A/N: I wasn't planning on updating today, but I heard kind things. So many thanks to those of you who reviewed.
The walls of the hospital were a barren, sickly green color. The sterility of the room gave the muggle hospital an eerie feel. There was only one window in the far corner of the room and the dank drapes that covered it blocked what little light might have shown through. There were three beds in a line along the wall, each with an eggshell white privacy curtain and a stiff-backed chair that sat across from the foot of each bed. However, only one of the three beds was occupied.
Hermione's labored breathing nearly echoed in the small room. Her mother sat rocking herself back and forth trying to search for the words she so desperately needed to say. Nervously chewing on her tongue, she began.
"He-He promised to stop." Her mother broke off. Hermione glared at her mother. Rage quelled up inside her, but her face, except her glowering eyes, remained impassive. "He's a lovely guy, and he has helped me so much after John," She paused after the look on Hermione's face and continued, "—Your father's passing. I do love him, Hermione."
Hermione looked at her mother with disgust. How dare she love him. How dare she love that thing that beat her to the point where the nurses at St. Vrain's knew her on a first bloody name basis. Her eyes glanced up at the x-ray hanging on the wall. Last time it was her wrist, this time he fractured ribs. What next? Her neck? And her own mother loves that man. She could not dwell on those thoughts much longer, because Nurse O'Doherty bustled in with a clipboard in tow. She smiled at Hermione warmly, but mournfully. She completely ignored the mother with whom she would never sympathize with. O'Doherty could never understand what kind of woman let those so-called "accidents" continue.
"Hello, Hermione." She said in a dulcet tone. "I've got the results of the lab, and everything checks out fine. That rib should heal in one to two months. Dr. Moore wrote up a prescription for some pain medication. Your breathing will be painful, but these should alleviate some of the sting. A roller skating accident, Hermione?" She tried again to dig up the truth, but Hermione just glared at her mother.
"Yes, a roller skating accident. Isn't that right Mother?" Hermione responded acerbically. Her mother merely nodded as if she had other pressing issues and she just wanted to leave.
"Alright, Hermione," the nurse sighed. "A social worker has been notified since this is the fourth time in the past two months. I hope you understand. He will be in shortly to speak with you both…individually."
"Excuse me?" Hermione's mother addressed Nurse O'Doherty for the first time in a waspish tone. "Are you saying that you think something else happened to my baby?"
"I think you'll find that I am not insinuating that anything out of the ordinary happened to your baby, but perhaps you'll agree that your sudden outburst seems a little odd. The social worker will be in shortly, and I hope you have some real answers."
At that, the nurse left, and a middle-aged man strode into the room surveying the room stiffly. He stood at about 5'6" and looked peculiar with his small beady eyes and thinning, grey hair.
"Mrs. and Miss Granger, I presume?" He asked in a squeaky voice entirely unsuitable for a man of his age. With their nods of assent, he continued. "If I could have a moment to speak to… let's have Mrs. Granger first. Out in the hall my dear." Mrs. Granger stood slowly and reluctantly left the room leaving Hermione alone in the room.
Hermione sat on the firm bed caught in her own musings. What would that pathetic excuse of a man be able to do for her? At this she paused. When had she become so caustic; she didn't use to think such things. Where was the girl who called for House-Elf liberation? Who was she becoming? She thought back to the previous night. He had found her hiding place. Where would she go now? Thoughts unbidden of despondency and isolation inundated her senses. She was alone. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she shook her head angrily. She would not give him the satisfaction of making her cry.
Snape sat in his quarters staring at a fire a House Elf undoubtedly lit. His hand clutched a fire whiskey, and he was lost staring at the flicks of shadow in the light. He was to pick up Miss Granger at her place of living prompt at nine o'clock. Dumbledore's plan seemed reasonable, but he couldn't get past the thought if someone had been sent to pick him at his house all those years ago. As a piece of wood crumbled in the fireplace, Snape recalled one night he would never forget.
~*~*~Flashback~*~*~
Snape stood at the window staring out at the snow falling delicately. Entranced by each flake twirling down contrasting the dark night with its brilliant bright color. His mother was inside the kitchen cooking something that smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and something he couldn't put his finger on. He ran merrily past the beautifully decorated and well lit Christmas tree to find the source of that delicious smell. His mother greeted him with a warm smile and grabbed a pair of oven mitts from a pantry. She glided towards the oven with unparalleled grace. She reached inside the oven and pulled out his favorite: apple pie.
A smile broke out on Severus' face as he looked at his mother with a questioning gaze. His mother had told him he would be able to have a slice after dinner. In his boyish anticipation of a delectable home cooked meal, He eagerly helped his mother prepare the rest of the food: the roasted duck and steamed vegetables, the French bread his mother labored to make and that perfect apple pie. Despite all the preparation, dinner never came that night.
The table had been set for two. The napkins folded to resemble elegant swans were left untouched. The food placed out on the table. The roasted duck rested cut on the plates with the vegetables growing cold. The French bread remained uneaten in a basket covered with a white napkin so they would stay warm. The utensils left in their places unmoved. Except for one. The knife that had been placed next to Severus' apple pie had been moved.
Tobias had come home that night after an unannounced two-week binge. He was drunk and reeked of the vile stench of alcohol. When he swaggered in, he saw his wife and twelve-year-old son in the kitchen, his eyes flicked towards the table. Rage swelled inside him when he saw two, not three places made. Stomping up to the table he grabbed the knife and walked towards a frightened wife. Severus, who anticipated his father's actions bravely stalked up to his father, but with one swing the boy lay crumpled on the floor. Watching in horror at the events that began to unfold. His mother started to run towards him, and in hardly a moments time lay bleeding on the floor. Tobias Snape left as quickly as he came and Severus was left to frantically try to find help. None came.
~*~*~End of flashback~*~*~
A clock gave a half-past chime and shook him from his thoughts. 8:30. He threw his beverage into the fire which awoke the drowsy flame and strode over to his potions cabinet withdrawing a sobering vial. He drained its contents and looked at the clock. Only a minute had passed. Sick of waiting, he grabbed an outer cloak, and after a moment he went to the same cabinet and grabbed some necessary healing potions. The ominous silhouette of Professor Snape advancing towards the Hogwarts' gates could be seen by the Headmaster's office window where Dumbledore watched Snape reach the outer gates and Apparate. Dumbledore let out a sigh. I hope I've done the right thing.
A/N: Read and review, eh?