A/N: Thank you again for all of your lovely feedback! That goes for all you fantastic Guest reviewers, too, whom I can't personally reply to. It truly makes my day to hear what readers are thinking and feeling about my work, whether it's this new story or another one. (Pssst, please keep it up!) :)

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

Chapter 4: Strength and Will

"Our culture has filled our heads but emptied our hearts, stuffed our wallets but starved our wonder. It has fed our thirst for facts but not for meaning or mystery. It produces 'nice' people, not heroes."
-Peter Kreeft, Jesus-Shock

Snape's sour attitude in the days that followed didn't improve, leaving Hermione to exercise patience. After all, she could only imagine how terribly lost the man must be feeling, having missed out on an entire year and a half of life, only to wake up and discover everything he had worked so hard for was now null and gone. The last time he had been awake, Hogwarts was under attack and the outcome of the Wizarding world was uncertain. The next thing Snape knew, he had awoken in hospital to a new world, with his many long years of dangerous espionage discarded like one of Weasley Wizards Wheezes' ineffective inventions.

Hermione certainly had her own reasons to seethe, too. Healer Smethwyck had taken the liberty of scampering to the papers to present several less than appropriate statements to The Daily Prophet about the professor's health, informing the curious public that the former Desirable Number One was "awake, alert, and on the mend."

Hardly! Hermione snorted to herself. It wasn't as if the man had bothered to set foot into Snape's room since nearly having his finger bitten off.

Although he didn't breach patient confidentiality, Smethwyck did step over the line. He spoke boisterously of the aggressive treatment methods he had falsely invented to combat the wizard's afflictions, which left Hermione in a bottled up tether of outrage, unable to unleash her rage until within the privacy of her lonely London flat.

Naturally, she hadn't received any credit for overseeing the wizard's care the past several months. That infuriated her enough, particularly as the papers' showcased a repulsive amount of gloating, mainly over Smethwyck's "exceeding patience" in treating such "an uncooperative patient" as Snape. What had the Slytherin ever done to deserve that?

He barely survived a snake attack!

Augustus reassured his trainee not to despair, but the newspapers' general ill opinion of Severus Snape was what ultimately set Hermione's blood boiling, more so than her own lack of credit. Smethwyck's unamiable remarks simply didn't help her frustrations, and considering his careful tactic of giving the papers enough juicy gossip to satisfy whilst not breaching patient confidentiality, that left Smethwyck free to continue putting Hermione and the rest of the staff on pins and needles.

"You're taking this awfully personally, you know," Gwendle remarked with raised eyebrows a day or two after Smethwyck broke the news to the Prophet.

"I can't help it, Gwendle! You read what they're saying! You saw Smethwyck's remarks! Snape has—what was it?—oh, 'the mindset of an animal, who needs to be carefully re-introduced back into society.' The man just came out of a coma, for Merlin's sake, only to find his entire world turned upside down! It's little wonder he's cross and at odds with everyone. Good grief!"

"I know, Hermione. I understand that; really, I do. The poor man has to be overwhelmed. Erm, he did bite Smethwyck, though—"

"The idiot deserved it! You don't go charging into a patient's room and assault him with all sorts of invasive questioning right after he wakes up! Apparently, he was up in the professor's face, and quite aggressive; very unprofessional, Gwendle."

"Yes, you have a point there..."

"Snape was a spy at one time. Anyone who's anyone knows that the man is likely prone to post-traumatic stress and extreme paranoia. That's the very last tactic Smethwyck should've exercised in getting answers! He's lucky Snape didn't get a hold of his wand! Not that I think he could've, given his limited mobility but..."

"You have to admit, it would've been comical to see Smethwyck have the tables turned on him!"

Gwendle burst into lighthearted laughter, and Hermione couldn't help but join in. "Yes, it would! It would be no less than that hot-headed sod deserves!"

"He's really getting out of control. Even Augustus can't reel him in."

"Well, he's going to have to do something soon, or we're all going to be in trouble. Half the patients are threatening to file complaints against him as it is! He needs to sort himself out."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, zoning in on the back of the Healer's head. Smethwyck stood with his back turned at the Healers' station, riling on a young Mediwitch about something or other, who looked to be on the verge of tears. He slammed a few charts down in front of her and proceeded to make a general ruckus.

"And stay away from my patients who are struggling enough as it is," Hermione added with bite.

Once Smethwyck stalked away out of sight, Hermione and Gwendle made a point of going to the poorly distraught Mediwitch to offer whatever reassurance they could. The emotional girl eventually calmed herself down to return to her rounds, which then allowed Hermione to disappear into Snape's room for a check on how he was fairing.

Hermione frowned when she discovered a copy of said Prophet tightly grasped in the professor's hands. She had no idea how he had gotten his hands on the newspaper, but his acute glowering was obvious and, to Hermione, justified, nevertheless.

Snape shot her a silent look of disdain, either for her or the article, Hermione wasn't sure which, and proceeded to ignore her as she went about her usual business. He didn't bring up Smethwyck's remarks, and Hermione didn't dare touch on the subject herself.

The remainder of that week proved uneventful and without much progress in the wizard's general attitude. Snape retained his crabby temper, with the Prophet's lengthy headline only contributing to his not wanting to accept any of Hermione's help.

Hermione was at least pleased to see Snape making little, though steady, improvements to his health, despite his sour outlook. By the following week, Snape was able to work his throat muscles more thoroughly, as well as eat and swallow on his own. It was exciting to also hear the regaining of some of that deep baritone Hermione remembered well.

"I'm proud of you, Professor!" she exclaimed, after attending to his wounds late one morning. "You're making remarkable strides this week!"

"'Remarkable,'" he snorted under his breath, averting his eyes from hers, which turned downcast.

"Well, it is true, Sir. I know you must be very discouraged right now, but, in all fairness—"

"You don't know how I feel, Granger!" he snapped, trying to recoil from the witch's persistent optimism, though there was nowhere to go. "Don't speak for me!"

"My apologies." Hermione bowed respectfully and cleansed her hands with her wand, which had been covered in the scar ointment she was rubbing on his throat, though it hadn't been accomplished without a great deal of convincing on her part. "I wasn't trying to speak for you, just trying to offer my understanding."

"Well, you can't possibly understand," he grumbled, "and I don't need you to."

Hermione resented that statement, and it showed on her face when she boldly replied back to him, "I daresay you do need someone to understand, Sir. You're overwhelmed by what's happened to you. I understand that. It's an awful lot to digest, but that's why I'm here to help you."

"I've told you, I don't need anything from you!"

"On the contrary, Professor, you're in here for a reason, are you not?"

"I—" Snape abruptly closed his mouth, finding himself both cross and trumped by the question.

Spotting several days-worth of Daily Prophets on his nightstand, Hermione quietly snatched them up, never diverting her steady gaze from her livid patient. "I think we should get rid of these," she whispered, choosing her words with care.

"What? No!" Snape snarled and outstretched his hand to take them back. "Give me those, Granger!"

Hermione backed away, however. "I don't think you should be reading these."

"I've just come back to the Wizarding world, you wretched girl!" he snarled in protest. "I have every right to be brought up to speed on what—"

"No, I'm sorry, Sir, but the foul remarks you're reading about yourself in The Daily Prophet won't do anything to aid your recovery. Therefore, I'd prefer you didn't have access to these for the time being."

"What makes you think I give a rat's arse what anyone thinks?"

Hermione had to admit, Snape had a point there. Although he might not have cared, however, Hermione wasn't about to cave so easily.

"I care," she challenged with feeling, for the first time raising her voice to him.

A mixture of confusion and surprise passed by Snape's dark eyes before his unhappy sneer resurfaced. "Why, you presumptuous little nag!" Pushing forward against his pillows, Snape gave her a murderous stare down that made her spine shudder. "Where have you been the past several years? Have you grown so thick-headed in my time asleep that you've conveniently forgotten all the things insinuated about me before in that ruddy paper you're holding, Granger? It doesn't matter! And you have no business telling me what I can and cannot read!"

"I... It's not that, Professor. I just think it's unhelpful."

"'Unhelpful'?"

"It's only going to discourage you, even if you claim to not care. It's not going to help."

"Except that one of your own superiors already spoke about me to the Prophet," Snape hissed excitedly. "So, what's the bloody difference?"

Hermione's shoulders caved; he had finally brought it up. "If I had known about that, Sir, I would've discouraged him from doing so..."

"Bollocks, Granger!" Snape spat quietly through a clenched jaw.

"It's true, Professor! I'd have tried to put a stop to it had I known, honest. I... I'm terribly sorry..."

Snape's eyebrows angled, the anger momentarily leaving his face to be replaced by befuddlement. "Why are you sorry?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Well, I just think your reemergence into the Wizarding world should've been your decision to disclose, not ours." Snape didn't so much as blink, only stared up at Hermione with his piercing black eyes. "I'd venture to guess that, given the opportunity, you would've preferred to make your presence known in your own time, or perhaps not at all."

Finding himself stumped again by the young witch, who was very well correct in her assumptions, Snape fell back against his pillows and muttered in frustration, "There you go again, speaking for me." He added as an afterthought, "In any case, it isn't your fault, Granger."

Taken aback by the less abrasion in his tone, Hermione chanced pressing delicately, "I'm really not trying to speak for you, Sir. I just don't believe reading negative comments about yourself, which aren't true anyhow, when you already have so much on your plate is helpful. Rather, it's a hindrance. Therefore, no more reading The Daily Prophet until I say so."

Ignoring more of Snape's bitter objections, Hermione uttered an incantation under her breath and the newspapers dematerialized, leaving Snape more outraged than ever. His face contorted into an animated fury.

"Why you meddlesome—"

"Professor, that isn't necessary either. I'm only trying to help you."

"Why?" Snape threw up his hands in resignation; he suddenly appeared terribly weak and almost childlike, cradled amongst the pillows that kept his frail-looking body upright, with several heavy blankets that devoured his too-lean form. "Why are you bothering, Granger? Why?"

Hermione gave him a puzzled look over. "Because you're my patient, Professor. That's why..."

"I'd rather I wasn't!"

"Please don't say that," she implored him quietly. "I know you're upset, but there's no need to shout—"

"Just go!"

"I'm afraid I can't, Sir," Hermione insisted and took a deep breath. "Not until you've taken your tonics here and I run a few more diagnostic tests."

Snape grudgingly crossed his arms over his chest and turned away to scowl at the wall instead of her. To Hermione, he looked sadly small, lost to the misery and discomfort that clearly plagued his mind and body, but she willed herself to carry on with her duties. Snape drank every phial she handed him, though not without inspecting the contents first, and continued to avoid eye contact.

Once Hermione was through checking his vital signs and documenting a few notes into his chart, she offered him the warmest smile she could muster. "I'll leave you to rest a while," she issued softly, to which Snape merely rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and burrowed himself into a cocoon beneath his many blankets. "Is there anything I can get you, Professor? Tea? Something to eat, perhaps?"

"No."

"Would you like another blanket?"

"No."

Hermione frowned. "Very well. I can get you a Dreamless Sleep if you'd like?"

"Granger, leave me alone," he replied simply and without malice, which left her concerned. She'd almost take his wrath over such listless compliance.

"Right, sorry, Sir... I'll be back to check on you later."

Snape didn't say anything, the only viewable portion of him being the back of that full head of straggly dark hair. There was something disturbingly resigned in how he lay there, so silent and still, which left Hermione increasingly worried.

With a small sigh, Hermione quietly excused herself, dousing out what little light remained in the room in the hopes that it might help Snape sleep more soundly. If what the Mediwitches had informed her about earlier in the day was true, soft cries could occasionally be heard echoing from the wizard's hospital room, sporadically and mournful-sounding, and Hermione hoped she wouldn't detect them today as she made her rounds to other patients. It was unsurprising to learn that Snape, in all likelihood, experienced frequent nightmares, but hearing them for herself would be an added worry to her ever growing list.

He's been through enough, she reflected sadly, and left the room.

"How are you feeling this morning, Professor?"

Snape didn't answer. He was sitting up in bed, his hands casually lying on top of his thighs as he stared vacantly at the wall. The dark circles underneath his eyes hadn't lessened in recent days, and Hermione felt somewhat perturbed that the man hadn't been moved yet to a place with at least one window and a little more sunlight. She sensed that it might lift his morbid spirits, if only a little.

I'll have to work on that...

Her eyes trailed to his nightstand, where a cold breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast sat untouched. His eyelids were heavy, as if he were forcing them to stay open. Hermione inched closer to the bed, eying him over with a critical frown.

"I see you didn't eat your breakfast."

"How observant you are," Snape mumbled, keeping his eyes on the wall opposite his bed.

"Well, you need to eat something, Sir..."

"I shall eat when I wish to eat, Granger, and not before. Now, do your tests and leave me be. I'm tired."

His voice was weary and emotionless, as though resigned to his daily mundane routine of never-ending tests, bed checks, and staring into space or sleeping. Hermione couldn't help but sympathetically grimace at Snape's soft translation of hopelessness, an expression he had been displaying much of since awakening. It was growing steadily worse. Her patient had gone from arguing with her at every whim to silent resignation, not putting much effort at all into his treatment.

"Get on with it, Granger," Snape sniped, his quiet command interrupting Hermione's contemplations.

After running her latest findings, Hermione tossed his chart aside into the air and started to unlock the lid on his scar ointment when he shot her a defensive glare. "No more of that."

"Oh!" She reared back, surprised. "But, Sir, it will help your scars—"

"I'm well aware at this juncture of what it does, Granger. However, you will never be able to naturally rub away my scars, no matter how much of that ruddy junk you smother on me. Enough."

Hermione held the container more tightly, searching the man's haggard features imploringly. "Professor, we don't know that for sure—"

"I think you do know, Granger," he answered matter-of-factly. "I once took you for smarts. Unless I've been mistaken, and such treatment has been miraculously discovered in my absence, there is no such scar ointment that can successfully cure what I failed to properly use Dittany to erase in the first place. I'll have to resort to a charm, that is all."

Hermione didn't say anything for a lengthy pause. Finally, she consented quietly and placed the jar back on his tray. Her despondent frown, however, remained intact.

"Will you not give it a try, Professor? Give it some time to develop? I can see the scars fading. They're not nearly as prominent as they once were. Here, let me show you."

Hermione took Snape's chart in hand again and opened it to a page that she then handed to him. Snape silently scanned the moving photographs of his neck wounds, taken at various stages whilst he was still in a comatose state, and read the extensive scribblings beneath each photograph—all undoubtedly Hermione's handwriting. He would remember the Gryffindor's overly excited, thorough note-taking practices anywhere.

The photographs were what truly disturbed him, however. The wounds were unsightly, even grotesque—at least, in the earliest shots taken directly after his entire throat had been reconstructed. Snape swallowed hard, disarmed by how extensive the snake bites were. They had certainly done as they were intended to do: kill him. Brutal and grisly, they were now his cross to bear in life. He hadn't ever set eyes on them himself, for that matter, but seeing moving images of them were unsettling enough.

Snape handed his chart back to Hermione, seemingly unmoved by the contents. His next words surprised her. "I'd like a mirror," he requested softly.

Catching on quick, Hermione didn't question the wizard's demand. With a respectful nod, she Accio'd a hand-held mirror into Snape's hand, which he took without a word, his listless eyes boring into his own reflection, focused on the furious slashes across his prominent Adam's apple. The new skin that had grown over top didn't look much better to him than the wounds themselves, wild and discolored as they were, showcasing to all the world how the once powerful wizard had been reduced to being mauled by a the very reptile of his former psychotic master.

Hermione watched intently, concerned with what the professor might be thinking. His expression was blank, however; his unreadable eyes staring intensely at his own wounds for what felt like ages.

Monster, his mind repeated. That's what you are. Nothing's changed.

After an agonizing moment or two, he simply returned the mirror and offered her the same emotionless expression as before. "Are you finished with your tests, Granger?" he asked in a hoarse whisper that shook her to hear.

"I..."

"Very well."

Without another word, Snape shifted carefully onto his side and shut his eyes. Hermione was baffled. Had she made a grave mistake by allowing him to examine himself for the first time? Had she been wrong to show the wizard his progress with those photographs of his scars? She had merely meant to illustrate how much they had reduced over time, certainly not to make the poor fellow feel worse than he undoubtedly already did.

Gulping down her guilt, Hermione placed a warming charm on Snape's food and hovered over his bed. She couldn't see his face, but she knew the man had the reflexes of a cat and wouldn't have fallen asleep so quickly with her still in the room.

"I warmed your breakfast, in case you get hungry. I'll check on you again around lunch time. Sleep well, Professor..."

Snape said nothing in return and his body never moved, even once Hermione shut the door.

"How are you making out so far with the greasy git? I mean, erm, your patient?"

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione chided through reproachful eyes. "That isn't nice."

"What? Oh, c'mon, 'Mione, he is still a git, you have to admit!"

"Ron's right, 'Mione," Harry additionally chimed in with a handsome grin, pausing to adjust his round glasses. "Don't get me wrong, I have a new respect for the man, but I can't imagine Snape's changed all that much."

"And he's only been awake for two weeks," she cut both of them down swiftly, "so I think we should all cut him a break."

Hermione sighed and took a moment to sip her Butterbeer, and the boys sheepishly followed suit. It was the first time the trio had gathered together in months, a feat that was instigated by the youngest Weasley, who, after visiting Hermione's flat in London, implored her brother to finally have a sit-down with Hermione regarding the blowout at the Burrow. Unsurprisingly, Ron invited Harry to tag along, although Hermione would have gladly done so had Ron not taken the initiative of inviting their friend. It would make for less tension and general awkwardness, or so they both hoped.

After an initially strained greeting between Ron and Hermione, the three settled into each other's company with surprising ease. Ron profusely apologized for being out of touch, claiming wanting to "make nice with Mum," and Hermione was too spent over the matter to argue it anymore. Yes, she was still nursing her hurt, but she found quickly that she missed them both too much to hold a grudge.

Or you're just lonely, her conscience grimly reminded her.

Their friendly meeting was eerily reminiscent of old times. Tucked away in their usual booth at the cozy Three Broomsticks, Hermione couldn't recall the last time she had been to the once familiar establishment. Probably with Ron and Harry.

"He's not giving you too much grief, is he?" Ron eyed Hermione over with fresh concern. None of them had really wanted to discuss Snape, of all topics, but somehow the wizard crept into the conversation anyhow, again, much like old times. "Erm, I mean, we all know how Snape can be..."

Hermione smiled. "No, he isn't. He can be snippy at times, but that's his nature. And anyway, I'd be irritable too if I'd been virtually forgotten by the entire Wizarding world, particularly after all the sacrifices I made for the Order."

The atmosphere fell quiet to that remark, which Hermione didn't even realize was dripping with a bitterness she hadn't meant to convey. Ron and Harry exchanged awkward glances as their curly-haired friend lazily surveyed her half-consumed drink.

"Does he know what happened?" Harry asked, regaining Hermione's attention. "About the final battle, about the Elder wand, about everything?"

Hermione shook her head. "No... I confess, I'd be happy to fill in the details for him, only he has no interest in talking to me unless it's absolutely necessary. Healer Pye has tried getting him to open up, too, but..."

"Why?" Ron scrunched up his nose, flummoxed. "No offense, 'Mione, but Snape's not the most outgoing chap."

"I know that, Ron."

"And him not wishing to speak to you isn't exactly a surprise either. He never wanted anything to do with any of us, remember?"

"Least of all me," Harry inserted with an understated expression of...something; Hermione wasn't sure what.

"I know, I know." Hermione let out a heavy breath and pushed her Butterbeer away. "I just feel...bad for Snape. It's like I told you—he receives no visitors, he doesn't speak much unless provoked, and he either sleeps the day away or stares at the wall. He hardly eats and doesn't make much effort to get well. I... I'm starting to think he may be depressed."

Ron let out a choked snort. "'Mione, the man was always depressed. Did you never take a good, hard look at him?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It isn't funny, Ron!"

"I wasn't suggesting that it was, only pointing out the obvious!"

"All right, fine, you have a point there, but I'm interacting with him on a daily basis, and it isn't the same as before."

"He's not..." Harry paused to shift his Butterbeer away as well, looking suddenly a little distressed. "You don't think he might actually, erm, try to off himself, do you?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "What? Merlin, no! No, Harry, I don't think the man's that far gone! I just..." Hermione slumped her shoulders and fiddled with her hands underneath the table. "I think he's probably feeling a bit lonely is all. Confused, uncertain of what to do with himself now, how to get on with his life, that sort of thing."

"Oh..."

Harry's countenance turned contemplative, but Ron looked visibly uncomfortable. Hermione was hardly surprised. Anything bordering on the topic of feelings, and Ron checked out of the conversation immediately.

Much like when we were together, she mused to herself.

"Well, if there's anyone who could perk the sour git up, it's you, 'Mione." Ron flashed her his witty grin. "Although, it is Snape, so the cards are already stacked against you, I'm afraid. I don't think that man has genuinely smiled since he was born."

"That may be true," Hermione returned with a warm smile of her own, "but I'm not out to get Snape to smile, though that would admittedly be a nice achievement, if not a tad frightening. I simply want him to recoup and reclaim control of his own life again. He deserves that much."

"A noble gesture," Ron offered, giving her a nod of approval.

Harry concurred by raising his Butterbeer mug to her with a smile. "A very Hermione-like gesture of good will."

"Ha, ha, ha, very cheeky," Hermione mocked with a roll of her eyes. The three chuckled in unison, and, when the moment passed, the trio fell into a strange silence again before Hermione piped up, "In any case, I have an idea in mind that might help get the poor man to focus on the positive, perhaps even engage in conversation."

Harry's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Such as?"

A pleasant smile drew across Hermione's lips. "Reading."

"Eh?" Ron's brow contorted, causing Hermione to giggle.

"Books, Ronald! I'm sure Snape would appreciate having something decent to read to pass the time."

Harry shot her a humorous smirk. "Well, considering you took the Prophet away from him, it might be nice of you to offer an alternative."

"But it was for his own good!"

"I know it was." Harry withdrew his own copy of the notorious newspaper from inside his coat pocket and expanded it to its normal size. "Have you seen today's headline?"

"Again?" Hermione groaned with dread and leaned forward in her seat, along with Ron, to glance over that morning's headline. She had purposely been avoiding the paper herself on the off chance of stumbling across another unprofessional statement from Smethwyck, or some other unjustified accusation about the professor.

As Hermione eyed the headline in big, bold letters upside down, her heart nearly catapulted into her throat: Hermione Granger, member of the prized Golden Trio, gives Severus Snape, nefarious Death Eater, the 'kiss' of life.

"WHAT?" Hermione's voice rang out. She immediately went beet red and lowered her voice, sensing a few conversations ceasing around them at her outburst. Once the general chatter resumed, Hermione hissed in a low, aggravated tone, "What the hell is this?"

"Skeeter," Ron scoffed, eying the paper with a scrunched up face.

"Seems that your superior told the meddlesome wench that you're overseeing his care now," Harry explained, showcasing his own disgust. "It also sounds like, since announcing the news backfired in his face, your Smethwyck no longer wishes to have his name smeared with Snape's."

"So, he's pinning it all on me now," Hermione growled, her golden irises churning furiously behind their depths. "That despicable tosser!"

Ron shook his head. "Way to shove you under the Knight Bus. You ought to show him up for that, 'Mione."

"I make a point of never talking to the press, Ron, and I'm certainly not going to start now!" Hermione drew back her shoulders defiantly. "Oh, let Smethwyck make a fool of himself," she snuffed. "After all, I have been the one overseeing Snape's care; might as well get the proper credit for it now." She glanced down at the headline again with a severe frown. "Except for that 'kiss of life' bit..."

Ron waved away the obvious worry laden on Hermione's features. "You know Skeeter; jumps at a crumb of gossip. She probably made it up as soon as she got wind from Smethwyck that Snape had become your patient."

I guess my threat all those years ago didn't hold, Hermione churned, grinding her teeth together.

Harry additionally squirmed in his chair. "Erm, there's more that Smethwyck says in here..."

Hermione blinked. "What? How so?"

Before Harry could so much as open his mouth to explain, however, Hermione snatched the paper from his grasp and hurriedly read the article whilst the boys drew back, prepared for the onslaught of the witch's wrath that they knew so well. Sure enough, when she was through reading, the paper had coiled itself into her fists. She wasn't aware that she had also begun trembling from head to toe.

"I should hang Smethwyck up by his toes and levitate a bottle of Odgen's finest Firewhiskey just out of his bloody reach!" she fumed.

Ron beamed from ear to ear. "That's a wicked idea!"

"Erm, should I not have showed it to you?" Harry looked utterly bewildered and unsure.

Once Hermione calmed herself down, she shook her head and took a calculated, deep breath. "No, Harry. I would've stumbled across this eventually, I'm sure. Such utter rubbish!" She tossed the crumpled up newspaper down on the table and placed her chin in her hand. "What else is new?"

Severus tossed and turned over in bed, wincing at the pain in his lower extremities. He still hadn't gotten much use out of his legs yet, finding it difficult enough to shift in and out of bed to use the loo. He routinely required assistance from one of the Mediwitches, which was enough of an embarrassment, but at least it tended to be at a time when Hermione Granger was on her lunch break or had conveniently left for the evening. If he only had his wand, he could make the trip on his own without having to relinquish what little self control he still had.

My wand...

Severus had no idea whatever became of his instrument, one of the many troubles that plagued his mind. After barely managing to claw his way out of the Shrieking Shack and onto the Hogwarts grounds, the details therein turned fuzzy. He recalled fumbling for the Dittany hidden away in his pocket, the anti-venom he had already been administering to himself for some time, the Blood Replenishing Potion...

But my wand... What the devil became of my wand?

Severus squeezed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to will himself to remember the murky details; but they wouldn't come. He dreamed of that night often, but beyond his exceedingly clumsy attempts to heal himself beneath the stunned Whomping Willow, Severus couldn't recall much else in great detail.

It had certainly been in his possession before his eyesight grew hazy and everything went black. Someone had come to his rescue that night. How else would he have ended up in this godforsaken ward at St. Mungo's, with freshly grown throat muscles and a foggy, insufficient memory?

But who? Virtually everyone on both sides would have been more than content to see Severus meet his demise. The Potter boy? No, the Dittany and elixirs wouldn't have left me much time before needing to be taken to hospital. Potter would've been too busy, as would his friends. A staff member? No, they all despised me in the end, even Minerva. Lucius? Perhaps. He had fetched me to go to the Dark Lord that night. A sense of guilt or morbid curiosity might have led him back to see what had became of me...

Then again, if his old Slytherin pal had given a damn, wouldn't he have come to see me by now? Unless... Severus swallowed the notion that befell him amidst the darkness of his room. Unless he, Narcissa, and Draco never made it...

Severus inhaled sharply and tried to relax his face, letting the weight of his head sink comfortably into his pillows. He needed sleep. He yearned for it. Then again, he didn't really want to rest. Sleep perpetuated dreams, which cycled the nightmares, and the nightmares were a steady stream of horrors he would much rather forget.

Despite such apprehensions looming at the back of his conscience, Severus found himself—between the quietude of his room and his slow, even breaths—drifting further and further into a state of unconsciousness. It wasn't until minutes later, well deep in the throes of a bad dream, that Severus began to thrash his head back and forth, breathing strenuously, even whimpering at times for the nightmares to cease.

How long he remained that way was ambiguous, but when Hermione made her rounds to check on him in the early hours of the morning, she was alarmed at the state to which she found him. Snape was completely entangled in the bed sheets, having kicked the heavier blankets off at some point during the night. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, clutching tightly onto the soft material that was now entirely drenched with his sweat. His head had continued to thrash back and forth all night long, his rough voice mumbling incoherently, groaning and calling out into the darkness.

Hermione was frozen where she stood for a long moment before she could will her legs to move. Quickly shutting the door, she stalked over to the bed and hovered over her patient, unsettled. Pearls of sweat lined what little she could make out of his face, as the rest was hidden behind dampened strands of black hair.

"Professor?" Hermione hitched a breath and tossed Snape's chart aside, summoning a washcloth and a bowl, which she then filled with hot water. "Professor? It's Hermione. Wake up."

She thought she detected a "no" amidst the wizard's disconnected words as he continued to roll his head back and forth, his entire body every so often twitching at whatever horrors were unfurling in his mind. Hermione swiftly sat down on the bed beside him and dabbed at his forehead with the wet cloth.

"Wake up, Sir," she urged him gently, moving the towel around his face, even as he fought her efforts, tossing his head from side to side. "Please? Snape, wake up."

"No... No, no... No!"

"Snape, it's Hermione Granger. It's all right now. You're all right. Please, wake up."

Suddenly, without warning, Snape let out an alarming cry that shook the room. His eyes shot open and his body propelled forward, met by one of the witch's hands grasping onto his shoulder to hold him in place.

"Easy," she gasped, taken aback by how close Snape's face was to hers. He was staring at her as if she were a ghost, a stranger, something out of this world. His heavy breathing was also tickling her face, and Hermione wasn't aware of how fast her own heart was thrumming.

Carefully, she eased him back down onto the bed as he struggled to catch his breath. "It's all right, Sir. It's all right," Hermione stammered softly. Snape muttered various words under his breath, though his breathing began to calm with the continued dabbing of hot water against his face. "There, there, Professor. It's all right, you're safe."

Snape was vaguely aware of the warm body pressed up against his own. How strange to be so drawn to such contact.

Scanning her wearily, his eyelids soon fell shut, his mind and body exhausted. Something had been remarkably soothing in the witch's voice and touch. Why was that? was the last thought that crossed Snape's mind before he succumbed to sleep.

In the darkness, Hermione let out the breath she wasn't aware of holding in. She had never heard Snape whimper like that before, like a wounded animal suffocating from his own night terrors. It left her unhinged and completely shell shocked, to the point that she couldn't move for a moment or two.

Snape nudged lightly against her hand that held the washcloth, his breathing now steady and regular. Hermione wiped several damp hairs away from his eyes and placed the washcloth gently across his forehead, eying the wizard over attentively and with quiet relief.

"I'll... I'll stay a while, Professor," she found herself whispering, even if the man couldn't hear; or could he?

Hermione was determined not to leave until she was sure the nightmares weren't going to repeat themselves. Placing a warming charm on the cloth, Hermione sat comfortably at Snape's bedside for some time, watching over the wizard as he slept.

A/N #2: Lots to digest, I know, but hopefully worth it? More to come...