerva has gone to let Remus know what is going on," Dumbledore continued. "He's promised to take the boys for the night. It will be an adventure for them."
"I don't want Harry to come here," Snape said quickly. He tried to grimace under the bandages and regretted it instantly as a twinge of pain pulled at his rapidly healing skin. "I don't want the boy worried."
Snape cocked his head, listening hard. It was so difficult to judge what other people were thinking when you couldn't see their faces. "But?" he ventured, hearing the doubt in the old wizard's voice.
"But he is going to be worried about you," Dumbledore continued. "Surely it would be better for him to see you and set his mind at rest?"
Snape was already shaking his head, although it was a very small shake on account of the dull pounding pain of a headache behind his eyes. "No," he returned with weary stubbornness. "Harry relies on me to be strong for him. The last thing he needs is to see me weak and helpless." Then he bit his lip. Had he given too much away? Was there anyone else nearby, listening in? He felt like a snail that had lost its shell.
"I rather think you're underestimating your son there, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "Do you honestly think young Harry would think any the less of you for being hurt?"
But Snape just shook his head again. He couldn't explain it and he was too sore and tired to try. He just couldn't stomach the thought of his boy staring at him with pity or worse. With a shudder Snape remembered the Longbottoms, imprisoned in St Mungo's, visited by their son. How would it be for Harry, if Poppy Pomfrey couldn't mend this hurt? Would Harry have to be coaxed to visit his pitiable parent locked away in the dark of some charity ward?
Dumbledore was patting his other hand now and to Snape's horror he realised it was clenched in the blankets to hide his shaking fingers. With a snarl he pulled his fingers free and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Thoughts like that could drive a man mad. He'd had worse accidents over the years, it was unavoidable when working with dangerous ingredients. Although he'd never known a searing pain like the one that had taken his light away. He'd never felt so alone in the dark before.
"Ah," Dumbledore said, and Snape heard his chair being scraped back as he stood up. "Here's Remus now."
"The damn fool hasn't bought Harry here, has he?" Snape snarled.
"No," Dumbledore supplied and Snape scowled harder.
"Then he's left the child alone?" he demanded.
"Not alone." Lupin's voice was sharp and annoyed. "He and Neville are with Professor McGonagall outside. I wanted to check and see that you were fit for company before I bought them in."
"Severus doesn't feel up to any company, Remus," the headmaster said. "Perhaps he might see Harry later tonight, after they've both had their supper?"
"I told you-" Snape began, only to be cut off by Lupin.
"Tough," the tutor said loudly. "Harry's worked himself up into a state. None of us will get any peace until he's seen you."
Snape's headache was full blown now and slammed one clenched fist on the bed next to him. "What on earth did you tell the child?" he demanded angrily.
"I didn't have to tell him anything," Lupin shot back, and he sounded every bit as enraged as Snape felt. "You haven't been a minute late picking him up since the day he started class and today McGonagall arrived looking worried. What can I say? The boy's astute."
The boy's scared to death, Snape thought. He has a fear of abandonment that goes bone deep and will probably never completely go away his life long. Even when stolen away by a murderous Animagus his greatest comfort on his return was the knowledge that his father had come for him. That his father hadn't left him behind again.
Now his father was hurt and Harry's fears would all be rising to the fore. Snape swallowed hard. It looked like his own fears would have to take a back seat. He would have to let Harry visit him.
"Perhaps we should just set the boys minds to rest," Dumbledore advised softly, but it didn't matter. Lupin was already walking away.
Snape braced himself for tears and questions, ears straining for the sounds of the big doors opening and a quiet exchange of voices. Then footsteps approached and he felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He hated this! His son was here and he couldn't look into that expressive little face and try to read his feelings.
"Harry," Lupin's voice prompted gently.
"Daddy?" Harry's voice was uncertain, hitching with sobbing breaths and Snape wondered what he looked like. The bandages covered him with barely a gap from brow to chin, his hair had been ruthlessly scraped back by the mediwitch and was clubbed at the back of his neck and he was wearing a hospital gown to replace his ruined clothes. Perhaps Harry couldn't even tell it was his father under all this?
"It's all right, Harry," he said as evenly as he could. Straining ears caught an in-drawn breath and then the patter of small feet a moment before the edge of the bed depressed and Harry's hard little head collided with his breast bone. Small hands clutched at him and Snape awkwardly patted the child's back, aware of the staring eyes around them. "It's all right," he repeated more softly.
"You look very poorly, Mr Snape." The uncertain little voice was Neville's.
Snape inclined his head a little. Harry was still holding him tightly and he felt the tickle of baby soft hair under his chin. "I'm fine, Neville," he said clearly. "Madam Pomfrey has given me some wonderful ointment. I won't even need these bandages by tomorrow."
Harry was silent, small hands still clutching his infirmary robe like claws.
"And will your eyes be all right?" Neville wondered and Snape nodded again.
"Good as new," a brisk voice chimed in and with a sigh of relief Snape identified Madam Pomfrey. She would soon clear this lot out and he could get on with getting this over with. Harry had seen him now and he would be reassured his father would be back tomorrow, right as rain, as Dumbledore put it.
"My patient needs his rest," Madam said severely and predictably. "I'd like him to take a nap before his supper, so you'd all better toddle off now."
Not sure he liked his napping orders aired quite so publicly, but nevertheless grateful for the respite, Snape nodded.
"Yes," he said, trying to sound regretful. "I just need some rest and I'll be fine." He patted Harry's back again, then shaped one narrow shoulder. "Harry?"
"Harry?" Lupin said as well, when Harry didn't move. "You and Neville will be staying with me tonight, won't that be fun? It'll be a sleepover."
"I want to stay with my dad." Harry's voice was muffled on account of his mouth still being buried in his father's throat.
"I know you do," Madam said sympathetically. "But this is a hospital, Harry."
Snape gently tugged his shoulder but Harry only gripped him more tightly. His head shook, cheek pressing into his father's breastbone. "No," the boy said tearfully. "I want to stay with my dad!"
Someone else's hand was on Harry's other shoulder but Snape pushed it away. He wouldn't have the child dragged away from him. Harry just needed some more reassurance, that's all.
"Lupin," he said shortly. "Will you take Neville with you now? Harry can stay with me for a little while longer."
Harry was shaking his head against him again and Poppy Pomfrey was objecting loudly but Dumbledore overrode them all.
"Severus is right," he said firmly. "Harry will be no trouble for a little while longer, Poppy." A hand patted his shoulder now but this time Snape submitted. He wanted to have a quiet word with Harry and he couldn't do that with eyes staring at him.
"See you, Harry," Neville said.
"I'll come back for you before supper, Harry," Lupin said firmly.
"I'll draw the curtains so you might at least get some rest," Poppy Pomfrey said reproachfully.
Harry's head stirred and Snape felt a hand gently tousle his son's hair. "You hold onto your dad for a while, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I think you both might need a good hug."
Footsteps faded into the distance, doors clicked closed, curtained screens magically shifted into place with a wooden scrape. And they were alone.
"Harry," Snape began, free to stroke the boy's soft hair gently now they were alone. "I need you to be a good boy now, understand? You must do what I tell you."
"I want to stay with you," Harry said stubbornly. Then his voice grew tearful again. "Please, daddy."
"This is a hospital, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has sick people to take care of, she can't take care of you as well."
"Then let's go home!" Harry said earnestly. "R'member when I was poorly, daddy? And you looked after me? I want to look after you this time, 'til you're all better."
It was too hard not to be able to look into those expressive almond eyes, hard not to be able to reassure Harry with his own gaze. Instead all Snape could do was curl his long sensitive fingers around Harry's soft cheek, feeling the baby smooth skin, the damp tracks of tears. Harry's chin was trembling and Snape stroked it gently.
"That's a kind thought, Harry," he murmured. "But you don't need to worry about taking care of me. Madam will do a fine job, and it's only until tomorrow."
"I don't care!" Harry denied. "I can help you, daddy, truly I can! I can, um, hold your water, and fluff your pillows, and um..." Harry trailed away. "I can read you a story!" he said suddenly, voice triumphant.
"Harry," Snape said in fond exasperation. "You'll be bored in an hour. I'm to have a nap, remember?"
"I won't be bored," Harry insisted. A small hand caught his wrist, long little fingers curling around and holding tight. "Please, daddy," Harry pleaded lowly. "Please don't send me away."
I don't like it when I can't find you.
Snape remembered a low voice, a nervously tracing finger. He huffed an exasperated sigh. "All right," he gave in. "You can stay. But mind me, Harry," he warned. "If you get bored or make a nuisance of yourself, then I'll send you off to your tutor and you'll go, understood?"
"I won't be a nuisance, daddy," Harry promised earnestly. "Are you having your nap now? Shall I fluff your pillow?"
True to his promise Harry curled up quietly next to his father while Snape lay back and attempted to nap. He thought he might have dozed now and then, stirring at the inevitable hospital sounds of a dropped pan, a hoarse cough. He knew he was only half asleep when he heard Madam Pomfrey tiptoe up and order Harry onto an armchair that she summoned to his bedside. He tuned out their low chatter and tried to pretend that his eyes were closed because of the weariness that dragged at him, and not because of the bandages swathing his skin.
It was a relief when the screens were drawn back, even though he felt more weary when he sat up than he had when he lay down.
"Ready for some supper?" Pomfrey said in her annoyingly cheerful bedside voice.
"I can help you eat," Harry offered as she laid the tray on his lap.
"Please put the screens back," Snape said brusquely, nose twitching at the scent of roast chicken and gravy. He was a trifle hungry, but the thought of tackling such a meal without even being able to find his knife and fork without groping was beyond imagining. He'd rather starve.
"Remember what I told you, Harry," Poppy called as the wooden screens slid back into place. "Remember your clock face."
Snape shifted back on his pillows, pushing the tray further down his lap. If he could distract Harry he could find his wand on the bedside table and spell the food away. It was bound to be easier than arguing with the mediwitch about eating it.
"What is she talking about?" he said irritably. "A clock?"
"I know how to tell time," Harry said proudly from his elbow. Snape heard the clink of silverware and a fork was pressed into his hand. "All the food's cut up," the little boy said in a instructional tone. "And the chicken is at, um, one, two, three o'clock. Get it, daddy?"
Snape did. With his left hand he carefully felt for his plate, curving the span of his hand around its rim. His right hand, holding the fork, found its other side. Left to himself he would go hungry, he'd done without food longer when engrossed in his work. But he could feel Harry anxiously hovering by his side, breath held.
Gamely Snape stabbed with his fork and was rewarded by Harry's chuckle and praise. "You got it!" he crowed. "Three o'clock!"
"Eat your own supper, Harry," Snape ordered, more proud of the child than his own efforts.
"Okay," Harry said agreeably. "But your potatoes are at, um, six o'clock. And there's green beans at nine o'clock. You can leave them if you want," he said generously.
"You can't," Snape returned, spearing a potato next. He actually felt a little better as he ate, maybe he'd been hungrier than he thought, maybe it was the weariness and pain that had been making him light headed.
There was a clank of Harry's silverware on his plate. "Mr Lupin's coming," he said anxiously. "You won't let him take me, will you? You said I could stay if I was good."
Lupin's cheerful voice called from the other side of the screen. "Hi, Harry. I can see you peeking out at me, may I come in?"
Harry was by Snape's side, hand on the sleeve of his infirmary gown, as if he was planning to hold on tight again and not let go.
"We're only eating, Lupin," Snape said, carefully laying his fork down with a nonchalant ease. He hoped Lupin noticed the half empty plate and the fact that he was feeding himself.
"I'm staying with my dad," Harry blurted out.
"Harry," Lupin began but Snape interrupted him.
"Harry's helping me," he said firmly. "I'll arrange with Madam Pomfrey for a cot by my bed ."
"If you're sure," Lupin said, voice doubtful.
"I'm helping." Harry's voice was stubborn.
Plates were cleared away and around him Snape could hear the school settling in for the night. He couldn't sense dark or light behind his thick bandages but he could feel the hush of evening in the voices of the visitors and the medical staff as they checked their few patients.
Snape found himself glad he'd given into Harry as another inevitable need cropped up.
"I meant what I said to your tutor, Harry," he praised. "You've been very helpful."
Small hands fluffed his pillows for about the tenth time and Snape suppressed a sigh as he leaned forward.
"Do you think you can help me to the bathroom?"
"Madam said there's a po under the bed," Harry reminded him.
"And I'm grateful for it," Snape said with complete insincerity. "But I don't need it, because I have you, don't I?" He pushed the covers down and swung around, planting his feet firmly on the cold stone floor.
"Do you want to hold my hand?" Harry offered as Snape heaved himself upright and stood swaying for a moment. It was actually quite difficult to get his balance without his sight and he found himself automatically reaching out. His groping hand found Harry's shoulder and he caught it and held on while his equilibrium settled down.
"This works," Snape said, catching his breath. "If we just walk slowly?"
Harry left him for a moment to push a screen aside, then he was back and Snape held his shoulder while the child led him between the beds.
"Good job, Harry!" a young girl's voice called.
"Yes, well done, lad." That was a portrait's voice, old fashioned and prim.
"Severus Snape!" Madam Pomfrey's voice was scolding. "Next time at least put a robe and slippers on before you go for a jaunt."
"Yes, Madam," he said politely. Inside his heart was pounding and he could feel himself cringing at the eyes that were staring at him, living and painted alike. But all the same he forced himself, step by step, down through the infirmary to the toilet and shower room.
Poppy lifted her teacup again and nodded down the infirmary to the door the pair had just disappeared through. "You never seemed to have any doubts," she accused. "That those two would work."
"I've had my moments," Dumbledore admitted.
"I never did," Poppy said complacently. "Not from the moment I saw them together. You know, I remember young Severus from all those years ago. Children come and go, but some, well, they stay with you." The mediwitch sighed and leaned back in her chair. "All big black eyes and long messy hair he used to hide behind. All snarls and scowls like to take your hand off."
Dumbledore smiled into his teacup. "I remember."
"First year he picked up a bit of a fever, well, he was naught but skin and bones and it hit him hard." Poppy shook her head. "I sat by his bed all night. Not that he needed me, I soon sent his fever packing. It was the way he looked at me that kept me by his side. Every time he woke in the night he'd peer over through that curtain of hair, and every time he'd get this surprised look on his face. Like he couldn't believe I was still there. Like he couldn't believe anyone would care enough to still be there. You know?"
"Sadly, I know all too well."
"I saw that look again, first time he bought me Harry."
"I've seen Harry casting Severus those looks a time or two myself."
Poppy chuckled. "Yes," she said archly. "Harry. Right."
The headmaster shot his mediwitch an admiring glance. "You see quite a bit, don't you."
"Beyond head colds and scraped knees you mean?" Poppy retorted. "Perhaps, perhaps. But I saw enough first time he brought me Harry to know those two need each other. In fact, sometimes I'm not sure which one needs the other more!"
It was almost with a sense of triumph that Snape found the edge of his bed upon their return to their little corner. It was certainly with a sigh of relief that he sank down on the mattress.
"My cot is here," Harry said, pulling the covers over his legs. "I can help you in the night too, daddy."
"What would I do without you?" Snape said lightly. Harry chuckled and responded happily enough, but it was a thought much on Snape's mind as they settled in to sleep. What would he do without his boy?
He turned onto his side, winced at the pressure on his cheek and rolled over on his back again. He was tired, his face ached and his skin was starting the inevitable deep itch magical healing always caused. But his mind wouldn't let him rest, his thoughts spun, twisting from Harry to his work to the accident and back to Harry again.
What if his sight wasn't restored? Never mind his job, his potion work, any chance at a decent livelihood. Without his sight he didn't have a hope of keeping his son. Forget Fudge's hearing in January, the Ministry would come and take Harry away as soon as they knew.
And then what? That charity ward at St Mungo's loomed closer than ever. There was no place for him here without Harry, if he wasn't a means of keeping the child safe then Dumbledore would certainly have no use for him.
Harry was snoring softly in the cot by his bed and somewhere down the ward someone coughed again. There was a squeak of the soles of Poppy's shoes and the clink of a bed spring. But here in this bed Snape had never felt so alone. The blackness of the night pressed against him from without, and from within the darkness of his own useless eyes bandaged tightly shut beneath layers of cloth.
His hands gripped the bedclothes, his chest feeling tight with the effort to breath. He could feel himself beginning to panic but he didn't seem to be able to shake it off. It was all too much, too dark, too quiet, all his connections to the world suddenly shut off, locked away, blown out. Maybe if he pulled these bandages off, maybe if he ripped them away from his eyes, maybe if he could see then he could breathe, hear, feel again...
A hand touched him and he jumped, the edge of the bed depressed and Harry was crawling under the covers with him, sleep-warm and familiar, the scent of his soap and shampoo rising from his baby soft hair as he tucked his head under his father's chin.
"Had a bad dream," he mumbled. "C'n I sleep with you?"
His head was already heavy and he was snoring again.
Snape's clutching fingers relaxed, the muscles in his arms twinging as his tension released. Harry was all knees and elbows as he snuggled closer, but all Snape felt was the warmth of him, all he heard were the gentle sighs of breath, all he could smell were the familiar scents from his son's soft skin.
The darkness was still there, but now it was just the night surrounding him, not pressing down against him. And it wasn't within him any more. Harry filled that space.
Harry was his connection to the rest of the world.
Snape wrapped his arms around his son and finally managed to sleep.
A touch of cool air soothed his exposed skin as the bandages unwound themselves. Light through his closed eyelids made him wince. Around him feet shifted nervously as he forced his still sticky eye-lids apart and peered out through spiky lashes.
Blurred shapes swam into focus and the first thing Severus Snape saw was Harry's face, anxious and pale.
He was the most beautiful thing Snape had ever seen.
End of Part Nineteen