Chapter 7

The morning, thankfully, was fairly uneventful. Hermione was able to sign off on charts and files without interruption until nearly lunchtime. This was a welcome change of pace, especially considering how busy the unit had been the last couple of weeks.

She didn't see Severus all day-not that she often saw the Healers for more than a couple of minutes on her shift. But it seemed as though this past week she'd seen an abundance of him on her unit.

She spent the rest of the morning reorganizing paperwork and cleaning shelves that looked as though they'd been neglected for years. The dust was so thick, it took several passes of a cleansing charm to clear it.

A stack of papers appeared on her desk and she sighed. Cardiac notes for the patient in 203, bed one. Might as well put these away.

But for some reason, the holes in the forms weren't lining up and Hermione found herself really struggling with the chart.

"Hi, honey," Alan said, appearing next to her from inside the room.

"Hey, Al," she smiled. He leaned against the chart rack.

"Doing ok there? It looks like you're having trouble."

"Oh, yeah. Just a matter of being smarter than the paper… and maybe slapping it around a little." His eyes widened and he laughed.

"Well, I never thought you'd be that kind of girl!" She sighed, aware suddenly of the innuendo, and turned to walk away.

"Bye, Al…"

"Bye, sweetie!"

Once she was properly grimy and really needed a good washing, it was a good time to take lunch. She grabbed her lunch bag and wandered into the dictation room to find Darren. He was concentrating hard on a chart.

"Hey," she said casually, dropping into the seat next to him.

"Hey," he responded without looking up.

"I have something for you."

"What?" He asked, slightly gruff. She pulled a container from her bag to show him.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, slumping back in his chair. "I forgot my lunch." She smiled and stood back up, motioning that he should follow her.

They ate lunch quietly. Although there was almost some protest when she told Darren that Severus had cooked his meal. He was suddenly very concerned about possible poisoning. They were finished eating now and sat back for casual banter when they both shot out of their chairs and ran for the lift.

"Code blue. Room 2-0-7. Code blue. Room 2-0-7."

No. No, no, no. Not now.

They flew out of the lift and sprinted down the hall to 207 where a group of their colleagues were working hard to keep her friend alive. Darren enabled his protection charms and pushed into the room. Hermione stood back, breathing hard, both hands pressed to her heart. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The chest compressions were blurred and sounds seemed to slow, too. She felt, rather than saw, someone come up next to her. Then an arm was around her shoulders, pulling her against a tall, firm body. She flinched and looked up into black eyes.

Somehow, staring into those eyes was more comforting to her than if he'd actually embraced her. He held her gaze until the staff in the room slowly dissolved, leaving Darren and another Mediwitch. When Severus finally looked away from her, she followed his eyes and landed on Healer Campbell.

"He's stable, but critical," he told Severus, ignoring Hermione completely. It wasn't until Campbell walked away that Hermione completely dissolved into tears. Severus squeezed her shoulder briefly and gave her a slight nudge toward her desk.

"Gather your bag. I'm taking you home." Normally, she would have argued. Today, she was tired, hungover, and watched one of her best friends almost die. She wanted to be as far away from the hospital as possible.

Thank Merlin for a couple of days off, too. She grabbed her bag and let Severus lead her with a hand at her back to the lobby where he looped an arm around her waist, held her tight, and Apparated them home.

He couldn't stay, but he left her with strict instructions to rest and distract herself. So, distract herself, she did. She pulled more wine out of the ice box, changed into comfortable leggings and a sweater that had been her dad's, and sat on the floor of the living room with a pile of pillows from the sofa. A documentary numbed her mind for a while, aided by the sweet wine. But it wasn't like her to just...not think.

Fuck.

The world seemed to be declining rapidly, and Hermione had the feeling of waking up from a dream where she'd fallen from a great height. It seemed she was always on high alert now, her anxiety taking advantage of the extra adrenaline that seemed to just always be there.

She sat up, cross legged and swirled her wine in her glass absently. She'd barely even drank any. Relax and distract herself, indeed. Easier said than done.

Severus arrived home rather later than usual, having stayed to be sure Longbottom would live through the night. The house was dark, save for the light over the stove, a lone lamp in the living room, and the telly playing one of the documentaries Hermione liked so well. She was sitting on the floor, cross legged in a baggy jumper, her hair piled wildly on top of her head. He paused for a moment, taking note of the still-half-full glass of wine in her hand, then walked over to stand next to her. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground by her knees. She looked up at him with a watery smile. She'd been crying, he could tell. Her face was splotchy, and her eyes rimmed with red. Her lips were swollen, he noticed as well. He wondered why he should notice such a thing.

"Is Neville ok?" She asked. He wasn't sure how to answer, so he lowered himself to sit next to her on the floor.

"Mr. Longbottom is-" He stopped to clear his throat, and tried again. When he spoke again, it was slowly and with careful calculation. "We don't know yet what his outcome will be. He went into respiratory distress, and his heart stopped. They were, of course, able to revive him, but his condition is...critical, and he-"

"Shut up," she breathed, emotional. He looked up at her in surprise.

"I beg your pardon? You asked-"

"Just-shut up," and before he had time to react, she'd grabbed him by the back of the neck and her lips crashed against his. It took him longer than he'd like to admit to react, but once his brain caught up with him, he pulled away from her.

"What are you doing?" They were both breathing hard, he realized. He also seemed to be struggling with another reaction entirely. The hand that wasn't wrapped around the nape of his neck rested on his knee.

"Distracting myself," she said breathlessly.

"This isn't the way to do it," he said gently, pushing her away with a soft hand on her shoulder. She looked stricken.

"You don't want-"

"Don't assume what I do and don't want. What I don't want is for you to make a decision like this when you're hurt and emotional. Think about this."

"I have thought about it. Listen, if you don't want this, that's one thing. If you do, and you're pushing me away, stop." He stared at her for a moment, the determination in her brow. The set of her jaw, and the raw emotions still readable on her face. She moved closer a fraction of an inch before he gripped her by the waist, pulled her into his lap and closed his mouth over hers again.

She tasted like sweet red wine, a hint of spearmint, and something that he couldn't identify. Something that was just Hermione, and somehow the way she fit against him was-no. He couldn't think that she was perfect for him. Less than a week ago he could barely stand to be in the same room as her. But she did feel nice under his hands. She didn't object when his hands palms slid up her jumper and pulled it over her head. She certainly didn't argue when the same hands pushed her down into the pile of pillows on the floor, or when he stretched out on top of her. Instead of objecting, she encouraged him with soft sighs and murmurs against his lips.

Severus thought this could be very dangerous, indeed.

Hermione woke the next morning confused and headachy. She sat up, still on the floor amongst the pillows from the sofa, covered in the thick blanket from her bed, and looked around the living room. Hazy morning light filtered through the windows, as she struggled to remember why she was, in fact, still on the floor. And why, for that matter, she was unclothed on the floor.

Oh.

OH.

Right. Now she remembered. She'd slept with Healer Snape. Carefully, she lifted herself from the floor and craned her neck to look at the clock on the wall. It was 7:45 in the morning, which meant that Severus had been gone over an hour by now. Which meant she didn't have to worry about getting to the bathroom naked.

After a long shower and some clean clothes, Hermione found that her headache had subsided quite nicely. She wandered into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, only to find that there was coffee made under a Stasis charm with a handwritten note on a torn piece of parchment next to this.

"You may need this. -SS." She chuckled under her breath, removed the Stasis with a wave of her wand, and poured herself a cup. She had the whole day to herself, she realized. There were several things she wanted to do. Pushing away from the counter, she dug out a notepad from one of the kitchen drawers and a Muggle pen.

First things first, she needed to call her mum. Then her home could do with a good cleaning; her eye strayed to the living room where pillows and blankets had taken over. Her refrigerator and cupboards could use a good scrubbing. And of course, she had plenty of homework to keep herself occupied for the rest of the evening.

She padded across the living room, tossing pillows back onto the sofa and sending her quilt sailing back up the stairs with a flick of her wand. She reached for the phone and dialed the familiar digits to her mother's landline, reclining back on the sofa with her cup of coffee.

"Granger residence, this is Helen."

"Mum, when are you going to invest in caller ID? It's really not that much more on your bill," Hermione laughed. She could hear her mother chuckle into the receiver.

"Good morning, darling. How are you faring?" Ever since Hermione had made it clear that she wouldn't be returning to the Muggle world, there was a strange icy politeness between her and her parents. They had been so close before she went to Hogwarts, and she tried her best to keep them close during school, but for some reason they took issue with her selective honesty and liberties with their memories during the war.

"I'm ok," Hermione said, fearing that their conversation may not progress past formal niceties. "How's daddy?" There was a pause, and then Helen sighed.

"There's no change," she said slowly. "He's not getting any worse, but he's also not getting better." There was still time, then. Time to work equations, and brew potions.

"No change could be good," Hermione said positively. She was about to go on about the great works of healing done during sleep in an attempt to lift her mother's spirits when she heard a tapping on her window. She went to open it for an owl while her mother told her about the last time she'd spoken to the doctors. She hummed her acknowledgement to the owl and opened its missive. It was from Severus on St. Mungo's letterhead. He needed her at the hospital as soon as possible.

"They're going to try to lower his ventilation tomorrow," Helen said, almost as an afterthought. "So, I suppose that's an improvement." It was hard for her, Hermione could tell, to not be able to be with her husband while he was sick. She smiled gently to herself.

"That is absolutely an improvement." Her mother chuckled softly, and Hermione could almost hear her nodding on the other end of the phone line. "Let me know if anything changes, please?"

"Of course, my love." They said their 'I love you's and hung up the phone.

She'd arrived on the unit wearing Muggle jeans, and a t-shirt. Both too tight, in his opinion. She had thrown pewter colored robes over her Muggle clothes, easy enough to remove in the fluctuating August heat, and her hair was braided loosely down her back. It was noon. Snape had sent the letter at ten, and Darren vibrated with anticipation waiting for her to show up so he could find out why Snape needed her so badly. She stopped at the communication desk to speak with the clerk who sat there. The clerk wrote quickly on a piece of parchment and they didn't pay attention as it fluttered off down the hall in search of its target. He tried his best to concentrate on his charting, but she was there and he wasn't used to seeing her in clothes other than hospital scrubs. Darren was suddenly more aware than usual that she was a woman.

Sure, he'd known. They got along well, and he loved being around her. She was wicked smart, quick with her humor, and easily put people in their place. She was strong.

And it hit him like a sucker punch to the gut that he was fucking in love with her.

He was staring. She caught his eye and waved quickly, and for a split second he thought she was walking toward him. His stomach flipped until he realized she was heading toward Snape. Fucking Snape. Their relationship-or whatever it was-confused him. She claimed they were platonic-he just happened to be in the wrong time and place with the Order was made law. It was possible, he didn't deny that.

However now-now Snape touched her more. Now his hand strayed to her waist, and then to her hip when they turned to head back down the hall. Now his eyes lingered on her a little too long, and something in them had changed. She didn't seem to notice his touches, which was even more strange to him. Just days ago, she flinched away from him, enraged by his arrogance and dominance. Darren watched Snape lead her down the hall toward 207. Yesterday, she wasn't allowed near that room, and today he was inviting her in.

Darren couldn't pinpoint why exactly he was jealous of Snape. Hermione allowed him to touch her the same way, and she was aware of his feelings. But she wasn't aware of how strong his feelings were. He had an overwhelming urge to follow after them, pull her away from him like he was some dangerous giant insect waiting to devour her. But instead, he stayed where he was and continued to pretend to chart.

"Are you ready?" Severus asked as they engaged their protective charms. She was dressed terribly inappropriately, but he supposed she wasn't on the clock and it didn't matter how she dressed as a visitor.

"Ready for what? You haven't told me what I'm doing here." She adjusted her mask over her nose to a more comfortable position before entering the room before him. She paused just inside, apparently unprepared to see her friend lying helpless and unconscious amongst sterile white sheets.

Again.

He watched her close her eyes for a moment, take a deep breath before seeming to steel herself.

"We're going to test your arithmancy equations with a potion I've been developing."

"When did you get time for this?" She asked, peeling her robes off to reveal the Muggle outfit underneath. Tight Muggle outfit. He looked away before he was reminded too much of the body beneath those clothes and the soft sighs from the night before. He cleared his throat to distract himself.

"Granger, I really only have about six hours of work during the day. That leaves six more hours to work on other things, thus the potion." She looked at him curiously.

"Exactly how long have you been working on this?" He held the potion out for her and she took it gingerly between her fingers, holding it as though it were particularly dangerous. She eyed its neon orange color and then handed it back to him.

"Over a month," he replied with a shrug.

"Severus, my equations are rough-they're not ready to be used on a human-on Neville!"

"I've looked them over, and they're adequate."

"Oh, how would you know, you're not a Master," she snapped, folding her arms beneath her breasts and he certainly was not looking. She was challenging him with her eyes. He wanted to challenge her right back.

"Take out your wand," he instructed, adopting the voice he used in the classroom. She took her wand out of her back pocket and held it out in front of her. "Now, I want you to work your equations and incantations over the potion. As I administer it to Longbottom, continue and concentrate on him." She nodded and shifted uncomfortably.

She formed simple, zigzagging lines over the potion that Severus held out over Neville's prone body. The lines began to become more intricate, forming specific runes and numbers. The potion began to glow ever-so-slightly. It wouldn't have been noticeable if the room had been properly lit, but she could see it in the dimness. He moved the potion then, poised to pour it down Neville's throat. She continued her wandwork and incantations over his chest. The glowing of the potion illuminated through his skin until it disappeared into his abdomen. Severus held up a hand then and she stopped chanting.

She was visibly exhausted. He felt it, too. The vibrations from her magic still thrummed around the room. She lowered herself into the chair where she'd placed her robes, breathing hard.

"When will we know if it worked?" she asked.

"Within 48 hours." He responded, moving to pull her back up by the arm. She groaned and draped her robes over her arm, following him from the room and disengaging her protective charms.

"Listen, Severus. We ought to talk about last night-"

"No need. It happened, and we're not going to make something out of it that it's not."

He swept past her down the hall, and she took a step to follow him.

Unfortunately, that was when her exhaustion got the best of her, and she collapsed in the middle of the corridor.

The next thing she knew, she was being tucked into her sofa with a thin blanket and a cup of tea pressed into her hand. She looked up groggily into warm brown eyes tinged with concern and a handsome face framed in dark curls. Darren brushed her loose, frizzy tendrils out of her eyes and tucked the blanket more securely around her.

"What did he have you do in there?" he asked, sitting carefully by her feet. He rested one hand gently on her knee and looked pointedly at her tea cup. She took a sip.

"I'm not supposed to say," she said softly. He noticed that she refused to meet his eye and chewed her lip nervously. One small finger tapped the edge of her teacup in an uneven rhythm.

"Did he hurt you?" Darren demanded, looking very much like he'd like to find Snape and brawl with him.

"No, for goodness sake! It's just...we're working on something together and he asked me not to talk about it until we've figured out the fine details." He leaned back against the couch, pouting petulantly, but nodded.

"Fine. Do you need anything else? Food?" She shook her head. "I have to get back to work." And he was gone through the front door, the sound of his Apparition just barely audible outside.

Hermione groaned, setting her tea down on the floor next to her. She felt weak and rubbery. Perhaps rest would do her some good.

When she woke up next, she smelled food. Confused, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her head swam. She felt groggy and dehydrated and finally pulled herself to stand and get some water from the kitchen.

Severus was there already, cooking dinner. She peered over his shoulder to see bangers and mash on the stove. He didn't notice her until she moved around him to grab a glass from the cupboard over his head.

"I heard you fainted," he rumbled, sounding annoyed. She didn't know why, for the life of her - she was the one who had fainted, not him.

"Erm...yeah. I suppose the ritual took more out of me than I thought."

"If it's not something you can handle-"

"It is."

"Obviously not."

"I haven't done something like that since the war, Severus. I'm tired and stressed. But I can handle it. Had you told me, I could have prepared better."

"How did you get home, then, if you fainted?" He sounded as though he were accusing her of something.

"Darren helped me." She sipped her water without looking at him.

"Ah, yes. I suppose he got you tucked into bed, as well." He stirred the mash a bit more aggressively than what was necessary.

"Uhm, no. He helped me to the sofa and made tea before he went back to work."

"I'm sure."

"What's your problem?" Hermione snapped, putting the glass down with a heavy thud. "You wanted this to be casual. Why are you so jealous of Darren?"

"Grow up, Granger. The boy is obviously in love with you." Hermione gaped at him, composing herself too slowly.

"What if he is?" She asked, almost stumbling over her words. He seemed to struggle with an answer. He really didn't have one, as a matter of fact. What did he care if another man was in love with her? Had she not just been using him as a distraction? He'd told her himself that they weren't going to make anything of it.

Angry with himself, with her, and with the entire situation, he turned the cooker off, took a plate out for her, and walked away.