Awake

By Theolyn

Chapter One:

Dr. Hermione Granger, M.D., M.H., pulled the worn file for patient 0691 from its familiar niche on her "problem patient" shelf. Over the years, many patients had resided in that spot for a time. Some she'd cured. Some she'd lost. Some had transferred out of her care. But none had resided so long in limbo as this one. And now, at last, after twenty frustrating years, this patient's time had come.

Hermione ran careful fingers on the outside of the folder, releasing the privacy charms that held everything within for her eyes alone. Carefully, meticulously, she went over her notes, though in reality, they'd been long committed to her memory. She'd like to think that any patient that wound up in her care would receive the same careful consideration. But, she knew, that was not quite true. Every patient was unique, yes. And practically every patient was special to someone…but this patient, this patient was special to everyone. All of wizarding kind. But more than that, he was special to her. It was a fine difference, but a fundamental one.

So while she'd obsessed over many of the patients that had found their way to her desk, she'd applied a different standard of determination to this one. It was that determination really, once she'd reached the limits of what magic could provide him, that had led her to time-turner her way into the muggle field of neuroscience, supplementing her Master of Healing with an old fashioned M.D. Seven years without sleep had been hard on her body, and murderous to her already faltering marriage, despite the obvious pride Ron had showed in her achievements. But the results had been worth it. Not in the case of patient 0691, of course, at least not yet. He slumbered on. But others, many others now, had benefitted.

Hermione reached the patient's EEG readings. It had taken her a year of nonstop campaigning to add that clever machine to her growing battery of muggle medical tools. The trustees had only acquiesced once she'd unleashed her nuclear option: Harry Potter threatening to alert the Daily Prophet that St. Mungos was not trying EVERYTHING to heal the greatest hero of Dumbledore's war. They'd loosened their parsimonious purse strings quite handily after that.

She studied the chart of the first EEG reading. How thrilling it had been to see the tool confirm her medical intuition. That brilliant, acerbic mind was in there, still vital and alive, locked tightly beneath his occlumantic shields, busy, but unreachable as a missile commander in a cold war bunker.

Later readings had been steadily less reassuring. He was, Hermione believed, moving away from them. Periods of mental activity were fewer. Less frequent. Less frenetic. Soon, she suspected, he would be gone entirely, and the pale flesh of his body would become nothing more than an empty shell.

The thought of it roiled despair in her belly… but, she reminded herself sternly, that the end was nearing was wherein their hope lay. It would be as he moved beyond them that his shields would falter.

It was both frustrating, and utterly astounding that his defenses had held for so long. Hermione considered it a resounding testimony, had they needed one, to the power of his magic, and the sheer brilliance of their construction, that his occlumantic shields had remained impenetrable for so many years. No wonder Voldemort had been unable to break them. They were perfection. Or they had been. Only now, at last, just as his mind was slipping away from them, had the construction had begin to fail. She'd almost, almost gotten through. If she'd been a little more rested, a little more fully charged, a little more in top form, she might have managed it.

So this time, she'd be ready. She'd slept. A full six hours; quite the accomplishment for her. She'd eaten a full meal, complete with the usually avoided carbohydrates and fats. And she'd refrained from so much as a wingardium leviosa all morning. Her batteries, physical, mental, and magical, were fully charged.

She was as ready as it was in her power to be. Today. Today she would reach him. Today, she would bring Severus Snape home.

SSSSSS

Granger tucked the file under her armpit, a vial of potion in each of her coat pockets, and made her way out of her office. Though she was eager to begin, she still took the time to greet every mediwitch and wizard she passed. A word here, a gesture there, a gentle suggestion when needed; she'd worked long and hard to turn this outdated institution into a model of efficiency, and she'd not weaken morale by shortchanging any member of her staff. They deserved no less than her best. Even now.

And so, though it took her three quarters of an hour to reach her destination, she could not regret it. Her slow tour had uncovered one error-in-the-making, three moderate successes, and one intern she was now convinced should walk the tables to journeywoman. She'd see to the promotion in the morning. Was there any success greater than watching someone she'd nurtured grow?

Bringing back patient 0691. Yes. That.

SSSSSS

Ward C was quiet, simply decorated, and beautiful. It faced west, and in the afternoon sunlight spilled in obstreperously. Outside, a grove of Bay Laurel trees rustled, lending both scent and sound every time a breeze wafted through. It was an old ward, so the rooms were large, private, and highly desired. Only the wealthiest families could afford the surcharge levied on this floor.

Hardly the place, according to the trustees, to house a long-term coma patient. She'd fought and won that war too. Although Snape might not be aware of his surroundings, Hermione was. She liked the idea that he lay in a room drenched in sunlight. After a life spent in cold dungeons, it seemed the least she could do for him.

SSSS

Even for a Master of Healing, the practice of legilimancy without eye contact was a tricky business. It would require 100% of her focus. All of her own shields and defenses would need to be lowered entirely for the procedure to have a shred of success.

Though the war was long over, Hermione was as incapable of operating unprotected as any veteran would be, and so she took the time to ward the door, the room and the windows with a quick release spell. Any of them would open to her merest thought, but the charm would prevent anything less powerful than a full regiment of aurors from entering.

Next, she carefully set out two potions on the bedside table. There was one she hoped to administer. The other? Well he had a right to that one if he chose. She rather hoped he wouldn't…but the choice was his nonetheless.

She scooted the sturdy chair six inches closer to the side of his bed. She straightened her robes, and stared at her patient. Hopefully, this would be the last time she would see him looking unoccupied.

Before sitting, she stroked a cool, professional hand over his close-cropped hair. Then, surprising herself, dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"For luck." She said, to herself as much as him. Then, she sat, taking his hand in hers.

"Come on, Professor. Let's see if we can find you this time."

SSSSSS

Author's Note: Hello Dear Readers…AT long last I'm embarking on what I hope to be a novella-length story. I've got the next seven chapters drafted, but as always, I'm happy to toss them in the rubbish if one of you leads me in another direction. So give me your likes and dislikes. Your story-related hopes. Your problems. Your character related details. Your wouldn't-it-be-nices, and I will do my best to keep my muse on her toes. I will be posting once a week, unless the fire hose turns on, and I'm forced to post more often! Looking forward to adventuring with you all! Sincerely Theolyn