Chapter 14 - Gruel
When she awoke, it was to the complete stillness of the Infirmary. One other student soundly slept behind scaffolding, having been banged about by some misfortunate accident, though what, Hermione could only guess. Anything was possible at Hogwarts, given all the dangers that lurked inside the school; it was a wonder so many of them made it to graduation at all. Hermione slowly sat up and rubbed at her temple.
The gash on her head was nearly superficial. Hermione had always been a bit of a bleeder, so it looked more serious than it actually was. That didn't stop Madam Pomfrey from wrapping her head up in an obscene amount of gauze. The matron had also insisted on bed rest and no guests outside of visiting hours until Hermione's concussion had been cleared. Hermione maintained Severus wasn't a guest. He was her husband and should come and go as he pleased, but the school matron would not be swayed and was just as resolute in her duties as ever.
Hermione was confined to the all-too familiar sight of the Hogwarts Infirmary. On the one hand, she was very grateful to Severus that he'd had the forethought to take her there instead of St Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey was the very model of discretion when it came to patients under her charge, but it meant Hermione was restricted to the Infirmary again, and she thought she had quite enough of that in her youth to last a lifetime. Confined. She resisted the urge to pout, stomp and proclaim life wasn't fair. She was an adult now, didn't that count for something? Apparently, no.
Gingerly, because there was a fair amount of gauze over part of her right eye, and she felt a little slow going, Hermione rose from the bed. That was when she discovered the bedpan.
"Oh is this really necessary!" Hermione huffed.
Of course she had to go wee. That was part of the reason why she was getting up, but Hermione would not use a bedpan.
"I'm not an invalid," she muttered as her naked toes touched the icy stone floor. She cursed and cast her gaze about for slippers; there were none. She was not meant to get up then. The overprotective matron really had gone too far. Pushing around school children was one thing, Hermione thought, gritting her teeth against the snapping bite of the cold floor, but she was an adult and would not stand for coddling.
Her head spun for a moment as she righted herself, maintaining a firm and steadying hand on the bed frame. Hermione drew a few deep breaths, in and out, closing her eyes as the world in her head tilted and turned, but when she opened them back up again, everything was in its natural place. She gathered the stiff hospital robes tightly about her and took tentative steps towards the girls' lavatories.
Every step felt like walking upon tiny needles, and her hospital robes barely shielded her from the cold that permeated the castle, but Hermione carried on with resolution, one foot in front of the other. The door to the lavatory wasn't so far, and she carried herself with the singular determination of a tight-rope walker. At the halfway point, she paused to steady herself. That was when the floor slipped out from beneath her.
Severus quickly threw down his quill and massaged his hand. He hadn't been accustomed to so much writing recently, and old age had crept up on him. Before him, his fine, spiky scrawl wavered on the page and Severus closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. He'd always been a methodical thinker, taking on problems in a logical sequence. This follows that, sure as bacon follows eggs. As Hermione lay in the Infirmary down the hall, he found himself unable to think so linearly, and he wasn't sure if he had enough time for proper deductive reasoning. If she died before…
Severus refused to give any more voice to that line of thinking and snatched up his quill. There would be an answer, a solution would present itself. Closing the last book that had been a dud, Severus set it gently on the stack bound for the library and looked at the piles he had yet to sort through. Promising manuscripts of mysterious maladies, misfortunes and malformations were grouped together and sat next to records on reading runes and ruminations on rituals, followed by codices of curses, cures and conditions and handbooks of hexes both heartfelt and hateful.
Irma Pince had swallowed her cheeks when he'd trucked out three carts worth of her best books, but she hadn't said a word, nor had she stamped any of the books with a return date. She knew who was lying in the Infirmary; word got around the staffroom fast. Minerva had given Severus full access to Hogwarts resources and he didn't give a fart if the little rotters didn't have books to read. Not like they read them anyway.
Minerva had given him use of her private office, clearing it of her correspondence so he could work uninterrupted. It was just him, mountains of books to sort out, and a ticking mantle clock to remind him that he was on the job. Severus picked up the next tome from his 'high priority stack' and scanned the index looking for cross reference materials related to the curse-sigil revealed on Hermione. No direct citation was mentioned, but one of his research spells revealed something was buried within the text somewhere around page 200-ish.
Bugger. He'd have to read the book, then.
Severus stared at all 698 pages of the leather-bound tome. On one hand, reading obscure texts was an excellent way of gaining arcane knowledge and resurrecting old spells long-forgotten. On the other hand, he hadn't the time or inclination to read the book only to discover it mentioned Hermione's curse-sigil as a footnote or referencing someone else's work. But it was his sod's luck that the one book he didn't look through would hold all the answers he needed. The mantle clock ticked in an unpleasant way. Severus stuck the book to the side - perhaps later, if there were time.
Reaching for his next book, a horribly tattered and weighty volume three sizes larger than most, Severus reflected wistfully that it would have been far preferable that someone should have poisoned Hermione, or at least a good demonic possession. He would have at least known what to do then. Curses were a by-product of Charms and Dark Arts. Not that he wasn't good at Charms, he was – top marks, Dark Arts too if there were marks given for that – but his own specialty with curses tended to be in the giving and receiving side, not in the dismantling department.
The stench of real fear permeated Severus. He tried to swallow down his emotions, but they burned too hot within him. Hermione was dying. From the first day she showed a lack of talent for Apparition to the night he made anti-headache potion for her, the curse was speeding up, getting faster and growing in size and proportion. He had charted the Arithmancy to prove its gory doom. Hermione was on her death bed. She looked relatively healthy, she was alert and responded well, but unseen to the eye, she was fragile.
He just had to stay focused on what he could do to save her. Stay focused! Worry without action is useless waste of energy.
When his stomach rumbled, reminding him of untouched tea and toast, the mantle clock chimed. As Severus picked up another book on cursed objects, there was a hesitant knock at his door. Relieved at the interruption, Severus called for entry and Pox, the speckled brown Infirmary elf, shuffled in.
Pox bowed lowly, his long nose nearly touching the carpet. "Miss Hermione is waking and feeling better, sir. The Matron is requesting sir for the consultation."
"I'll be there," he responded, his brow heavy as he waved the little thing off.
A formal request by the Matron for his professional expertise? Severus sighed heavily and closed the book. So, he was not being summoned to offer his wife emotional support or hold her hand. He was best put to use for his knowledge. Standing and stretching aching joints, Severus threaded his starched cravat through his collar and tied it with able dexterity, resolving to be all things Hermione needed.
Severus made his way through the orderly rows of infirmary beds until he reached the furthest bed in the back, nearest Madam Pomfrey's office. A linen scaffold had been erected around her bed for privacy, and Severus made his footsteps light as the carry of voices grew louder.
"I wouldn't say that," Hermione said in an affronted voice. "I've always been a picky eater."
"Being a fussy eater does not cause vomiting." Severus paused, his hand clenched. "How long has this been going on?" Poppy asked.
Yes, he thought. How long has she been hiding her symptoms from me?
"Only about a week or so," Hermione confessed. "I've had to rely on my headache potion to keep things down, only sometimes it doesn't quite work."
Severus could hear her frown in the way Madam Pomfrey furiously scribbled notes.
"Now, I want to hear your other symptoms." Poppy's voice was tight and brooked no argument. "All of them."
Hermione sniffed. "Sometimes I have blurred vision. Not all over, mind you, just a little around the edges of my vision, like I'm seeing down a long tunnel which makes it difficult to read. Or I can't think of the simplest things. I don't know how to explain it, I just blank out on my thoughts."
Severus stepped forward around the curtain and joined Hermione. He nodded to her in a way he hoped she found reassuring while he peered at her chart.
"Continue," he urged.
Hermione fumbled with the bed sheet in her fingertips, looking lost and frightened amidst the swath of bandages. "Sometimes I get tingles."
He traded concerned glances with Poppy. "What kind of tingles?"
She brushed her finger from her temple across her cheek and down her neck. "I guess it's like the feeling of ants crawling on your skin, only it comes and goes."
"And you didn't find any of this unusual?" Severus asked.
"Well of course I did." Hermione crossed her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a stormy look. "I was working hard and feeling just a tad under the weather. Forgive me for not thinking I had been fatally cursed, it's not the first thing that pops into a girls' mind."
Severus reeled back with shock and closed his mouth. He looked at the woman, his wife, laid up in bed and realized how perversely altered their reality had quickly become.
"I apologize," he replied. "My comment was insensitive." He'd opened his mouth and inserted his foot and Severus wondered how many times he'd do it again.
Hermione shook her head briefly, her eyes slightly watering. "It's all right, you know. I guess we will all muddle through and make the best of it. I'm just not certain what I'm supposed to be doing right now; I certainly don't feel that bad. I ought to be able to get up and carry on with my work." The creases between her eyebrows deepened. "I'm at a loss."
"Well, I think I have all the wand readings and information I need right now," Poppy announced, taking up her things. "I'll leave you to it."
Severus drew up a chair as close to her bed as possible and sat down, taking her hand as soon as he was able. Her hand was soft and warm and he gripped it, pressing reassurance and concern through his fingertips. Hermione turned and gave him a pained smile. He could plainly read her exhaustion from the exam.
"Poppy told me about your tumble today," Severus said.
"Nothing Bruise Paste won't fix up. It was nothing."
"Nothing? You shouldn't have been out of bed in the first place," his gaze was sharp and reproving.
"I'm not an invalid, Severus, I've already heard it once from Poppy and I don't want to hear it again from you. Please don't treat me like a child who can't do for herself. It's not fair. I'm a fully capable adult and I think I can go to the loo on my own without supervision."
"Forget it; you know you've been badly cursed. I'll know more about it when Professor Weasley stops by, but it doesn't look good. I'm sorry, Hermione."
"Yes, well, the thing is, I'm not dead yet, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask quite a lot from you. I need you to help me manage my affairs while I'm trapped here." She lifted her chin in challenge. "I hope you do realize I don't intend to do anything so dramatic as die while wearing an awful hospital gown."
Severus smirked. "Of course not. It would hardly be fitting for Hermione Granger."
Her eyes flashed. "Well, that settled, I have a rather small list of things to go over with you then. Firstly: my family; they must not be allowed to come here unless you're quite sure all hope is lost. I don't want to worry them without cause, and they'll likely be underfoot. They're wonderful parents, but magic took away their only child and they're still quite sore on the subject. If they learn magic has killed their only daughter, well…" Hermione shook her head. "It's best to avoid family drama unless it's absolutely necessary."
He nodded almost imperceptibly and made a mental note to send off a letter to the Grangers to keep them somewhat informed. They deserved to know their daughter was ill.
"And that just leaves us to worry about." She sighed heavily and glanced upward. "Our relationship has been rushed and we don't each other very well, at least, not as well as we ought."
The bottom of his stomach soured and Severus imagined he could fill in the rest of the conversation for her: You're really nice, but this relationship just isn't working. It's not you, it's me. Severus' limbs felt cold. Did he really have to listen to it?
"I think what I'm trying to say is, in the next few months, you may find out things about me that we haven't had a chance to discuss." She tilted her head to the side and caught his gaze. "Try not to judge me too harshly, okay?" Hermione gave his hand a small squeeze as she yawned.
Severus released a small sigh. Yes, there were plenty of things they hadn't had the opportunity to discuss. Their relationship was still yet new and untested. He'd held in many things for fear of scaring her away, and had stuck to more neutral topics. How would one-third of the Trio and paragon of the Light handle Death Eater stories? He didn't know if she'd spurn him for the acts he'd committed, but he knew that to move forward they would have to keep faith with one another. He kissed the back of her hand and leaned over her small frame.
"We will get through this together, Hermione," he murmured. "Now get some rest."
Minerva promised Professor Bill Weasley would be by as soon as his classes ended for the day. He was something of a dab hand with curses, having spent the first part of his career breaking them. Severus quietly held his breath and hoped Weasley would be able to sort this all out. As he opened the freakishly large tome on ancient curses, he scanned the brittle paper for whatever help he could find.
Hours later he was roused, not by the chiming mantle clock, but by a knock at the door, before an athletic redhead in professorial robes stood tall in the doorway.
"Professor Snape," he said with a curt bow of his head. "I've come to see if I can be of any use to you with Hermione."
He surveyed the eldest Weasley, the good looks that had gotten him into a bit of a clinch with the Samford sisters were still there, but so was his prominent were-scar, and deeper lines had accumulated into the character of his face. Clearly, he had undertaken the duties of his professorship seriously as to wear them heavily on his brow.
"It's Severus; I believe we're peers now." He gestured to the spare seat and handed over the day's scribblings.
Bill set his notes to the side and peered intently at Severus's precise drawing of the curse-sigil. He sat back and whistled lowly.
"Well, it's an unnamed curse, so we could be looking for anything. It's a bit of a mystery, isn't it? There are three key indicators in the sigil: first, it was activated by a trigger; second, it's progressive in nature; and third, but most important to our Hermione, it can be deactivated."
"I actually had that already," Severus said sourly. "I'm not one of your ickle firsties."
"Right, sorry, I shouldn't have forgotten you're, well, you. Have a look at this." He held up the curse-sigil Severus had carefully rendered and traced a path. "Do you see what shape ties it all together?"
Severus peered at it intently, he'd been staring at it all day looking for answers hidden within its complex form to reveal itself – "the trigger," he said as the answer became clear to him.
"Ten points to Slytherin. Which means, what?"
"Hermione's condition is related to the trigger. We can prolong her life and improve her health by understanding or avoiding the trigger."
"There are no flies on you, are there, Severus?" Bill said with a mischievous grin.
"Watch it, Weasley."
"Look, in my experience, it's best we go hunting for the trigger first. Since eighty percent of all triggers are cursed objects, it makes sense to scan Hermione's flat and workplace for any cursed objects and deactivate them. As it's a progressive type of curse, that means our girl is still in contact with it, so it should still be around for us to find. Don't worry, Hermione will be patched up in no time, and we'll have some clues leading us to whoever cursed her." Bill's eyes danced merrily.
"Hermione may not have that long." Severus' hand ghosted over the Arithmancy equations he'd drawn up. The prediction timeline started from her first headaches, those poor attempts at side-along Apparition, and as the curse grew stronger and more powerful, her outlook was bleak. Severus focused on Professor Weasley and turned away from the numbers.
"Nah, those predictive equations are great for textbooks and classrooms, but if tomorrow we find Hermione's cursed object, they won't mean anything. You shouldn't let yourself get scared over some numbers," Weasley said dismissively in a casual tone. "If I'm not worried about this, you shouldn't be worried about it either. I've seen a lot worse cases than this. "
Professor Weasley looked at the sigil parchment and tapped it with his finger thoughtfully. "There's something about this sigil that's vaguely familiar. I'm sure I've seen it somewhere before…"
Severus leaned forward, anxious to hear his next words.
"But I'll be damned if I can remember what it is. Oh, and Severus, did you have to remove every good book from the library? My fourth years won't be able to complete their essays."
Severus sneered.
After dinner Poppy allowed him to visit Hermione. He'd tucked into one of Hogwarts' famous hearty meals, not realizing how much he missed them until the tables were heavily laden with food. He relished every bite of the steak and kidney pie the elves had made especially for him. When he ducked out early to look in on Hermione, he found her sitting up in bed trying to stomach a thin porridge.
"How's the gruel?" he asked fondly.
"A triumph, as ever," Hermione responded, dropping her spoon into the bowl – it sank immediately to the clear bottom. She quickly set her meal on the bedside table. "Apparently, tasteless mush is supposed to help with my nausea and vomiting, though for the life of me, I can't tell how."
"It's less likely to irritate or trigger a response from you, if the curse is keyed to your emotions," Severus replied automatically, having spent an entire day reading about cursed objects and their triggers. "We have to get you stabilized first to find out what you can and cannot have." Severus carefully omitted information about Typhoid Mary, erroneously ascribed to a Muggle disease; she had spent her entire life battling her curse with nary a few books for company.
She lay back on the fluffed-up pillows and closed her eyes. "The doctors say I may never play piano again."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind, bad joke. Just fix me, Severus. You can do that, you and Bill are two of the finest minds in the wizarding world. This should be easy for you, and I'll be home before the cats even noticed I've left, right?"
Hermione took the drawing from Severus and studied the sigil that was attached to her life blood and energy. Carefully tracing the figure with her finger, Hermione was silent and contemplative.
"This has style in its form. It's a sophisticated piece of work, not amateurish at all." She smiled wistfully. "At least I wasn't brought down by shoddy workmanship. I don't think I could have stood for that."
"Do you have any ideas who might have sent you a cursed object?" Severus asked, pulling his seat closer to her. Severus placed his hand on top of hers and they locked eyes.
Hermione shrugged. "I have collected a few enemies over the years. To a lot of people who've never met me, as a war hero I represent something, but I've never been directly threatened. Besides, the majority of the wizarding population couldn't pull off a curse like this, or afford it."
"What about at work?" he mused. "Did you pass on publishing a story recently? The average wizard couldn't work a curse like this, but contributors to an academic journal like Ars Alchemica and Potions Quarterly could."
Hermione's posture stiffened. "No," she said hastily. "I don't work in acceptance and dismissals. I wouldn't look there."
He'd never needed Legilimency with school children – he'd had enough years of watching them lie to him to his face to detect disingenuity right off – and Hermione was a poor liar. He could push her for answers. With children, that usually involved threatening detention and unpleasant punishment, but he could already see her non-verbally shutting down. He knew enough from the knife incident with Bellatrix that Hermione didn't give up her secrets easily.
"All right," he said evenly. "Bill and I will search the flat, your work, and anywhere else you think would be helpful in finding a cursed object you might have come in contact with. We'll find the object, track down whoever's responsible and bring them to justice, and have it all tied up before those miserable cats even notice we've left. What do you say?"
Her smile was faint, but endearing to him. "You make it sound so easy."
What could he tell her – that he hadn't a clue where to begin and didn't want to scare her? That he didn't know himself? He'd just gotten used to the idea of being married, and couldn't bear to think that he'd be a widower soon.
"I don't want you to worry, Hermione. Just concentrate on keeping your energy up."
"I can help, you know. You're going to need someone to do research while you're turning over mountains looking for whoever cast this curse. I need something to do."
"Absolutely not," Severus said, putting his foot firmly down. "You cannot do anything that could compromise your health until your curse is deactivated."
"I can't sit in this bed all day, I'll go mad! Severus Snape, if you expect me to lie here day in and out and wither away, you've got another think coming. You need to put me on the team. I'm just as responsible for my recovery as you are, and just because I can't go out there and knock over baddies to get answers doesn't mean I can't make myself useful. Do you understand me?"
Severus sat back, momentarily arrested. "Knock over baddies? I think I'm married to a harpy."
"So, you've finally noticed."
"Very well," Severus said reluctantly. Hermione would be on the team. She'd been the brains of the Potter-Weasley team and might yet prove be the brains of the Snape-Weasley team. "I'll bring down some books you can help us comb through. And I'll want you to write up a chronological report of your symptoms and attacks, when they occurred, what facilitated them, what you were thinking about, perfumes in the air, everything, Hermione."
"I can do that," she asserted. "I'm just worried about one thing."
"Only one?" Severus smirked.
"I have no doubt of your professional capabilities, I have faith you'll break this curse, and soon. What worries me is what comes next – when you manage to track the signature to its sender. I've just gotten used to having you around, Severus. I don't fancy waiting another six years for you while you sit in Azkaban on Abusive Spellcasting charges for your vigilante justice."
"As it so happens, Minerva is in a special closed-door session with the Minister now. For some reason, she already has a special working group established with him. They're hashing out details of a task force to investigate your case as Dark Arts Terrorism. I'm on board to lead it."
"Ah, my mistake." Hermione threw her proud Gryffindor nose in the air. "It's Ministry-sanctioned vigilante justice; that makes it all better. Although, if Minerva is handling your affairs, you're probably in good company."
"Would you have it any other way? I might even get a job out of this one."
"I suppose not." She sighed. "And you are uniquely qualified."
Severus leaned in and smoothly arched his left eyebrow. "I am a very qualified wizard, now how about a kiss before I leave you for the evening?"
Severus retired to the Visiting Professors Guest Room, which provided an extremely comfortable bed. From the soft featherbed to the excellent quality linens, his good night's rest was assured, yet something pulled him from the depths of sleep. Severus cracked an eyelid, and woke up abruptly. Being intensely stared at by the Infirmary's house-elf had that affect on him. There had been too many nights as Head of Slytherin when he'd been awaken by Pox.
"How is she?" he asked, swinging his legs over the bed and finding his slippers.
Wide-eyed, Pox hung his head mournfully. "Is not good, sir. Is not good at all."
Severus sprinted the length of the darkened castle to get to the Infirmary. When he arrived, he found Poppy in her nightclothes with a most serious look on her face.
"It's another attack, Severus. I was alerted just a few minutes ago, the poor dear."
Saturated in sweat, and eyes closed against the candlelight, Hermione shook in her bed. Wan of pallor, there was a bluish tint around her dry, chapped lips.
Severus pressed his hand to her brow. "Fever."
"Most certainly," the Matron agreed. "With chills and dehydration, but I'm unable to take accurate wand readings. Her measurements are bouncing all over the scales."
He furrowed his brow. Treating a magical patient's symptoms without knowing a root cause was dangerous and often deadly. And they were working against an unknown curse with too many unpredictable variables.
Eyes firmly shut, Hermione's head thrashed and lolled to the side.
"Can we bring the fever down non-magically?" Severus asked.
"Like the Muggles do? With ice?" She frowned. "I suppose we could. It's not as effective as spellwork, and I've only done it a few times, but it's worth a try. She's burning up."
Between the two of them they worked together to create water, freeze it, then chip the ice. Poppy placed the small pieces in sacks at either side of her neck and under her armpits. A cool compress was put on her forehead.
Hermione reacted immediately. Her teeth chattered.
Poppy came close to him and whispered in a tone only for his ear, "I'm under strict orders from Minerva not to send her to St Mungo's, but Severus, they have a specialized spell damage and curse breaking ward. I'm not qualified to handle her case. As her husband, you can authorize her transfer."
He nodded. "Get the paperwork. I'll sign it."
There were times when he butted heads with the school Matron, defied her orders and tested her limits, but he never doubted her abilities. She was second to none for fixing jinxes and setting bones. And when she said a wound wouldn't leave a scar, she meant it. If Poppy thought Hermione ought to go to St Mungo's, Severus would take her there.
"Severus," Hermione said on labored breath.
He knelt in close to her.
"It's all right, Hermione," he assured her gently. "We're getting you help."
"Want the potion you made," she blindly pleaded. "It hurts so bad."
"We're taking you to St Mungo's. They'll get you a potion for the pain."
Hermione's fists clenched the starched sheets, balled up and twisted in agony. She breathed through it and her eyelashes became soaked with tears.
"No," Hermione begged. "I'm not leaving. I can't go there. I just need my blue potion."
Poppy was coming back with his paperwork. Severus shook his head. Incapacitated, she wasn't in the right frame of mind to make medical decisions for herself.
"Please, Severus. I can't leave. Please…" With every tired breath she repeated the same word. "Please."
With a feeling of innate wrongness, Severus turned towards Poppy. "I've changed my mind." Had she been one of his Slytherins, there wouldn't have been a hesitation. As he observed her trembling recumbent form he realized how much love had changed everything.
"Are you quite certain?" Poppy asked askance.
Severus stood at his full height. "Quite. At present she needs Sylvius Relief."
"Well, that may be a problem. We don't stock it anymore. There have been a lot of changes around here since you left, Severus."
"Damnation." Severus stomped his foot. He glanced briefly at Hermione, who was in desperate need of new linens and in a great deal of discomfort. "Even if I can find the potion's ingredients here at Hogwarts, hunting for them will take me away from her." Severus sighed.
Hermione coughed. "Don't leave me." Her eyes fluttered open to fix her stare upon him. Hermione desperately reached out her hand. "Please don't leave me, Severus. Don't leave me alone. I need you here. I need my husband."
"Oh gracious, child," Poppy said softly. "I wonder if Pox can do it."
As if summoned, Pox arrived with a snap and a bow.
Severus addressed the diminutive elf. "If I give you a list of potions ingredients, can you bring them to me? I need this to be done as quickly as possible."
Pox's ears flapped excitedly. "Yes!" he squeaked.
Severus began to dictate. "Four ounces washed gillyweed root…"
"I'll set up the brewing station," Poppy sighed.
When Pox was off, Severus sat down and delicately held Hermione's hand. He cradled it close to his heart and watched her as the curse ravaged her body. Little twitches in her brow, along her lips, body aches, and panting shallow breaths all took their toll through the night. Severus gingerly mopped her brow and refreshed the cool compress.
The waiting was miserable. Hermione was in absolute anguish, and he could only witness her suffering. Watching her suffer was worse than anything had been inflicted upon him in his life.
Unable to stand it anymore, Severus swore. "Where is that goddamned elf?"
"Pox is upon ye," he called out, tottering down the Infirmary, potions ingredients precariously balanced in his arms. "Almost there."
Severus hastened to the elf, swooping up the much-needed supplies and ingredients.
"I've prepared your table," the Matron said brusquely with a nod to the Infirmary workbench.
"Thank you," he replied sincerely.
All of his ingredients were provided, and as before, collecting the ingredients was the larger task. The potion itself took very little time to brew, although this time he had no éclair to offer Hermione. Severus worked swiftly and expediently to prepare her potion. At one point he nearly took the tip of his finger off in his haste. When the milky brew dissolved to a perfectly clear turquoise, Severus didn't have the time or inclination to admire the potion's beauty. He strode straight for Hermione.
She was in the violent throes of a shuddering muscle spasm.
Severus set the potion on the bed stand.
"Hermione," he called. "Hermione." There was no response from her.
"Matron!" Severus yelled at the top of his lungs.
Poppy whisked in. "Oh dear."
"What do I do?" Severus barked.
"Non-magically?" Poppy said. "I don't know."
With a great breath of air, Hermione suddenly relaxed. The terror that had gripped her had passed. Hermione winced.
"Head," she cried weakly. "My head."
Severus swiped the potion from the bed stand. With hands that heal, Severus gently administered the potion. He watched intently for changes to her features. Slowly, she relaxed. The tension around her eyes and forehead loosened. Her jaw slackened. Quickly, her exhausted body found sleep.
Severus sat in the bedside chair, his fist curled around the simple turquoise potion, ready at a moment's notice, if need be to administer it again. He watched. The steady rise and fall of her chest. The melting ice placed around her. His beloved wife in a hospital bed.
At some point Poppy returned. "You ought to get some rest," she said quietly.
He blinked, as if he'd just noticed her presence. She brought in bed linens and Hermione's chart.
"That's not necessary," Severus replied dismissively.
"Oh?" Her eyebrow quirked up. Wand out, Poppy dexterously managed to bathe Hermione and change her bed linens in an efficient, practiced manner. When the task was finished, she turned on Severus. "This still happens to be my Infirmary, Severus, and visiting hours are over."
"Are you kicking me out?" He frowned.
The Infirmary doors spread open wide. "Good night, Severus," she said tartly.
He leaned over his slumbering bride and kissed the top of her brow. "Good night, Hermione."
Fate is known to be fickle and cruel,
But Severus Snape is nobody's fool.
So to Poppy he ran.
She will do what she can.
Even if it means Granger gets gruel.
Limerick by Morethansirius