Chapter 2

Hermione yawned, stretched, and smiled.

She extended her arms and splayed her fingers as wide as she could. It didn't hurt. Her definition of an excellent moment.

In her third week of treatment, she was making rapid progress. She only needed the walking frame during the last few of the twenty-four hours between treatments. While the effects of the potion were strongest, she could walk with a cane.

God bless Letitia Flint and Scorpius Malfoy. Both of them had been students of hers at Hogwarts. She had been one of the people who inspired them to search for a treatment and maybe even a cure for Post-Cruciatus Syndrome. Rarely did a teacher get to see the fruits of her own labor in such a personal way.

In all fairness, Lucius Malfoy was probably Scorpius' inspiration.

She'd seen Malfoy the same day that she'd seen Snape coming out of the Healer Flint's office at St. Mungo's. Draco had been with his father, guiding the wheelchair that rolled by on magical wheels.

As much as she had despised Lucius Malfoy for all of the harm he'd done, he made a pathetic appearance. His arrogance and good looks were gone. His arms and hands tremored constantly. He couldn't clutch the arms of his wheelchair, let alone a wand. His legs were covered by a lap robe as he sat hunched over in the chair, his eyes glazed from the effects of the painkillers that made it barely possible to tolerate the agonizing spasms. He did not look at her as they rolled by. She and Draco nodded at each other.

Draco was one of the lucky ones. So far, he'd shown no symptoms in spite of being Crucioed by Voldemort himself. That was good, because his parents had become his responsibility.

His father had been Crucioed half to death by Voldemort and anyone else the Dark Lord gave him to as entertainment. Lucius Malfoy was one of the worst cases still alive. According to gossip around the Ministry, he was bedridden and in pain most of the time. His severely damaged nervous system wouldn't let him cast a spell safely.

She'd heard that Narcissa was healthy, but her experiences in the war left her so agoraphobic that she could not bring herself to leave the Manor. Draco and Astoria lived with them, taking over all of the Malfoy's affairs.

She noticed Snape lying in the lounge chair next to her. She realized that his hair had gone steel gray.

Snape hadn't noticed her at all that day when he left the Healer's office and walked through the reception area. His attention was consumed by the Malfoys. Leaning on his cane, he had stopped in front of Lucius Malfoy's wheelchair. Snape bent down and said something she couldn't hear. Malfoy lifted his head, shaking uncontrollably from side-to-side. His raised his trembling hand off the arm rest and said something to Snape. Snape turned so that his ear was closer to Malfoy's mouth.

Then, it was Hermione's turn to see Healer Flint.

We could have held a reunion, thought Hermione. War heroes and villains, all suffering to varying degrees because of the cruelest Unforgiveable.

Another fifteen minutes to go. The Post-Cruciatus treatment called for six months of daily treatments, requiring two to three hours a day. She turned her head and looked at Snape.

He looked better than he did that day in reception room. With his features relaxed, the lines in his face weren't as noticeable. Snape shifted in his sleep and turned his head away.

Harry had said that Snape was still working in the Department of Mysteries. Something to do with Dark Arts, and analyzing artifacts. She guessed that he'd had to give up potions. Potions are impossible when ones hands shake all the time.

Hermione had to use a Dictoquill to write. She was grateful she'd chosen Arithmancy as her profession more than forty years ago. As long as she could think and communicate, she could do Arithmancy

Minerva said that he'd got a grandchild. She wondered what that would be like, having Severus Snape as a grandfather. The next time they took tea, she'd have to ask Minerva how all of that was going. His son and daughter had been among her students, intelligent and surprisingly well-behaved. One Gryffindor, one Slytherin, and not at all snarky like their father.

If this treatment worked, she might be able to return to Hogwarts. She'd been happy teaching there. Doing routine Arithmancy work for the Ministry was boring by comparison.

Ron started his affair while they still lived there. Just thinking of Ron could spoil her perfectly good mood.

The divorce was ugly and the Daily Prophet covered it blow-by-blow. She should have figured out what the late nights at the office meant a lot earlier than she did. She'd been diagnosed three years before and was getting to the point where walking was a problem. When she had to go from using a cane to needing a walker, he'd found someone healthy to be with. Someone whole, unblemished, and fertile.

It was like when Ron walked out during the Camping Trip from Hell. When Hugo and Rose threatened to boycott his wedding, Ron had seen red and eloped with Francine, though her pregnancy might have had something to do with that.

Water under the bridge, thought Hermione. She had to let it go. Physically better than she had been in years, there was reason to hope for the future.

Hermione yawned and stretched again. A few more minutes and she'd be able to get up and walk out of the treatment center. Without the walker. Maybe without the cane. In a few months, she might even be able to dance.

She heard him cough softly and turned to look at Severus Snape, his dark eyes taking in her enthusiastic stretch.

Impulsively, she offered Snape a broad smile.

"Doesn't it feel wonderful just to be able to move and not have anything hurt?"