The antiseptic tang of St. Mungo's rushed up to greet me, the low hum of the hospital gradually filtering through the static filling my ears. I lay prone and oddly numb in a too-soft bed; other than that detachment, I could tell nothing of my condition.

Gunk had sealed my eyes shut, and it took a great deal of effort to pry them open. The room slowly resolved into blurry shapes and colours, but no matter how much I blinked, it refused to come into focus.

There was blob huddled directly to my right, and from the crazy brown fuzz that topped it and the petite frame, I deduced that it was Granger.

"Whaggnhnhnh…" was the best I could manage, but it was enough to get her attention. Jerking, Granger sat up, reaching across the bed to carefully take my hand.

"Severus?" she asked, sounded utterly weary and exhausted.

Swallowing hard—my throat felt like it had recently hosted a three-day music festival—I tried again. "Cannt… see."

She rose, hands fluttering. "Of course. You still have residue from the vision unguent coating your eyes. Hold on." She moved away, and I heard a running tap. Returning to my side, she leaned down. "Steady now…"

A warm flannel brushed across my face, and I heard her murmur a cleansing charm. When she removed the cloth, the world abruptly regained its sharp edges, and I squinted against the sudden light.

"Close your eyes if you start seeing any spots," Granger ordered. "You almost lost your sight."

With a grunt, I shifted in the bed to glare at her. My eyebrow—and indeed, my entire face—refused to cooperate in the gesture, and I was left staring at her like a simpleton. Thankfully, she understood the look and resumed speaking.

"You've been in a coma for three days. We're at St. Mungo's, but I rather think you've figured that out. I don't know if you recall, but we were sent on a raid and got pinned down beside a brick wall when it all went to shit. The wall collapsed. For some idiotic reason," she continued acidly, "you had placed a shielding charm over me, but not yourself. When the wall collapsed…"

Her voice cracked. "Your head and face took the brunt of the damage from the bricks. There was considerable swelling on your brain due to a skull fracture, and three of your front teeth were knocked out. You also fractured both cheekbones and the left side of your jaw, as well as your nose. And then there was the damage to your eyes..."

That explained the strange numbness in my face; all the required healing charms and potions meant it would be several days before full feeling returned. Given the laundry list of injuries, I wasn't looking forward to the coming attractions.

"You?" I croaked, seeing the faint wisps of green and blue bruising on her arms that indicated she'd gotten hurt as well.

Granger shrugged dismissively. "Some bumps and bruises. A bit of magical depletion. As promised, Harry has a load of paperwork to do."

Her expression was suddenly closed off, and it made my gut twist with guilt. Had Granger been forced to kill someone for my sake? Had one of the other investigative teams been hurt? I examined what I could see of her for clues. Granger was wearing a pair of faded hospital scrubs instead of robes, her face pale and hollow-eyed, and I thought I could see several sprigs of hay sticking from her hair. She hadn't been taking care of herself then; more than likely she'd only hit herself with a cleansing charm and hadn't eaten a decent meal in three days because she'd chosen to chain herself to my bedside instead.

Foolish, sentimental woman, I thought tiredly, a haze starting to descend and muddling my thoughts. "You needashower…"

Shock coloured her continence. "Three days in a coma, and that's all you have to say to me!? Christ, Severus!" she exclaimed, hurt obvious.

My vision started to go dark around the edges, and faintly, I could hear Lily's mocking laugh at my latest verbal cock-up. That's not what I meant at all, I thought, but the words got stuck in my throat. I just want you to take care of yourself…

Granger didn't say anything else, and I was powerless to resist the lure of Morpheus. Eyes finally falling shut, I sunk into unconscious.

The last thing I heard was a wet sniff as if someone had started crying.

The light in the room was completely different when I woke for the second time. I turned my head and saw that the chair next to my bed was empty.

A dull sort of resignation filled me, the echo of Granger's sniff loud in my mind. I wasn't surprised that I had finally driven her off. It didn't help that purposely held her at arms' length—I didn't even use her first name in the privacy of my own thoughts. Regrets and what-ifs swirled thickly, but this time my mind was clear enough from the potions that I made some headway in freezing them out. Slowly, I began to count the spots on the ceiling.

"Finally awake, are you?" I jumped at the unexpected question, rolling to my other side to confront the unknown person.

Angry emerald eyes met mine, the impact still a slap even after several decades.

Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Become-A-Bureaucrat-And-My-Bloody-Boss, sat in the opposite chair, a truly massive pile of paperwork at his elbow. A small phial lay on the table, and he reached for it.

"The Healers said you were to drink this as soon as you woke up again," he said, standing up to slide an arm behind my back. I managed to not flinch at the touch as he helped me to sit up. Popping open the cork, he held it to my mouth.

It tasted strongly of anise, and as it trickled down my gut, seemed to remove the last layer of gauze that sheltered me from reality. Experimentally, I swallowed hard, noting a clear improvement in my throat.

"Where is she?" I asked gruffly, pleased at my ability to articulate once more.

Potter walked over the small sink by the lav, filling a paper cup with water. Wordlessly, he handed it over, eyes clinically sweeping over me.

"As you ordered, Hermione's left to take a shower and change. I asked Kingsley to drag her to the cantina when she's finished to finally get some food. She'll be back shortly, I imagine."

She's not gone. She hasn't left me for good. I relaxed weakly back onto the pillows, feeling vaguely ridiculous in thinking that she'd left for good and relieved that Potter hadn't forgotten Granger's habit of neglecting herself in times of stress.

"What happened?" I asked again, my earlier concerns about the raid returning to the forefront.

"Other than you almost getting killed due to your utter carelessness?" Potter shot back.

"Yes, other than that, Potter. Did anyone die?"

He sighed in frustration, dropping back in his chair. "No, thank Merlin. After you got pummelled by the wall, Hermione let loose with a blast of wild magic that knocked everyone—criminal, Auror, or Unspeakable alike—in a thousand feet radius out cold. I had just arrived with a term of reinforcements and caught the last of it. I still have a ruddy migraine, and it's been three days."

Taking a deep breath in, I marshalled my thoughts. "How badly was she hurt?"

"Broken arm, and some deep cuts and a myriad of bruises. She was also pretty drained from exerting that much magic and then getting you here in one piece." Seeing my expression, he added, "She'll be fine in a couple of days, Snape."

"Good," I grunted, moving my legs about to see what my chances of walking in the near future might be.

"Good?" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "That's all you have to say?"

"To you, yes." It was petty, but I did enjoy winding him up. Silver linings, and all that rot.

"In case you've forgotten, I am the Head of the Department, and you work for me!"

"And I'll make my report within the required forty-eight hours of leaving the hospital."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Snape? Do you care at all?"

The golden desires of my dreams floated through my thoughts, and I felt my own antagonism spike. "I care," I said through clenched teeth, wondering how the boy could be so completely blind even after all these years. In some ways, he was far more Albus Dumbledore's protégée than James Potter's son. Potter Senior at least credited me with lasting feelings.

"If you care so much, then why did you act with an utter disregard for the normal safety protocols? You can keep up a shield spell longer than anyone I know, and yet when you needed it? Nothing!" Potter leaned close, gaze sparking. "I know that you don't give a fiddler's damn about your own sorry hide, but do you have any idea what it would have done to Hermione to lose you? When she brought you here, she was an absolute mess. I've never seen her so hysterical, not even during the worst of it!"

As intended, guilt assailed me, and it took all my self-control to not lash out.

"Harry," Granger interrupted suddenly from the doorway. For all that she was cleaned up, she still looked like hell. "Enough. Save the lecturing for me."

"Mione—"

"Don't," she said tersely. "We've already been through this. Severus shifted his shields over to cover me and was sending out a load of defensive hexes to boot. One person can only do so much. If the wall hadn't have collapsed, he would have been fine."

"But it did," he returned stubbornly.

Granger's shoulders slumped. "Harry, I can't do this right now."

Instantly, the fight left Potter, and he stepped forward to give her a hug. She leaned into the gesture, and I was both jealous of the natural affection and reassured that Potter wasn't a total fuckwit when it counted.

"Severus…" she began but got no further when the door crashed open, a bustling figure appearing. My body automatically tensed, the lack of privacy grating on my already shredded nerves.

"I see our patient is awake and alert! Wonderful!" said a Healer in the overly officious tones that I despised. "I'm Healer Linton. How are we feeling?"

I glared at the woman—my eyebrow cooperated this time—and pointedly said, "I would like to know what my course of treatment will be."

Her pale blue eyes narrowed, but she answered readily enough. "You'll be on two more courses of Blood Replenisher and Skel-Gro, as well as a round of antibiotics. We need to monitor your cerebrospinal fluid levels to ensure that there isn't a leak or infection…"

Letting her natter on, I planned my exit.

"…and in conclusion, you should only need to be here another five to seven days before we can clear you. You can't do any magic until then, but on the plus side, you won't snore anymore, and I think that you will find your smile much improved after all the work we've done!"

Not bloody likely, I told myself, a pounding headache starting. "To paraphrase, I need several courses of the more common healing potions, the occasional monitoring charm to make sure my brain doesn't fall into rot, and physical therapy to regain muscle tone."

Healer Linton blinked several times, sensing the trap. "Yes."

"Good. I want the self-discharge paperwork and my wand back. I'll be leaving as soon as I am dressed."

"Mr Snape," the woman spluttered, affronted. "Did you hear anything that I just said to you? Your health is so incredibly delicate… you can't possibly leave now!"

"I assure you, I not only can, I will." As if to prove my point, I swung my legs out of bed, shivering at the sensation of cold tiles on my bare toes. I wasn't stupid, however; rather than trying to stand immediately, I remained sitting, letting my blood pressure stabilise.

My gaze flicked briefly over to Granger; her face had lost what little colour it had regained, although she had retained her cool mask of dispassion. Damn…

"It's impossible!" the Healer exclaimed.

"No, it's not," I countered flatly. "I've cared for myself with far worse injuries, and I won't stay in this place a minute longer than I must."

At that, the blasted Healer puffed up like an angry, yapping Pomeranian. "Mr Snape, you need to be reasonable. When the pain potions wear off, you will be in agony-"

"So be it," I cut her off and stood. The room spun lazily around me a few times but evened out quickly enough. I was reluctantly impressed with the quality of pharmaceuticals I had been given.

"I should call in the mind-Healers to do a mental eval," Linton muttered, glaring daggers at me.

In one neat movement, Granger slipped protectively between myself and the Healer, Potter moving swiftly to her side. Her voice was clipped and no-nonsense when she spoke.

"No, you won't. As his medical proxy, I'll be the one making that sort of decision if he is judged to be incapable, which he is currently not."

"You aren't a Healer," Linton spat.

"No, I am not. But neither am I an idiot." Waving her hands dismissively towards the door, Granger continued. "I want to speak with Severus privately. Out, both of you."

Potter promptly dragged the Healer from the room, shutting the door behind them with a satisfying click. I subsided back on the bed, watching Granger.

"What is this about, Severus?" she asked.

"You know what it was like the last time I was here. I was a bloody circus exhibit. Hordes of people were in and out of my room at all hours, and most were trying to convince me to let them experiment on my Mark. I won't go through that again."

Granger sighed softly. "Yes, but as much as I hate to admit it, the Healer was right. You'll be in agony once the pain potions wear off. I don't think you realise just how high you are right now."

I shrugged. "I have a fair idea." Seeing that she was unconvinced, I brought out the big guns. "Please, Hermione. I can't stay here."

Begging shamelessly worked, although it made me feel like a bastard when her brown eyes went wet with unshed tears. Without conscious thought, my hand floated out to stroke the soft skin of her cheek.

High, indeed, I thought, revelling at the feeling. In for a pence… "Come here," I ordered quietly, wanting nothing more than to give her comfort and to be comforted in return.

She obeyed with alacrity, and as her arms encircled my waist, the knot of tension in my chest loosened. I didn't touch her often—and it was a familiarity that I never encouraged—and that alone made it a pleasure sweeter than candy floss. Her warmth chased away some of the clinical coldness, and I let my head rest upon hers, smelling the fresh scent of coconut in her hair.

"Are you really alright?" I asked, letting one hand slowly stroke the graceful column of her spine.

I felt her huff against my shoulder. "Physically? Yes. The rest? Not so much." She tilted her head up, and we stared at each other. "When I Apparated in, I thought you were dead. And it wasn't until last night that your condition started to improve."

The obvious concern and wealth of affection in her expression left me tongue-tied. For a brief second, I almost considered making any one of several foolish statements; then a muffled argument coming from the hallway broke the spell.

"I'm a tough old bastard," I said dryly, releasing her.

Granger rolled her eyes. "'Tough Old Bastard' is not synonymous with indestructible, you know."

"I do."

Huffing again, she stepped back. "I'll only agree to you leaving against medical advice with several provisos."

"Name them." I missed her warmth immediately, and my fingers itched to pull her back into my arms.

"You stay with me in the cottage. I'm not having you go back to that horrid flat in Islington alone until I know that you have sufficiently recovered. Have you even finished unpacking yet?"

"No," I drawled, greatly relieved that she wasn't going to fight me.

"As I thought… secondly, you will follow all of my instructions and take all of your medications. No arguing, no bartering. You do as I say when I say it."

It would be a queer sort of torture to stay with Granger in her home, but I wasn't keen on going it alone. As the saying went, beggars can't be choosers.

"Agreed."

She looked at me suspiciously; I never gave in this easily. "Finally, you will put up with me using whatever diagnostic charms I deem necessary, and if I don't like something I see, you will either submit to me fetching Pomfrey, or we come back here immediately."

"Again, agreed."

"Now I know you must have a head injury," she muttered, moving to the cupboard on the far wall. Opening it, she pulled out a small beaded reticule. Shoving her arm farther into the bag than non-magically possible, she finally emerged brandishing an old rucksack of mine.

Walking back over the bed, Granger tossed it on the coverlet. "There's your spare set of clothes. Do you want me to send Harry in to help you?"

"No." I would have to be dead before I would submit to Potter helping me pull up my pants.

"Fine." Hand streaking out snake-like, Hermione reached behind me and slipped her hand through the gap of my hospital gown. Before I could react, she slapped me hard on the bare arse and then retreated to the door.

My face went as red as my bum. I stood shocked, at an utter loss for words.

Granger smirked, humour dancing over her face for the first time. "Now, go get dressed like a good little boy."

"You perv!"

"Has it really taken you all this time to figure that out?"

She was halfway out the door before I could summon the brain cells to respond. "Nurse Ratched?" I called, waiting for her to turn around. "If you can bust me out of here in less than an hour, I'll give you my copy of 'Libri Turpis Veneni' that you've been drooling over."

"Challenge accepted." And with that, my lady knight squared her shoulders and went to slay dragons on my behalf.

A/N~ Many, many thanks, lovely readers. Your excited reaction to this story made me feel like a million galleons. Hugs to everyone who fav'd and followed, as well as meg527, Fragilereality, Ali Sara Card, Drasticactions, Bananniejones, civilwarrose, roon0, houstonclay, Kailin, pgoodrichboggs, and Haveyouseenmyprefectbadge for leaving comments. Seeing so many familiar names made me grin!

Nurse Ratched is a reference to the head nurse (and villainous battleaxe) of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'.