Harry had hardly been on top of its care ever since the Room of Requirement, struggling to even make the effort to shower most days, but he doubted it would have made much difference. He had trailed his fingers across the raised, angry red edge of the wound the last time he’d been able to bring himself to look at it. He could practically see his pulse beating through it, threatening to break through at any moment. There was no way, unless Snape was suddenly blinded in the next ten hours, that he wouldn’t notice how much worse the injury looked, and Harry had no explanation that wasn’t the truth.