"Professor Snape?"
The figure on the bed remained perfectly still, not bothering to react as Hermione transfigured a stool. She sat down beside him, refusing to feel discouraged as she pulled a book out of her bag.
"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. It's not easy carrying on a one-sided conversation, but I should've known better than to…"
Snape's chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh, letting her know he was already growing impatient with her.
"Anyway," she said hastily. "I thought it might be better if I read to you. Would you like that?"
He showed no hint of encouragement, though to be fair, he didn't try to stop her either. She took a deep breath, flipping to the title page.
"Hieroglyphical Magic: A History of Ancient Egypt."
The book turned out to be quite tedious, even by her standards. She managed to get through the first chapter, expecting the healer to come shoo her away at any moment. Instead, Snape gradually turned his head in her direction, his fingers nowhere near the alert button.
When she finished the third chapter, she paused for a sip of water, giving him a dubious look.
"Do you want me to stop?"
He made a peculiar noise, one that almost sounded like a grunt of displeasure.
"Guess not," she said, resisting the urge to smile. "All right then, where were we?"
She was halfway through the fifth chapter when he finally fell asleep. His breathing became deeper, more even, his relaxed expression softening his harsh features.
"I'll come back tomorrow," she whispered, tucking the book away. "Promise."
Unfortunately, Hermione's third visit didn't go as well as the second. She arrived the next morning to discover that Snape's bandages had been removed, revealing the half healed wounds beneath. The sight was jarring, angry slashes standing out in sharp relief against his pale skin.
She tried to hide her reaction, but it was too late for that. He jerked his head away, followed by a hiss of pain as he fumbled for the alert button.
"I'm sorry, dear," the healer said as she ushered her out of the room. "I guess he's not in the mood for visitors today."
"Maybe I shouldn't come back."
"Nonsense! Why would you say that?"
"Well, I'm obviously not helping. I upset him even when I don't mean to, I…"
Shaking her head, the healer put an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "You've already made a world of difference."
"What do you mean?"
"Before you showed up, he was… lifeless. Didn't react to anything, not even the pain. Now? I don't know what you did, but…"
"Maybe I annoyed him into responding."
"Maybe," the healer said, her lips twitching. "Though it's still a huge improvement."
Hermione waited three days before she returned to the hospital. She stood in the doorway to Snape's room, waiting for him to reach for the alert button. Instead, he only moved his eyes, his gaze flickering to the chair that had been placed beside the bed.
It was quite different than the stool she'd transfigured. The chair was much nicer, though obviously well used, upholstered in a delicate floral pattern.
She knew better than to ask questions, though she desperately wanted to know how it had gotten there. Had the healer brought it? Well, of course she had, but was it her idea? Or had she done it at Snape's request?
"Comfortable," she said as she sat down, watching him closely. He didn't react to her comment, his eyes fixed on her beaded bag.
She sighed, feeling like an idiot. To think that Snape of all people would be concerned about her comfort? True, he might be willing to tolerate her presence to some degree, but why on earth would he do her any favors?
"Shall I read a little more?"
This time, he did respond, inclining his head just the slightest degree. He closed his eyes, seeming to relax as she picked up where they'd left off.
He couldn't have been interested in the material. Hermione had never read a more tedious book, convoluted descriptions followed by exhaustive lists of places, names, and dates. But he seemed neither irritated or bored, as if what he truly enjoyed was the simple act of being read to.
Deciding to test this theory, she returned the next day with a different book. She flipped open the cover, convinced he'd have her kicked out before she made it through the first paragraph.
"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," she read aloud. "By Lewis Carroll."
Other than a raised eyebrow, he didn't react. He just gazed up at the ceiling, still wide awake when she finished the final chapter.
"Did you like it?" she asked him. "I know it's a Muggle book, but it was always one of my favorites. When I was little…"
"I'm sorry," the healer said as she stepped into the room, "but visiting hours are over."
For a crushing moment, Hermione thought Snape had decided to send her away. She quickly realized that wasn't the case, comforted by his startled expression. Startled… and maybe even a little disappointed? Whatever it was, he didn't seem happy about the intrusion.
"What time is it?" she asked the healer.
"9:30. I gave you an extra half hour, but I really can't…"
"9:30?! Oh no!"
She grabbed her bag, scolding herself for losing track of time. Then again, was it really so surprising? The afternoon had been incredibly relaxing, allowing her to forget the world and all its complications.
Maybe that was why Snape didn't care what she chose to read. No matter what it was, it gave him something to focus on that had nothing to do with what he'd been through. That was true for both of them, she realized. Reading was a welcome distraction, a much-needed escape from the harsh realities that still haunted them both.
"Sleep well," she told him as she hurried from the room. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Hermione returned the following morning, trying not to scowl as she dropped into the chair beside Snape. She soon realized there was no point in hiding her feelings – he was far too perceptive, watching her with what she interpreted as mild curiosity.
"I hate boys," she told him. "More trouble than they're worth, really."
To her surprise, he grunted in an obvious sign of agreement. Feeling mollified, she pulled several items out of her bag, setting them on the bedside table.
"I've brought the latest issues of Potions Weekly and the Daily Prophet. If you're not interested in either of those, we can continue with Egyptian magical history. I've also got a book on Transfiguration, two on obscure charms and spellwork, and…" She hesitated, picking up the final book. "Shakespeare."
She held each of them up, watching for his subtle cues. Finally, he gave a slight nod, surprising her by choosing the only book that was distinctly Muggle.
"All right," she said. "There are six plays here, so why don't we just start at the beginning?"
She read the opening scene of "As You Like It", her bad mood gradually fading. Oh, it still bothered her that she'd fought with Ron, who couldn't seem to understand her need for privacy. She felt guilty for lying to him, but she wasn't doing anything wrong, was she? It wasn't like she'd been sneaking around with another boy, or…
Glancing over at Snape, she lost her train of thought. He'd never looked so peaceful, soothed by the elegant, archaic text she was reading. Deciding he had the right idea, she put Ron out of her mind, focusing her attention on the first act. She'd just made it to the third when someone knocked on the door, echoed by a huff of surprise from Snape.
"They're back," the healer said, scowling as she swept into the room. "Though I'm not sure why they bother. They know he isn't responsive. I've told them a dozen times that I'd let them know when that changes."
Snape's features twisted, his eyes narrowing as Hermione heard voices in the hall. By the time the Ministry officials entered the room, he was perfectly composed, his eyes as blank as his expression.
"Come on, dear. Let's you and I have a cup of tea."
"Really?"
"I don't see why not," the healer said, closing the door behind them. "I've only got two patients, and I don't imagine either of them will need me for a bit."
Her name, Hermione learned, was Amaryllis. She'd been at St. Mungo's for more than 30 years, though she'd only recently been transferred to her current ward.
"We were stretched pretty thin after the battle," she explained. "Had to do some shuffling around. I've never seen so many injured, not even during the First War. Fortunately, most of them have been treated and released."
"That's good."
"As for your friend…"
"My friend?" It was bizarre to hear Snape referred to that way, though Hermione didn't know how to clarify their relationship. She took another sip of tea instead, waiting for Amaryllis to continue.
"He's taking a bit longer to recover, though that's only to be expected. Really, it's a miracle he survived."
"Do you think he'll ever be able to talk again?"
"Oh, sure. He could talk right now if he wanted to."
"What?!" She shook her head, staring at Amaryllis in disbelief. "Then why hasn't he… how do you know?"
"The inside of his throat is mostly healed, but it isn't just that. I've heard him cry out in the night a couple times. Trust me, the words were perfectly intelligible."
"If that's true, I don't understand… well, no, I guess I do understand."
Amaryllis nodded. "It isn't just about physical recovery. That's one thing you learn after three decades of healing. Mr. Snape is still recuperating in other ways… I think the lack of speech is giving him the space he needs to do that."
"Yeah, I'm sure he's not up to dealing with the Ministry quite yet."
Speaking of which…" Draining her teacup, Amaryllis got to her feet. "It's been 20 minutes. I only have to give them 15 before I'm allowed to kick them out."
Hermione followed her back to Snape's room, waiting outside as she dealt with the Ministry officials. A second later, they came rushing out, their expressions harried.
"Can I go back in?"
"Probably not a good idea right now. He's a bit… agitated. I've given him some Dreamless Sleep."
Hermione nodded, swallowing her disappointment. "I don't know if I can come tomorrow, but I'll be back in the next few days. Will you tell him?"
"Of course. Have a good night, dear."
She emerged from the hospital a few minutes later, surprised by how late it was. The sun had long since set, the streets relatively empty as she hurried toward the Apparition point. Closing her eyes, she turned on her heel, landing in the field beside the Burrow.
Why hadn't she been more careful? After her fight with Ron, she'd promised not to stay out past dinner. It hadn't even taken her a day to break that promise, but being at St. Mungo's made it far too easy to forget the world outside.
She let herself into the house, wondering if she should finally come clean. But then she remembered what Amaryllis had said about Snape's silence.
"He's still recuperating in other ways. I think the lack of speech is giving him the space he needs to do that."
The same was true for Hermione herself, albeit in a different way. She didn't want to tell Ron about her visits to St. Mungo's because they were a part of her own healing process, something she simply wasn't ready to share.
"Where you been?"
To her surprise, Ron didn't seem upset. He followed her into the kitchen, helping himself to a piece of cake before he plopped down at the table.
"I went to a Muggle library to study. Hey, where did all this food come from?"
He grinned, reaching up to wipe a bit of frosting off his chin. "Mum made it."
"Are you serious?"
"Yep. She cooked breakfast and dinner, too. Know what else?"
"What's that?"
"She hasn't been in the twins' room at all today."
"Oh Ron, I'm so happy to hear it. I really was starting to worry."
"Me too." He paused, slicing off another piece of cake. "But I feel like everything's going to be all right now, you know? Even got a letter from George this afternoon."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he said he might come by for dinner next week."
"That's wonderful!"
She grabbed a plate, helping herself to a heap of potatoes. She added several slices of roast beef, devouring a piece of freshly baked bread. She was absolutely famished, which was hardly surprising. Food was another thing she tended to forget while she was at St. Mungo's.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we could hang out tonight?"
He'd never looked so hopeful, his expression filling her with guilt.
"I'd love to."
By the time they'd finished the second game of chess, Hermione was exhausted. After her long day at the hospital and the enormous meal she'd eaten, all she wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. She kept these feelings to herself, however, stifling a yawn as Ron put an arm around her shoulders.
"So," he said, looking uncharacteristically shy. "Want to go up to my room?"
She hesitated. "I'm still not ready…"
"I'm not asking you to shag," he said hastily. "Just a bit of snogging, I promise."
She wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow, both their shirts ended up on the floor. After some deliberation, she allowed him to remove her bra as well, flattered by his admiration as he stared at her breasts. He reached out to touch them, clumsy in his eagerness, fumbling fingers followed by his warm, wet mouth.
"Hermione," he said, his voice muffled. "I can't wait until…"
She didn't need him to finish. His desire was obvious, pressed against her leg as he moved up to kiss her neck. The next thing she knew, he'd shifted his hips, bringing them flush against hers.
"Ron…"
She trailed off, realizing that he wasn't making any attempt to remove his jeans. Instead, he started to move, whispering in her ear as he rubbed himself against her.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, just… keep your trousers on, all right?"
"Okay."
It didn't take him long. He rrocked back and forth for a couple more minutes, mumbling a garbled version of her name before his body went limp.
"Bloody hell," he panted as he collapsed on the mattress. "That was amazing."
He didn't bother to ask her whether she'd enjoyed it, too. Yawning, he laid his head on her chest, falling asleep in a matter of minutes.
Perhaps she should've been offended. Instead, she was relieved she'd found a way to satisfy him. True, there'd been nothing in it for her, but at least it hadn't involved doing anything she wasn't ready to do.
"No," he mumbled when she tried to pull away.
"Ron, I'm tired, too. I can't fall asleep in here."
"Five more minutes."
"All right." She sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillow. "But then I have to go."
"Ronald Weasley!"
Hermione jerked awake, gasping as she spotted the figure in the doorway. Molly's face was thinner than she remembered, though that did little to distract from her expression. It was caught between shock and outrage, her eyes widening as they dropped to Hermione's chest.
"Oh, no…"
The scene couldn't have been more incriminating. Both she and Ron were topless, clothes scattered across the floor. They were partially covered with a blanket, though in this case, it did more harm than good. It made it appear as if they were fully naked, concealing the fact that they were both wearing jeans.
All the while, Ron slept on, his face pressed against her bare breast.
"This isn't what it looks like." Even as she said it, Hermione felt like an idiot. "We didn't…"
"Get dressed," Molly said tersely. "I want you both downstairs in five minutes."
With that, she left the room, closing the door with a bang.
"Oi!" Ron said as he shot up in bed. "What was that?"
"Your mum."
His eyes widened. "Did she…"
"We've got five minutes to get downstairs."
To Hermione's relief, Molly chose to talk to them separately, lecturing Ron for a good 15 minutes before calling her into the kitchen. He passed her on his way out, his cheeks scarlet.
"Sit down."
Hermione did as she was told, trying not to fidget as Molly fixed her a plate of bacon and eggs. She seemed calmer, pouring them both a cup of tea before she sat down on the other side of the table.
"Both of you are of age now, and you were off on your own for nearly a year. I guess it would be foolish to think you never…"
"We didn't. We still haven't, honestly!"
"Even if that's true…" Molly's expression made it clear that she didn't believe it for a second. "It's only a matter of time. In bed with a boy with your clothes off? Things happen, whether you mean for them to or not."
Hermione blushed, remembering the night she'd just spent with Ron. True, she'd set limits, but she certainly hadn't planned on letting him rub himself off on her. It just happened.
That was the problem. It had made sense to go along with what he'd wanted, easier to submit than refuse. That was how he managed to push her a little further each time, creeping ever closer to that inevitable moment when she finally gave in.
"You're right," she told Molly. "I think we need to slow down."
"That's not a bad idea, though it's easier said than done. Once you've crossed that line…"
"We really haven't…" She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry aabout this morning, okay? It won't happen again."
"Are you using contraceptives?"
"What?"
"You know, charms, potions, that sort of thing. I guess there are Muggle methods as well, though I've heard they're less reliable."
"I haven't really thought about it. Ron and I aren't…"
"Well, you need to use something, dear. That is, unless the two of you are planning on getting married in the near future. If that's the case, I certainly wouldn't mind a grandchild. Or a whole slew of them, for that matter."
Hermione hadn't thought the conversation could get any worse. Clearly, she'd been wrong.
"Right, well, I need to get going."
"Not until you've finished your breakfast."
Realizing there was no way around it, she choked down the eggs and bacon she'd been given. Washing it down with a last bit of tea, she rose to her feet, resisting the urge to run out of the room.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?" she said, cringing as she glanced back over her shoulder.
"I realize that both of you are adults, but this is still my house. Unless the two of you are married or at least engaged, I'd prefer it if you slept in separate rooms."
"Yeah," she muttered under her breath. "Me too."
"You wouldn't believe the morning I've had."
Of course, Snape didn't respond, though Hermione welcomed his silence. She dropped in the chair beside him, shaking her head as she reached in her bag.
"I mean, really, it's like the Weasleys don't understand the concept of privacy. Heaven forbid they knock on the door before they enter a room, or you know, not ask a dozen questions every time they see you. They always have to know where you're going, what you're doing, why you're being so quiet, or…"
She glanced over at Snape, expecting him to be annoyed. Instead, he seemed faintly amused by her tirade.
"I like the Weasleys," she continued. "Really, I do. But… did you just snort?"
Snape's expression was carefully blank, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Anyway, they just make me feel crowded, you know? I guess I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. Maybe it's because I was an only child. I never had to deal with anyone expecting me to entertain them all the time, or… am I bothering you?"
He grunted, obviously thrown by the change of subject. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction, his dark eyes meeting hers.
"Would you rather I read?"
He didn't respond, which she couldn't help but find annoying. After all, it wasn't as if he'd been hiding his ability to make noises or subtle gestures. But then it occurred to her that his options for communication were somewhat limited. He might be able to answer yes or no or express displeasure, but as long as he chose not to speak, there was little room for more nuanced responses.
"I have an idea," she said. "Can you move your fingers?"
He rolled his eyes, wriggling each of them in turn.
"Okay, index finger means yes, middle finger means no. Ring finger means you either don't know or don't care. Got it?"
He looked dubious, though it wasn't difficult to understand why. According to Amaryllis, his lack of communication was a defense mechanism, something he was obviously using to shield himself while he recovered.
"I won't tell anyone," she said quietly. "I won't ask you any questions you don't want to answer either. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is invade your privacy…" She trailed off, giving him a mischievous look. "I'm not a Weasley, you know."
Snape made a strange noise, almost as if he'd just swallowed a cough. It took her a minute to realize he was laughing, his chest rising and falling several times in rapid succession.
She'd made Professor Snape laugh. Not in a mocking way… not cruelly or maliciously… she'd honestly made him laugh.
"Besides," she said, elated by his reaction. "If I do anything you don't like, you'll just have me tossed out."
He lifted his index finger, responding with a slow, deliberate yes. His lips were still twitching, his body much more relaxed.
"Good, I'm glad we understand each other. Now would you like me to shut up about myself and read for a while?"
He hesitated, then raised his ring finger.
Of course, if he did want to hear more about her life, he'd never admit it. He was far too good at feigning disinterest, an ability he'd relied on during the war. Once, that facade had fooled her as much as anyone else, but she was beginning to recognize the subtleties.
"You don't care?" she said casually. "Okay then. As I was saying, I've never understood how the Weasleys can live on top of each other the way they do. I was an only child and both my parents worked all the time, so I always had plenty of space."
If she'd seen Snape's expression a couple years ago, she would've assumed he was bored out of his mind. Now she could tell he was listening intently, his brow furrowed.
"Of course," she continued, "that wasn't always a good thing. My childhood was pretty lonely sometimes, especially since I didn't have any friends. Until I met Ron and Harry…"
Just the mention of Harry's name made Snape tense, letting her know she was treading on dangerous ground. Hastily, she backtracked, steering the conversation in a safer direction.
"I did love to read, though. Even when I was really small, I always wanted books instead of toys. I spent most of my time at the Muggle library – that's still my favorite place in the world, even better than…"
She caught herself, realizing he probably didn't want to hear about Hogwarts. Instead, she listed off a handful of books from her childhood, explaining why they meant so much to her.
"I especially loved anything having to do with science. Biology, chemistry, physics? Those were my favorites. I wish there was more respect for Muggle knowledge in the magical world."
To her surprise, Snape grunted, lifting his index finger in agreement. She desperately wanted to ask him what Muggle subjects he'd studied, but of course, that wasn't the type of question he could answer. Clearly, he was feeling his limitations, too – he opened his mouth and then closed it again, obviously frustrated by his inability to offer an opinion.
"Of course, I always loved Shakespeare, too. Would you like me to read you another play?"
A twitch of a finger and she launched into "A Midsummer Night's Dream". She read it from start to finish, her throat aching by the time she reached the final page. By then, Snape was deeply asleep, his head still turned in her direction.
"Sleep well," she whispered, reaching out to straighten his blanket. "I'll try to be here tomorrow."
Hermione returned to St. Mungo's the next day, slipping away from the Burrow while the others were playing Quidditch. She headed straight up to Snape's floor, coming face to face with a beaming Amaryllis.
"You truly are a miracle."
"I am? What did I…"
"Here, let me show you."
As usual, Snape's door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light slicing across the hallway. Hermione frowned, shooting a questioning look at the healer.
"What…"
"Muffliato," Amaryllis whispered. "Look!"
She peered through the crack, her eyes widening as she spotted Snape. He was sitting up in bed, oblivious to her presence as he lifted a spoon to his mouth.
"He isn't lying down," she said, though she felt foolish for stating the obvious. "He's…"
"Eating!" Amaryllis finished for her. "First time he's done it on his own. Before today, I was feeding him nutrient potions, maybe a little broth if I could coax him into taking it. Look at him now! He's had almost an entire sandwich, along with that bowl of fruit he's nearly finished."
"That's wonderful!"
"Yes, and you know what else he did? He used the toilet! A bit shaky on his feet, to be sure, but he's managed it twice now. Told me not to bring him any more bedpans."
"That's…" She hesitated, quite sure Snape wouldn't appreciate the two of them discussing his bathroom habits. "How did he tell you? I mean, how did you know he wanted food?"
Amaryllis chuckled, withdrawing a note from her pocket. She handed it to Hermione, shaking her head as she did so.
"He's very…"
"Particular?" Hermione suggested, reading over the neat lines of script. Snape had detailed exactly what he wanted to eat, followed by a handful of notes on preparation.
"I suppose that's a good word for it. He was a teacher, wasn't he?"
"Potions Master."
Amaryllis nodded. "That seems fitting. I'm sure he had high standards."
"You have no idea."
Hermione made it to the final line of script, the handwriting so small and cramped she could barely read it.
Please place another stasis charm on my flowers. They're starting to wilt.
"Flowers?"
"Oh," Amaryllis said, plucking the note out of her hand. "I don't think you were supposed to see that."
"The flowers I brought?"
"He hasn't received any others."
"But I… I never saw them after that first day. I just figured he'd had them tossed out."
Amaryllis shook her head. "He has me take them out of there each morning, but he keeps them with him at night."
"Why?"
"I suppose he finds them comforting, even if he'd rather keep that to himself."
Comforting. The word stirred something in Hermione's memory, reminding her of a previous visit. She glanced at the note in Amaryllis's hand, unable to suppress her curiosity.
"The notes… how long has he been able to do that?"
"A couple weeks now. Two, maybe three? I received the first one right after you started showing up."
Hermione nodded. "How do they work? Does he write them himself, or…"
"Oh, no." Amaryllis withdrew a couple items from her pocket, handing one of them to Hermione. It looked exactly like Snape's alert button, an oblong shaped object that fit neatly into her hand.
"How do I…"
"Project your thoughts."
She held down the button, focusing on a simple message.
How does this work? Protean Charm?
"Ah," Amaryllis said, watching the words appear on the slip of parchment she was holding. "There we go. It's similar, yes, though the spell is enhanced for more complex communications. Your message wasn't urgent, so the alert I received was subtle. In the case of an emergency…"
"Yes?" Hermione prompted, fascinated by this new discovery.
"The message would be verbal rather than written."
"Even if the person who sent it can't speak?"
"Our alert system isn't dependent on physical capabilities. Patients have to be able to communicate, especially those who are incapacitated."
"Has he ever…"
Following the direction of Hermione's eyes, Amaryllis glanced at Snape's doorway. "Not yet. He only communicates in written form."
"Well, at least he's communicating, I guess. Can I ask you something else?"
"I suppose so."
"That chair in his room… how did it get there?"
Amaryllis frowned, momentarily confused. Then she reached in her other pocket, shuffling through numerous slips of parchment. She handed one to Hermione, a tiny scrap that contained a single line of Snape's handwriting.
If I'm to have visitors, it said, they'll need somewhere suitable to sit.
She didn't say anything. How could she? Yet another one of her preconceived notions about Snape had been shattered, leaving her utterly at a loss. The chair. The flowers. Laughing at her jokes? She had no idea how to reconcile that with…
"He looks forward to your visits," Amaryllis said, "You've helped him a great deal, even if he's too proud to admit it."
"He still won't talk."
"No, but he's responding in other ways, none of which seemed possible before you came. To tell you the truth, I didn't think he was going to make it. All he did was lie there, not seeming to care whether he lived or died."
"And I'm the one who changed that? I don't see how. He and I were never… well, to tell you the truth, he hated me."
"But you're here," Amaryllis pointed out. "You're here and you care. That can make a huge difference, especially to someone who has no one else."
Hermione nodded, not knowing what else to say. She found it difficult to believe that she'd helped Snape as much as the healer claimed, though at the very least, she knew now that he welcomed her visits. That alone was all the encouragement she needed.
"Can I see him now?"
"Of course! Just don't tell him about…"
"Don't worry," she interrupted. "I won't say a word."
Snape looked up as she entered the room, acknowledging her presence with a slight nod. Comforted by the familiarity, she closed the door behind her, settling herself in the chair beside the bed.
The chair he'd requested for her.
Resisting the urge to smile, she retrieved a handful of books from her bag.
"I see you're sitting up today," she said, doing her best to sound casual. "That's a nice change."
He grunted, reaching for the books she'd placed on the bedside table. Rejecting the first two, he settled on the third, leaning back against the pillows as he flipped open the cover.
"So we're reading to ourselves, then?"
Another grunt.
"I guess so," she muttered, selecting a book for herself.
To her surprise, it wasn't the least bit awkward. On the contrary, she'd never felt more comfortable, soothed by the rustle of turning pages as they read in companionable silence. She lost herself in the material, finishing one book before she started on another.
"Pardon me, dear."
The book fell from her hands, hitting the floor with a smack. She looked up to find Amaryllis standing in the doorway, both of them shifting their attention to Snape. He was still sitting up, though deeply asleep, clinging to the open book that rested against his chest.
"Here, let me get that for you."
"No," she said hastily. "Let him keep it."
"All right, well, it's late. You should probably…"
"How late?"
"A little past two."
"Two?!" her eyes widened. "I thought visiting hours ended at nine!"
"They do," Amaryllis said. "But I had to help out with a situation upstairs. I wasn't able to make it back down here before now."
Hermione grabbed her other books, cursing softly as she shoved them in her bag. She raced down the stairs and through the reception area, panting as she emerged onto the London street. She'd nearly reached the Apparition point when she met Ron's Patronus, his frantic voice demanding to know where she was. Five minutes later, she practically staggered through the Burrow's front door, bracing herself for what was sure to be a nasty argument.
"I'm sorry, Ron. I was reading a really good book and I lost track of time."
"Lost track of time? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
"I said I was sorry. It won't happen again."
"Yeah, that's what you said last time. What the hell is going on, Hermione?"
"I told you I was reading."
He shook his head. "Nobody reads that much. Not even you. Are you seeing someone else?"
"Of course not! How could you think that?"
"Why wouldn't I think that?" he shot back. "You keep disappearing, staying out until all hours of the night. You obviously don't want to shag, rarely even want to make out anymore. Ginny told me you've been borrowing her dresses, and…"
"I don't have any clothes, Ron! I lost most of my stuff when we went on the run, remember? I'm sorry if I don't want to keep wearing the same ratty old jeans."
"You don't seem to mind wearing them around me. You only change when you go out."
"That's because I'm out in public. It doesn't mean…" She sighed, sinking down onto the couch. "This is a pointless argument, Ron. Really, it is. I'm not cheating on you, okay? Promise."
"Even if that's true, you haven't been the same since…"
"Since when? Before the battle?"
"Yeah."
"Well, of course I haven't been the same! I lost my parents, lost a lot of my friends, had my entire world turned upside down. I'm sorry if I can't just…"
"And I lost my brother!" Ron shouted. "Watched friends die just like you did! I'm still here, Hermione. I'm not shutting you out, giving you the cold shoulder and disappearing all the time. It's not fair!"
"Fair? This isn't about being fair. We just have different ways of coping, that's all."
"We should be coping with it together. Isn't that what couples do?"
Together? She hadn't left the Burrow for nearly a month after the battle. She'd been there to listen whenever he'd needed to talk, sometimes for hours on end. Granted, she'd been less than enthusiastic about their physical relationship, but she couldn't help that. She wasn't going to force herself to do anything she wasn't ready to do.
"What do you want, Ron? What do you want that I'm not doing?"
He sat down on the couch beside her, letting out a heavy sigh. "Nothing, I guess. I just… I want to know where you've been going, that's all. It wouldn't bother me so much if I didn't feel like you were hiding something."
"You really want to know?"
"Please."
"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I've been going to see Professor Snape. I was at St. Mungo's several times last week, once or twice the week before, and that's where I was tonight. We've been reading together."
Ron burst out laughing.
"What? I'm serious."
He only laughed harder, his face turning an unflattering shade of red.
"You mean to tell me… you've been hanging around with Snape? That's the worst excuse I've ever heard!"
"You know what? Nevermind."
"Come on, don't be mad. You've got to admit, it is pretty funny."
"How so?"
"Hermione, we're talking about Snape. He wouldn't let you come see him even if you wanted to. Can't imagine why you would, really."
"He nearly died fighting for our side. Have you forgotten that?"
Ron shrugged. "He's still a nasty old git who hates us. Doubt that's changed, no matter what he did in the war."
"He really isn't…" She trailed off, realizing that she didn't really want Ron to know the truth. She'd given him a chance to act mature, to give both her and Snape the benefit of the doubt. He'd failed on both counts. Why should she fight to make him believe her, when obviously, he'd rather treat it as a joke than even attempt to take her seriously?
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?
"Are you sure you're not seeing someone else? You could tell me, you know. Not saying I wouldn't be mad, but…"
"I'm not cheating on you, Ron. Please don't make me say it again."
"Then why can't you tell me where you were?"
"I tried to tell you. You didn't believe me."
"So," he said, flinging an arm over the back of the couch. "You really were off reading?"
"Yes."
"Why can't you do that here?"
"Because…" What could she tell him? That the house made her feel claustrophobic? That she hated being interrupted every five minutes? Or maybe she could tell him how much she loved reading with Snape, the one person who seemed to enjoy the written word as much as she did?
In the end, she told him none of these things, knowing that he wouldn't understand.
"I just need a little time to myself, Ron. That's all."
"Okay." He let out a defeated sigh, making it clear that the fight was over. "Just… try not to stay out so late, yeah? I really was worried."
"I know. It won't happen again."
Hermione sent a message to St. Mungo's, letting Snape know she wouldn't be able to come for the rest of the week. She did her best to smooth things over with Ron, spending as much time with him as possible as she focused on life at the Burrow.
By the fifth day, she couldn't take it anymore. The minutes seemed to drag by like hours, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Snape. What was he doing right then? Sleeping? Eating? Wondering why she wasn't there even as he pretended that it didn't matter?
She waited until the others went outside to play Quidditch, grabbing her bag on her way out the door. Apparating straight to St. Mungo's, she practically ran upstairs, eager with anticipation as she opened the door to Snape's room.
"Sorry I couldn't come sooner. I…"
The bed was occupied, though not by Snape. In his place was an elderly witch, who'd obviously been startled by her abrupt entrance. Hastily, she backed out of the room, mumbling her apologies.
"Ah, there you are."
She turned around to see Amaryllis hurrying toward her, carrying the book she'd left behind on her last visit.
"Where is he? He didn't…"
"Oh, no, he's fine! We released him yesterday morning."
Frowning, she accepted the book, tucking it in her bag. "Did he leave a message? Any contact information?"
"I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid he didn't."