June 1996

The fire in his office blazed green, and Poppy Pomfrey's panicked voice called out, "Severus – quickly! Students – injured – hospital wing – cursed – not sure –" but the rest of her message was unintelligible. He was already striding around his desk, grabbing his bag of go-to potions. As head of house in a school of underage wizards, it was always a good idea to have several items immediately accessible at all times.

Racing up the corridors, he arrived at the doors to the hospital wing at the same time as Professor Flitwick. Looking grim, the diminutive professor pushed the doors open and hurried in, Snape right behind him. Chaos reigned: there were students strewn about the floor, Order members rushing to and fro, and more popping in grasping Portkeys by the moment. Madam Pomfrey was directing traffic, trying to get the injured into beds and calling out treatments. Seeing him, she beckoned him to her, and he strode forward.

"What do you need of me?" he asked quietly, glancing around to assess who was the most gravely injured. Most seemed to be conscious, at least.

"It's Miss Granger – the others say she was hit with a non-verbal curse some time back, and she hasn't awoken yet," Poppy said quickly. "I'm not sure of the whole story – something about Death Eaters and being at the Ministry – but it's not anything I recognize. Mr. Longbottom said the curse emitted a purple light. That's all the information I have, I'm afraid."

She looked at him apologetically, and Snape knew he had been summoned for his expertise in dark curses. Nodding once, he moved swiftly to the bed where Hermione was lying, so still that he froze momentarily until he saw the slight rise of her chest. Expelling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he moved quickly over to her and began to mutter a string of incantations as he ran his wand up and down her body.

Foolish children! he thought to himself. Thinking they can take on Death Eaters! I'll kill Potter for this… But his thoughts were interrupted by the focus he needed to figure out what was wrong. The girl should have woken up by now.

Quickly uncapping small vial of Dittany from his bag, he summoned a bit of distilled Acromantula venom from a cabinet in his storeroom. Mixing the two, he tilted her head back and poured the concoction down her throat, massaging her neck to encourage her to swallow. For a moment, her entire body tensed – but just as quickly, she had relaxed back into that eerily still slumber. Now Snape was beginning to panic. That particular combination should have rejuvenated her if this was a typical Death Eater curse, but still she lay there, unmoving.

He was reminded vividly of the time in her second year when she had been Petrified. Fear crept through him at this thought, however, because at least then he had known what they were dealing with. This unnamed curse was proving to be much more life-threatening. Debating his options, he quickly came to a decision. He would have to perform a difficult spell and then attempt to treat her with a variety of potions. It was risky, but this was no ordinary curse and it seemed that if he did not do something soon, she would never recover.

Lifting her easily – had he noticed before how frail she was? – he strode towards the bathroom at the end of the ward, his bag floating along behind him. The others were so busy with their charges that no one even looked in their direction. Levitating her upright and next to him, he quickly set out a number of potions and summoned several more. Drawing a deep breath, he pointed his wand at her and concentrated on the spell he needed to perform correctly if he hoped to save her life.

Speaking quickly, he watched as the band of silver light flew from his wand, hitting Hermione full in the chest at the same spot where he had detected the curse had hit. For an agonizingly long few seconds, she glowed purple; then, with a sudden rush of air, the light faded and she crumpled forward, retching as she did so.

Snape caught her and began pouring the potions down her throat as fast as he could manage while still holding her about the waist. She began to cough and shudder violently. He murmured incantations as he continued to force the potions into her mouth. She weakly tried to resist, but he commanded her, "You must drink these, Hermione, every drop!"

It was likely the use of her name that caught her attention, delirious as she was. Still shaking enough to shake him as well, she managed to swallow the last of the potions. She was breaking out into a cold sweat now and her eyes were squeezed shut in pain. She was taking great, gasping breaths and tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. Snape grimly carried her over to the shower and tried to set her under the spray, but her knees immediately gave way and she started to fall with a loud wail. Snape grabbed her again and stepped into the stream of water as well, wordlessly divesting himself of his heavy robes. It was vital that she not regurgitate the potions.

She was crying in earnest now, trembling from head to toe, mindlessly tearing at her chest and hair with her hands. Snape wrapped his arms about her, trying to constrain her flailing limbs. She could seriously injure herself if left unchecked. He sank to the floor of the shower, pulling her down with him and into his lap, her back pressed against his chest. Her face was directly in the warm spray.

He did not know how long he held her under the water, trying to calm her. Eventually, she rested her forehead on the cool tile wall, and her moans subsided. She was still shaking uncontrollably. He relaxed his arms – she no longer seemed in danger of hurting herself – and without conscious thought began to stroke soothing circles over her ribcage with his thumbs.

Snape gazed, unseeing, at the frosted windows near the ceiling of the little bathroom. It seemed that the Death Eaters had recently invented this particular curse, and unless he was mistaken, Hermione was probably the first person they'd been able to test it on. Marvelous, he sneered silently. That's another antidote to begin work on, as if I did not have enough already.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the tiled wall at his back. The number of inventive new curses being used by Voldemort's followers was keeping him very busy, indeed. He made a few mental notes, trying to memorize everything he had just forced down the girl's throat, as well as her reactions to the various potions. She had responded well to the complex spell he'd cast, and he would have to examine her to be certain, but he suspected that the potions were doing their job. In any case, she was no longer at Death's door, which was a minor miracle.

Trying to assess her condition without moving and startling her, Snape noted that she was no longer shaking quite so hard, trembling occasionally instead. The warm water seemed to be working to soothe her. He listened very hard but did not hear the sounds of crying. Odd, that – she was certainly awake and calmed, now, but it was entirely unlike her to be silent when there were no doubt a hundred questions buzzing around her brain. He could not see her face to be sure, but if she was alert and no longer in a great deal of pain, then why was she sitting so docilely? She must be more injured than he realized. Concentrating on the girl in his arms, his eyes traveled over her, looking for tense muscles that would be a sure indication of the areas that still hurt her.

When his eyes reached the point just below her armpits where his hands were, Snape froze. His fingers, quite of their own accord, were rubbing slow, sweeping circles over the ribs on the girl's side. How long had this been going on? He stared, entranced, unable to stop the traitorous movement of his hands. No wonder, then, that the girl had quieted under his calming ministrations.

Why, if he stretched his palms just a tad, he could practically brush the sides of her… Stop that at once, you old bat!, he chastised himself. What had started out as a comfort measure was quickly becoming highly addictive to Snape, and he abruptly pulled his hands away, disgusted with himself. He thought he probably imagined the plaintive whimper that escaped her when he stopped.

"Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" He tried to keep his tone gentle – the girl had been through a lot – and if his voice was less steady than usual, well, he had also experienced a bit of an ordeal, trying to heal an unknown curse.

"B-b-better now," she stammered, and Snape was pleased to note that her voice was stronger than he had expected. Grabbing his wand, he shut the shower off, and stood them both up. Making certain that she could stand on her own, he retrieved a large, thick towel from a basket near the door. Turning back, he was startled to see her huge brown eyes locked on him as though she was afraid he was leaving. Her shivers had returned full-force.

Frowning, he wrapped the fluffy towel around her, trying not to notice the way the wet fabric of her clothing clung to her. She did not move, but simply stood there, staring at him and shaking like a leaf. With an exasperated growl, Snape began to vigorously rub the towel over her, drying her and trying to instill her with some warmth.

Without warning, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms about his waist, burying her face at his shoulder. She was still shivering, so Snape wrapped the towel firmly about her and continued to chafe at her back and arms to help heat her. As the shock of the day finally reached her, Hermione began to cry quietly into his chest. After a few minutes, he relented and wrapped his arms tightly around her, and just held her. This seemed to comfort her, for she soon regained her composure.

Sniffling only a little, she mumbled into his still-wet shirt, "How could we be so – so – stupid!"

Snape smiled slightly at the distress in her words. "Yes, well, no doubt you tried to talk the others out of it, but were forced to go along when they would not listen," he offered. Now that the imminent danger had obviously passed, Snape felt that he could afford to relax and skip the lecture about the sheer idiocy of their actions. "Potter never has been clever enough to heed your warnings," he added.

Ever so slowly, she raised her face to his, and he was mesmerized by the flecks of gold in her eyes. Mutely, they stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, their arms still tightly wrapped around one another. What is happening to me?, Snape thought frantically.

Breaking through his thoughts, Hermione spoke softly. "Thank you," she said, and the words were so tender and earnest that Snape felt paralyzed. Had anyone ever looked at him that way before? A mixture of admiration, gratitude, even reverence? He could not remember a time, and so he reacted instinctively, lashing out.

"If I had known that all it would take to shut you up was a bit of petting," he sneered as he untangled his arms from her, stepping back, "I would have done so years ago." His face flushed slightly at the double meaning of his words, but Hermione's face, he was certain, was flushed with anger. There, that expression was more like he was accustomed to from her.

Pulling the towel around her defensively, Hermione glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the dark circles under her puffy eyes and the way her hair was continuing to drip water onto the floor. Snape took her elbow and guided her towards the door, but not before flicking his wand and drying them both completely. He led her to the vacant bed nearest the bathroom and folded the covers back, gesturing for her to climb in.

As Hermione did so, she looked surprised to find herself wearing a comfortable pair of pajamas. She blushed furiously and would not meet his eyes. Snape thought it was rather a good indication of the girl's health if she was well enough to feel embarrassed. Tucking her in gently, he admonished her to rest as much as possible. He had just gotten into a full-scale lecture about the severity of her injuries when Madam Pomfrey came bustling over, exclaiming her delight at seeing Hermione awake and mostly alright.

Snape melted backwards, allowing the Healer to fuss over Hermione. Soon, other members of the Order and her less-injured schoolmates were gathered around the bed as well, all of them relieved to know that she would make a seemingly full recovery. Snape began to pack his supplies back into his bag, reminding himself to write out his full observations of the successful potions and their effects when he returned to his office.

Straightening, he glanced once more at his patient, and received a jolt when his eyes connected with hers. Though surrounded by her friends, all of whom were chattering with the adrenaline left from their encounter, she had chosen to seek out his attention. He felt again the unfamiliar sensation of being the object of someone's heartfelt gratitude, and decided it was not an entirely unwelcome feeling. She nodded gravely at him, and Snape gave her a curt nod in return before striding from the hospital wing.

.oOo.

Hermione lay very still, desperately trying to maintain a deep, even pattern of breathing. It would not do for him to realize that she was, in fact, awake, or else the visits would likely stop. He came every night to check on her, often settling himself in a chair and staying for several hours. Madam Pomfrey was unaware of these visits, for when Hermione had asked about his presence, the Healer had checked Hermione's forehead for a fever. But Hermione knew she was not dreaming – he returned, every night, as though afraid of what would happen should he not be there to observe her slow recovery.

When he had saved her from that terrible curse, there had been a moment where Hermione thought she'd seen a spark of awareness in his eyes. She was growing into a young lady, after all. It was as he'd set her on her feet after exiting the shower – the dark eyes had softened momentarily, or so she'd thought. However, she'd had much time to contemplate the sequence of events over the next few days of her confinement in the Hospital Wing, and doubt crept in.

She was so accustomed to him looking at her with disdain that its absence, while neutral, may well have seemed to her as something warmer, nicer. Damn black eyes, she thought. Bloody difficult to read. Deciding that she'd read too much into a single glance, she'd done her best to put it out of her mind, but that was difficult when he kept visiting her sickbed.

Sometimes, much to her surprise, he hummed softly to her, or read quietly aloud from a potions journal. Last night, he had even brushed a lock of hair back from her face, his slender hand resting against her cheek for several long moments. Tonight was no different – he settled into the chair by her bed, his movements so graceful that he barely made a sound. Hermione wished for a strand of hair to fall over her face again, but for once in her life, her curls were being perfectly obedient. Disappointed, Hermione sighed wistfully as she resigned herself to falling asleep.

.oOo.

He didn't know why he continued to visit her. At first, he'd come under the guise of research – the complex cocktail of potions he was administering to heal her did require observation, after all. Soon, though, his notes on her recovery were complete, but still he found himself returning night after night. It was really rather ridiculous that this annoying slip of a girl had managed to take over his every waking thought. He wondered if perhaps he merely felt responsible for her since it had been he who'd revived her.

As days turned into weeks, however, Severus had to admit to himself that maybe, perhaps, he cared for her one smidgen of a bit. Yes, she was annoying and too smart for her own good, but… she was also kind, and generous, and she was determined to believe he had a good side. He was loath to dissuade her, misguided though she was. Thus he returned every evening to sit with her, never letting on that he knew she was wide awake.

A/N: How do I love thee, WeasleySeeker? Let me count the ways… Flobberworm Mucus is used in the Wiggenweld Potion, which will awaken you from a magical sleep. I find the symbolism in this chapter in SO many more ways than one. In case no one told you… I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't own Harry Potter, so sorry to disappoint.