Chapter Three
We Need Help

One week passed.

Two weeks passed.

When four weeks had passed without any signs of Hermione or Snape waking up, Madam Pomfrey was starting to lose hope. She had tried everything, and nothing had worked. It was a horrible sort of status quo, a status quo she was particularly reluctant in sharing with the Headmistress.

McGonagall was spending almost as much time in the Infirmary as Madam Pomfrey, and the matron was getting increasingly worried about the amount of blame McGonagall seemed to put on herself. On top of it all, fall was rapidly approaching, and with it, the start of term. Most of the staff had now moved back into the castle, and had, in a group effort, helped finish the last of the restorations.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, well into week six, when something finally happened.

Madam Pomfrey was doing her usual rounds, which basically meant checking that Hermione and Snape still breathed and had pulse, in-between paperwork and preparing for the new school year.

She bent over Hermione and tucked away a stray curl behind the younger woman's ear. Sighing loudly, her eyes flitted across the colorful get well-cards on Hermione's bedside table. A bright red one, with a moving and pulsating heart on the front, stood out from the rest. Madam Pomfrey knew it had Ron Weasley's signature written inside it.

Snape's table was empty, except for a single card from the Headmistress.

Madam Pomfrey watched Hermione's chest rise and fall, lost in thought.

Suddenly, there was a ruffling sound behind her. She whipped around and saw Snape, struggling to sit up in his bed, looking disgruntled and disoriented.

"I loathe this place," he coughed out. "I absolutely loathe it."

"Yes, yes," said Poppy excitedly, immediately at his side, helping him to sit up straight. "But you're alive!"

She quickly cast a couple of diagnostic spells, frowned, and then cast some more. "It still looks like … like you have contracted something extraordinarily foul, both of you have, I am sorry to say, Severus, but at least you're awake, unlike—" She glanced over at Hermione, who was sound asleep.

"How do you feel?" she asked, as she turned back to Snape, masking any kind of concern, and giving him a genuine smile.

"Fantastic," grunted Snape. "Never better."

"Don't be smart with me." Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "I've been looking after you day and night, you know," she said. "We didn't know if you would wake up at all," she added softly. "Are you in any pain?"

Snape closed his eyes. "No," he said slowly. "I feel … fine." He flexed his left arm. "Somewhat stiff." He looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Something has happened to my arm."

"It was broken," she answered. "In ten places."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"So, yes, some amount of stiffness is to be expected," said Madam Pomfrey and reached out to touch Snape's forehead. He immediately swatted her hand away.

"Enough," he said with a grimace, swinging his legs off the bed.

"Stop!" Madam Pomfrey gave him a look of utter disbelief. "What do you think you're doing? You can't leave! You aren't well enough!"

"Well, I most certainly cannot stay," scoffed Snape. He stood up, swaying slightly on the spot.

"Severus," said Madam Pomfrey pleadingly. "Let me at least—"

But Snape didn't listen. He took a couple of careful steps towards the doors. "I don't need your doting, Poppy. You know where to find me, but …" He paused for a moment, seemingly collecting himself. "I rather you did not."

ooo

Five minutes later, the door to Madam Pomfrey's office flew open.

"He woke up?" McGonagall stepped into the small space, her nostrils flaring.

Madam Pomfrey put down her quill and looked up from behind her desk. "My Patronus found you then, I take it."

"I was away for two hours!" McGonagall made a sound of frustration. "Not a single sign for six weeks! Not one! And the man insists on waking up when I am not here!" She sat down hard in the chair opposite Madam Pomfrey. "Why on earth didn't you stop him?"

"A Quidditch pitch full of Aurors couldn't have stopped him," said Madam Pomfrey indignantly. "Let alone me." She gestured towards a teapot and an empty cup on her desk. "Please help yourself to some tea."

McGonagall glared at the teapot. "I fail to see how tea will make any difference."

"Tea always makes the difference, Minerva."

Silence stretched between the women as McGonagall finally gave in and poured herself a cup. She took a small sip. "And Hermione?" she asked.

"Nothing." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Not a—" But before she could finish the sentence, an ear-piercing scream cut through the Infirmary. Both women jumped to their feet simultaneously, rushing out the door.

They found Hermione thrashing around violently in her bed, gasping for breath, her eyes shut tight.

"Hermione!" said McGonagall loudly, trying to hold onto the younger woman's arm. "You are safe! In the Infirmary, at Hogwarts!"

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She stared wildly around her. "Hurts—" she croaked, choking on her words.

"Don't say anything, dear," said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, momentarily confused by the empty cup of tea she still held clasped in her hand. She quickly put it away. "You have been unconscious for a long time."

Hermione looked at McGonagall and then at Madam Pomfrey, panic in her eyes.

"I will get her some Calming Draught," mumbled Madam Pomfrey and hurried over to a cabinet. She rummaged around for a bit and then came back with a small vial.

"You have been through a terrible ordeal, Miss Granger," she said. "This should help you relax." She unscrewed the cork and put the vial in Hermione's shaking hand, nodding encouragingly as the younger woman put it to her lips.

"There, that should do it," said McGonagall, not sounding convinced at all.

The Calming Draught kicked in almost instantly, making Hermione slouch back into her pillows, her eyes glazing over.

There was a soft knock on the front doors. They opened, and Ronald Weasley's familiar face peered inside.

"Eh, hello," said Ron breathlessly. "I heard Snape had woken up, so I thought maybe … maybe Hermione had woken up too." He took one uncertain step into the room.

"Ron?" said Hermione in a small voice, turning her head towards him.

"I'm here," he said quietly, making his way over to Hermione's bed. He sat down beside her, taking her hand in his. "I can't believe you're awake."

"How did you know about professor Snape, Ronald?" asked Madam Pomfrey in surprise.

Ron shrugged, a small blush spreading across his face. "I met Hagrid on the way from Hogsmeade, and he said that he probably was going mad because he thought he had seen Snape—"

"Professor Snape," said Hermione weakly.

"Eh, yeah. Right," said Ron. "So, I just started running," he continued, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "I wanted to see if it was true."

The two older women shared an understanding look. McGonagall cleared her throat. "Maybe you should stay with her for a while then," she said, and gave him a pat on the back. "We will give you some privacy." She beckoned for the matron the follow her. "Come Poppy."

"I will have the house elves bring you some food," said Madam Pomfrey to Ron. "Should she want any." She gave him a pointed look. "And call on me if anything happens. Anything. I mean it."

Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall retreated to the office once more. Madam Pomfrey transfigured a new cup from a glass paper weight and proceeded to pour fresh tea into their cups. It was already dark outside, but neither of the women took any notice.

"I won't lie, Minerva. I really don't know what to make of this," Madam Pomfrey said thoughtfully. "I haven't seen anything like it." She stirred her tea. "Hermione waking up only minutes after Severus... As if she somehow, unconsciously, could sense he had gone."

"That's impossible," said McGonagall.

"Of course," said Madam Pomfrey quickly. "It was just a thought."

Half an hour later, McGonagall was getting ready to return to her office. "It's getting late," she said, massaging her neck. "I doubt I will be of much use in this state."

"I should check on Miss Granger," said Madam Pomfrey. "I will follow you out."

But as soon as they stepped through the door and into the ward, Madam Pomfrey sensed that something was wrong. She hurried over to Hermione, who looked pale and feverish. Next to her, Ron had fallen asleep in his chair.

McGonagall gave Ron's shoulder a forceful prod. "You were supposed to watch her!"

"Wha—" said Ron groggily. He straightened up, rubbing at his eyes. "I must've fallen asleep."

"Clearly," said McGonagall.

"I don't know what's happening," said Madam Pomfrey, as she began muttering spells, her wand twirling in her hand. "She's slipping in and out of consciousness." She turned angrily towards Ron. "Has she been like this the whole time?"

"No!" he said defensively. "I mean, she was fine, until … I don't know, I don't think I've been sleeping that long!"

"You utter fool!" snapped McGonagall.

"Minerva!" Madame Pomfrey admonished, pulling her to the side. She glanced over at Ron, shaking her head. "It's him," she whispered. "I think he's making her worse."

McGonagall clenched her teeth. "Again, that is impossible."

"It's the only way I can explain it," said Madam Pomfrey impatiently.

"We need to fetch Severus," said McGonagall.

"And send Weasley home," added Madam Pomfrey, leaving no room for argument.

ooo

Snape arrived shortly after, panting slightly. His face was ashen and wet with sweat.

"What is this about?" he demanded, but his voice lacked its usual venom.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey hurried over to him. "You look awful!" she said, horrified.

Snape ignored the matron's outburst and turned to McGonagall. "Why am I here, Headmistress?"

"I need you to sit down," said McGonagall. "Miss Granger woke up about an hour ago, but instead of getting better, it seems her condition is getting worse."

"And this affects me how exactly?" drawled Snape.

"You two share this illness and we need to get to the bottom of it," snarled McGonagall. "Now sit, or Merlin forbid, I will make you!" She whipped out her wand, and for a second, something akin to fear flitted across Snape's features. McGonagall only shook her head as she pointed it to the chair Ron had been sitting on, transfiguring it into a purple armchair.

Snape sat down unsteadily, shooting a glance at the woman in the bed. She seemed to be in a deep sleep, her breathing shallow and rapid.

He exhaled silently. Ten minutes ago, he had been short of breath himself, and he had been feeling dizzy and nauseous ever since he woke up. The stairs to the Infirmary had been a nightmare. He breathed in deeply, feeling infinitely better. It was as if … as if. He shook his head and rubbed at his chest distractedly, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sleepiness.

Just before Snape drifted off to sleep, he caught a fragment of McGonagall's and Madam Pomfrey's hushed conversation. "Minerva," Snape heard Madam Pomfrey say. "It looks like Hermione's breathing has stabilized."

ooo

Madam Pomfrey shut the door to her office for Merlin knows what time that day.

"I was wrong," she said quietly. "It wasn't the presence of Ronald Weasley that made her worse."

McGonagall looked at her colleague, then focused on a spot on the wall, near the window, almost as if she was afraid of the answer. "Then what was it?"

Madam Pomfrey stood completely still, going through the last two hours in her head. "I think … it was the absence of Severus."

McGonagall grimaced. "I hate to admit it," she said, shaking her head. "But we need help. Immediately."

"I'll send a Patronus to St Mungo's right away," said Madam Pomfrey, whipping out her wand.

ooo

The response was immediate. The fireplace in Madam Pomfrey's office sprung to life mere minutes after she had sent her Patronus, and shortly after, two men came crashing through.

"Where are they?" barked an older gentleman, as soon as his feet touched the wooden floor.

"There's no need to shout," said McGonagall, clutching at her chest.

"I'll be the judge of that, madam," retorted the older man grimly.

"McGonagall," snapped McGonagall. "And it's not madam, it is—"

"Don't you think for one second that I care about your title!" The man rounded on her. He had piercing blue eyes, and a large, hooked nose. His beard was snowy white and neatly trimmed, and he wore a thick brown suit underneath his robes.

"The damage you might have caused those two people!" He pointed in the direction of the door, red in the face from shouting. "They might already be beyond saving, for all I know!"

"Whatever do you mean?" McGonagall's eyebrows shot up, nearly touching her hairline.

"Six weeks!" the man continued. "Is this a hospital? Is this a special ward?"

"I assure you, Poppy Pomfrey is—"

"The answer is no!" The man glared at McGonagall. "You've singlehandedly undermined my whole profession!" He waved his hand impatiently. "Enough of this. Just take me to them."

When McGonagall didn't move, Madam Pomfrey quietly opened the door and showed him outside. McGonagall stayed behind, closing her eyes.

"I'm sorry about that, madam—McGonagall. Headmistress," the younger man said nervously. "I'm Gilbert Moss, junior assistant to …" He shot a glance at the now wide open door. "Ralph Kimper. We're here to help. I'm not sure he made that point quite clear." He gave her a tentative smile. "And if anyone can sort this out, it's Ralph. He's the leading specialist in spell damage, he is."

McGonagall snorted. "Is he now?"

ooo

"That's Hermione Granger," Madam Pomfrey whispered, pointing towards the cot where Hermione lay sleeping. "And that's Severus Snape."

Snape's head lolled forward, almost touching his chest, as light snores escaped from his lips.

"Good," murmured Kimper.

"Good?" said McGonagall, who had now joined them. "This is anything but good."

"It's good that they're both here," said Kimper, emphasizing every word. "It's a tandem curse," he muttered, beckoning the group away from Snape and Hermione so they could talk freely. "That much is obvious." He stroked his beard. "I've come across it a couple of times before. The effects are horrendous. And the counter curse is hard to procure."

"What-what do we do?" Poppy said, her voice wavering.

"First of all," Kimper said. "They need to be as close to each other as they can, until we've found the counter curse. When the curse hatches—"

"Hatches!" Madam Pomfrey shrieked in alarm, putting one hand over her mouth.

"Well, yes," said Kimper, shooting a glance at Snape and Hermione. "The caster of the curse usually plants it somewhere in the open, somewhere easily spotted. Then someone well-meaning comes along and tries to break it, unaware that the curse will do the exact opposite. It hatches, or buries itself, in the nearest living thing, you see. In this case him." He nodded towards Snape. "And your Miss Granger, there." Kimper scratched his nose. "If those living things are too far apart, the curse tries to bring its pieces together." He pulled out a small plastic bag of tobacco, putting a piece of it under his upper lip. "Nasty piece of dark magic, this is."

McGonagall looked at the bag, and then at Mr Kimper's lip, frowning in disgust. Mr Kimper ignored her. "See to it that Miss Granger and Mr—"

"Professor Snape," said Madam Pomfrey.

Kimper stopped for a fraction of a second. "Right, Professor Snape …" He trailed off, turning to his assistant. "Gil, this is more urgent than I thought. Send your Patronus to our headquarters right this minute."

Gilbert nodded and walked away.

Kimper pulled out a quill from his robes and scribbled something on a piece of parchment. "As I said. They need to be in the same vicinity, at the very least. That will make them feel … alright. The further away they are from each other, the worse the effects will be."

"What happens if … if they—" Madam Pomfrey broke off.

"Usually the curse starts eating away at its host from the inside," Kimper said. "An awfully painful procedure. Eventually they… well, there's no nice way of putting it. They die."

Madame Pomfrey gasped.

"Look," said Kimper. "I understand that this is shocking, and that it will be certain ... problems connected to this, but you'll have to find a way to inform them of the situation. It's crucial that the stay together." He put away his quill and parchment. "If they want to live, that is, and most of us do," he said off-handedly. "But we will do our outmost to find a counter curse, I promise you that."

Madme Pomfery nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes.

Kimper looked at her, almost sadly. "Body contact sometimes makes it easier."

Madam Pomfrey let out a yelp. "What!"

"Nothing like that, mind you." Kimper held up his hands. "But if they feel overwhelmed by the side effects … Nausea, rashes and such, it helps to, for instance, hold hands."

Madam Pomfrey paled visibly. "Day and night?" she whispered.

"It varies," answered Kimper. "Depending on how long they've been subjected to the curse. In some rare cases, the victims can be apart for hours without being sick. But in most cases, there's a rather rigid timeframe."

He gave Madam Pomfrey an apologetic look. "And, eh, I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. I'm sure you do a splendid job here." He turned to McGonagall. "But if you had contacted us earlier, this might have been solved already."