A/N:

Hi there! This post-war story is cowritten, each chapter written by a different person. Ashley and I (Lisa) decided to collab on this idea, and each of us write opposite chapters.

We also understand that this subject matter may be extremely sensitive to a lot of people. So, I'd like to include a trigger warning for pandemics and communicable diseases in this first chapter, although that will extend throughout the whole story. Please also keep in mind that Hermione is quite out of character. It will be explained later.

For reference:

Healer=Doctor

Medistaff=Nurse

We hope you enjoy!

XXLisa

Hermione dodged a Healer and several Transporters as she sprinted down the corridor of St. Mungo's hospital. She'd only started working as a desk clerk in October. It was now March and she already knew the building like the back of her hand, large as it was. She narrowly avoided taking out an entire food trolly in her attempt to get to room 204 as quickly as she could.

"Code Stroke, room 2-0-4. Code Stroke, room 2-0-4," a monotone woman's voice signaled overhead.

"Move!" Hermione snapped at a housekeeper. She would apologize later, but for goodness sake, did their supplies have to be parked directly in the middle of the corridor?

Hermione was a desk clerk at St. Mungos, and when she applied for the job, she expected to simply sit at the desk and answer missives. What she did not expect to happen was that she would be running an entire unit. She was responsible for everything, aside from the direct patient care that the Healers and Medistaff were. But during a code, it was all hands on deck. She squeezed past several staff who had gathered in the doorway of room 204 to stand next to the Healer and Mediwizard on call for Codes.

Fantastic.

Hermione had neglected to memorize the Codes list that morning. Had she been more aware, she would have seen who the Healer on call for Codes that day was and prepared herself. She kept her eyes down as she took the orders barked at her and wrote them down in the patient's chart.

Severus Snape, having survived the war miraculously with little more than a scar and some emotional trauma, decided to break character and enter into a profession that required warmth and people skills. Neither of which the man had, from what Hermione had seen in the last decade. He completed an accelerated degree as a Healer, having been able to use his experience as a potions master to test out of most of the courses.

A blood thinning potion.

Imaging of his brain.

A potion for pain.

Hourly motor skill checks.

Bed rest.

Not that the poor, elderly man could move on his own right now as it was.

"Got that, Granger?" Snape snapped at her, one eyebrow arched as he watched her down the length of his nose.

"Of course," she muttered back. She refused to call him 'sir' anymore. They were equals in this setting, but she was certain he frequently forgot. Whenever she neglected to address him formally, his nostrils flared and his lips thinned, and he would stare at her the way he used to do in class as though he could will her into submission with his eyes. It wouldn't work. Instead, she tilted her chin up proudly and pushed past him back into the hallway.

"Hey, Hermione," Darren, one of the Mediwizards she'd gotten to be better friends with, greeted her and squatted next to her desk. "I need a favor." Sure. Like she wasn't trying to do four thousand other things at the moment.

"Can I finish this?" she asked, finishing up the potion orders for her stroke patient.

"Uhm-" Darren mumbled, fidgeting on his heels.

"Is someone dying, Darren?" She didn't mean to snap at him. She really didn't. "Because I know you heard that Code Stroke, which means I know you know I have a process to finish. I'm nearly done. Can it wait?"

"Uhm. Sure," he grumbled and stood up, walking away like she had just chastised him. Which she rather supposed she had. Mumbling under her breath, she finished writing out the dosages that were ordered and spelled them to be sent to the apothecary downstairs. Next, she pulled out the patient's chart, which she had charmed to fit in the pocket of her scrubs, and returned it to its normal size to write down the rest of the orders. She had just dipped her quill back into the ink when a tall shadow loomed over her, blocking the light from the chart. She looked up without actually lifting her head and was met with a white coat, crooked nose, and black hair.

"Do you need something, Healer Snape?" She asked, her tone suggesting he'd better make his point and be on his way.

"Where are the potions I ordered?" He asked, his own tone accusing. She raised her eyebrows at him and looked back down at the chart, continuing to write.

"They should be up any minute now. You know they need to be reconstituted before they're sent up." He reached out a hand for the chart and she blocked him with her own hand. "I'm not finished."

"This is my patient, Granger." He snapped. She lifted her face to glare at him.

"He's mine, too, and I'm charting. If you try to take it again, they'll be needing to reconstitute your limb."

They had never had many run-ins, so Hermione really didn't know how he was as a Healer. He could have been a miracle worker for all she knew. What she did know was that he had a nasty personality and she didn't have the patience for it. What she also knew was that she'd never seen him so angry since she'd known him. She took her time, making sure her handwriting was neat and legible and then handed him the chart with a smile that was too sweet to be genuine. His eyes never left her as she stood and turned on her heel to find Darren.

"Hermion-oh...You look upset. You ok?" She leaned against the wall near the charting station where Darren sat.

"Yeah, fine. You'd think after ten years, the man wouldn't get to me anymore." Darren smirked and pretended to be concentrating on the scroll in front of him.

"Sounds like you might have a crush," he said in a teasing, singsong tone that left her gawking.

"Well, that is just...a complete and total stretch. The man is an arse. Always has been."

"Then you won't have any scruples against going for a drink with me after work tonight," it wasn't a question, she noticed, but rather a statement.

"Was that the favor you wanted to ask?"

"As a matter of fact-"

"I don't think that's a good idea." He put his quill down and turned in his chair to look up at where she stood.

"Why?"

"We're friends. Good friends. I don't really want to ruin that, and I can tell you're not asking me just as a friend. Am I wrong?" He stared at her for a long moment before reaching up to run a hand through his mess of curly hair and turning back to the scroll in front of him.

"No, you're not wrong." He grumbled. "Sure there's no way I can convince you?"

"Sorry," she chuckled and pushed away from the wall. She visited the loo and was heading for the stairs to take her lunch break when she looked up to see Snape walking toward her. And he was unfortunately heading directly for her.

"Granger!" He thundered. She stopped walking and sighed. "Are you completely incapable of writing down simple stroke orders?" He was holding the patient's chart from earlier.

"You watched me do it," she countered, her hands on her hips.

"They're not here, Granger." He was so close to her now that she could smell him, and he was staring down his nose at her in that dominant way again. She refused to flinch. Instead, she calmly held her hand out to take the chart and when he handed it to her with a little more spice than she would have liked, she flipped directly to the orders page and pointed at where she'd written.

"Right there. Where I wrote them." His eyes flashed and he took her by the elbow, pulling her into a supply closet and shutting the door behind them.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. She still refused to flinch. "I am your superior in this facility, and you will treat me with the respect demanded of my position-"

"I beg your pardon, Healer Snape, but there are no superiors here. You are not my manager, nor my supervisor. Until you are able to fire me from my position, you are my equal, and I expect you to treat me with as much respect as you expect from me." His nostrils flared and his eyes held a dangerous fire, but they stared silently at each other.

"I'm not a child any longer. I'm not your student and you don't have the power over me that you used to. We're both adults. Act like one." She spun on her heel, her hair flying madly about her back and shoulders, and left him baffled in the supply closet.

"Yeah, my uncle," Hermione heard someone say in a hushed tone. "The Muggles are saying this virus is deadly. What's worse is that it's infecting us now." She froze. Her parents had written her a little over a week ago about a new virus making its way through the muggle world. Wizards were typically immune to muggle disease.

"My uncle's a muggle, he's got it. Been in Hospital for a few days now," Hermione saw that it was two Healers talking to each other in the corridor. She heard the closet door open and close behind her and felt Snape narrowly avoid running into her. He stopped to listen to them, too.

When she looked up at him, he was watching her with a mixture of irritation, curiosity, and-if she didn't know any better-fear.