Murder, Magic, Mayhem, and Madness

This is a murder mystery—characters do die in this story.

Before

The summer had been one of trials. Oh, it hadn't been that bad for Severus, except that everything had been done for him: his investigation, his trial, his evaluation by the board of governors, his reinstatement, his Minister's pardon for his war crimes, and his acquittal. All done behind his back and while he'd lain in the hospital wing in a coma. Even the ceremony for his Order of Merlin had happened while he'd lain in bed barely conscious on potions. His life had been laid bare for examination for the entire Wizarding world to see and judge, and he'd been utterly helpless to stop it from happening. Not that he could do anything about it now.

Hermione came to see him every day. He'd heard her, Hermione's persistent voice in his head everyday. He had felt her. Not just the physical touches, but he'd known each time she'd entered his room. The first time she'd pulled back his bedcovers to look at his legs, he'd been very well aware of her and every time after. She'd even invaded his dreams.

He remembered the day she'd arrived carrying books on Muggle Physical Therapy to show his Healer as if he were a personal project of hers. They had discussed the merits of using the techniques while they stood by his bed. Guilt, he supposed. Hermione had pulled back his covers to demonstrate the exercises. He'd been amused and a little embarrassed by her gasp when she'd lifted his leg and the hospital gown had slid up his thigh, exposing him. Her muttered apology had done little to appease his discomfort when she'd laid a cloth across his groin and continued anyway. It had seemed silly to Severus her desire to exercise using his arms and legs, although, he did have to admit he had rather enjoyed the vigorous rubdowns and massages required after an hour of those Muggle therapy sessions.

The first day Severus opened his eyes, he thought he had been hallucinating. The fuzzy view of steep green mountains, and a warm, sunny beach had seemed to blend together with a seaside village and sea cove, all dotted with tiny little rainbows.

The second time he opened his eyes, the room had been bathed in a softer light from the floating illumination baubles, and he realized that the view he'd tried to discern previously had been in fact four out of five scenic posters. A wind chime had been dangling in his room with prisms that sent dancing rainbows on his walls and across the posters when the light hit them. Severus had groaned and closed his eyes, hoping it had simply been a bad dream. The third time he'd opened his eyes, he'd realized it wasn't. Then he remembered hearing Hermione's voice saying, "Something for him to look at and break the monotony of the monotone white décor," but he'd thought it had been part of his hallucination. It was his Healer who told him that Hermione had hung the picturesque posters on his wall.

He also noticed that Hermione had brought a soft, green blanket for his bed.

"Good morning, Severus," Hermione said cheerfully as she entered his room. "Did you like breakfast this morning? I thought that the eggs were a bit overdone, myself."

Oh yes, breakfast was delightful. Overcooked, lukewarm eggs and a Bloody Mary sans the vodka, he thought, staring at the ceiling and wishing she'd bugger off.

She pulled back his blanket to exercise his legs, and slid her finger on his foot. "Oh, Severus! Did I see your toe move?" she asked, clearly enthusiastic that he might have wiggled a toe.

He tried to move his head so he could properly glare at her, but the spell supporting his neck kept him immobilized from his head to his chest. No, I clearly didn't see my toe move, he wanted to snarl at her. He had, however, felt his toe move, not that it was a big deal to him. Hermione continued to babble at him as she lifted his leg and bent his knee to his chest.He saw a glimpse of his knee with each movement and realized that he was wearing dark blue pajamas instead of the ugly utilitarian hospital robes St. Mungo's normally used. He lay there, irritated to no end by her chatter and stared at the ceiling.

When she moved to his arms, he tried to look the other way. "Would you like me to give you a bath today?" she asked.

Severus' eyes snapped in her direction. Oh, yes, please, that's just what I want—the humiliation of having to endure you giving me a bath. You gasped like a naïve first-year when you saw my penis, and you want to give me a bath? Bloody Gryffindors.

"Okay, right after I massage your legs, I'll get the Healer to get us a bathtub with warm water," she said while moving his forearm up and down.

Severus turned his gaze back to the ceiling. Oh, I bet you'd love to get me in a bathtub, wouldn't you, you insolent girl.

She was smiling at him warmly, as she lifted and rotated his arm, as if nothing would give her more pleasure than to bathe him. "I had Ginny bring me some lavender soap. You like lavender, yes? It's good for relaxation."

Severus stared at her in disbelief. Lavender? Do I want to smell like lavender—did you completely lose your mind in the war, perhaps? Why lavender? No, I don't… Bloody hell! I survived the Dark Lord and this bloody war only to be subjected to this?

"Ginny said that it has Rosemary and eucalyptus oils, and I think it smells divine," she said as she began messaging his arm. "With the steam from the warm water, it should really help you feel better."

Oh, Circe. Help me.

~ooo0ooo~

The first time Severus had tired to speak, his voice had been merely breathy scratches and croaks. The next day, Hermione sat next to him and read to him about something called Voice Therapy. Severus could do nothing but lie in his bed and listen to her. Some of the ideas sounded feasible, a few even plausible. He followed her directions, sipping on the lemon and honey watered down with a minimum of tea between his efforts to talk.

Eventually, Severus had felt strong enough to stand. Hermione came back the next day with a metal thing she unfolded and set down in front of him. She had also brought him a dark blue dressing robe and thick slippers.

"What is that doing here?" he snapped at her.

She looked up at him proudly as if she'd discovered the thirteenth use of dragon blood. "It's a walker."

He sighed heavily and looked at her pointedly. "I know it's a walker. What I asked is, what is it doing here?"

"I asked my mum to get it for you. Ron went to their office to pick it up," she said, stifling a laugh at something funny.

"And what is so funny about getting me a walker?" he asked.

"Ron took his dad to my parents' office," she said. "Apparently Mr. Weasley got a tour."

Severus was mortified, but tried using the walker anyway. He figured since he had it, he might as well. The sooner he recovered, the sooner he'd be rid of Hermione. Hermione squatted down in front of him to correct his foot placement as he tried to walk. "Don't fight the Balance Charm. Just take one step at a time."

"Mr. Weasley went with his son to get my walker?" he asked, hoping he'd misunderstood her. If this is true, the entire Weasley clan will know I have a Muggle walker…

"Yes, he was really intrigued with the cuspidor sinks, drill and polish hand piece, scalers, aquifer syringe and suction hand piece, the reclining chair, the examination light, and the x-ray arm. I also think it was the first time he'd seen a computer as well." Hermione began to tell him everything she'd heard from both her parents and Ron about Mr. Weasley's visit. Apparently, Arthur had been inordinately impressed. At least her rambling made the time pass a little faster. Soon enough, he was lying down on the bed, sans his pajamas, with a throw blanket the size of a baby blanket across his groin, getting his legs massaged again.His favorite part of these therapies, not that he'd tell her he appreciated it.

She spent everyday with him. During her morning visit, she frequently offered to assist him with everything from his therapies to dressing or eating, and more than once offered to help him brush his teeth. She'd arranged to have a claw-footed bathtub brought into his room, and managed to get Severus in it, disillusioned, of course, on his insistence. The normal looking tub fit his length and curved comfortably for his back, and all Hermione had to do was prop a towel behind him for his head. She washed him as if he were a kid, all but his privates. She used a spell for that. Unfortunately. Even though it would've been amusing to Severus to have watched the flickers of expression that would've played on her face. She'd even washed his hair, which had been an experience in itself. It was soothing, her fingers and fingernails massaging the soap on his scalp, which had set every nerve of his body on edge because of the way it made his body seem to relax and his penis twitch. Nevertheless, his Healer had returned at the end of the bath, made Hermione go back to her room, and he'd helped Severus to redress and get back in bed.

He didn't see her until the following day, at lunch.

That had become the regular routine, she'd read from the daily newspapers while he ate, or read his post to him. That had been until he'd gained better use of his hands. Severus had been astounded at the number of women who'd sent him post. He discovered that he was now considered to be a desirable bachelor, voted one of Witch Weekly's 'Most Promising and Eligible Wizards,' and had become nearly as famous as Potter. He had also been granted the Hayvenhurst Most Honored Potioneers award and made Honoree of the Cauldron for the antidotes and antivenins he'd invented during the war from the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers all while he, Severus, had struggled to regain the full function of his limbs and voice in St. Mungo's. And at dinnertime, even when he could have managed the book for himself, Hermione would sit and read to him.

~ooo0ooo~

Severus was well on his way to full recovery the day Hermione came in and threw herself in the chair. "That horrible woman!" she said coldly, through gritted teeth, her eyes hardening.

"Could you be more specific?" Severus said drolly. "I could name quite a few witches that meet that description."

Hermione handed him one of the books she'd brought. "First, she wrote that book on Dumbledore, then on Harry, and now she's written a book about you," she rambled. "Snape: Scoundrel or Saint!"

Severus looked at the cover with a scowl. "Why would I want a book by Rita Skeeter, that self-righteous scandalmonger?"

"It's a book about you. She wrote your biography," Hermione said with disdain.

Severus looked at the book in astonishment, then narrowed his eyes angrily. "It's an unauthorized biography! What could she have used as a source… Potter?" He dropped the book onto the bed. "Am I to believe she—that insipid, miscreant, talebearing, reporter, Rita Skeeter, wrote a defamatory book about me and is circulating it widespread?"

"It's apparently a best seller," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "I finished it last night."

"And what exactly did she write about me?"

"It's wonkey!" she said, sitting back in the chair and relaxing. "First, she goes through this pack of lies, all about your childhood and how you were so misunderstood as a student at school. Then, she writes this romantic tragedy of your relationship with Harry's mum and the animosity you had with Harry's dad. After that, she paints you out as the villain, evil Death Eater, then turns a one-eighty and becomes all sympathetic for what you had to endure under Dumbledore. It's hard to tell what's true."

"So, she's making money off my name?" He picked up the book, wanting very much to throw it out the window.

"Well, Harry insisted that you be given proper royalties…" Her voice trailed off when she looked up at his scathing glare. "I was curious about the book. It is literally making you a celebrity of sorts." She picked up the book and set it on his bedside table. "Harry's in the corridor. He wanted to see you again—to explain," she said and recoiled at the venomous look in his dark eyes.

"I do not wish to see him," he said coldly. "Well, you can thank the Prat-Who-Lived—twice to defeat the Dark Lord—twice, to butt out of my life."

Hermione suddenly sat up stiffly in her chair. "Harry's on your side! He's been speaking up for you, on your behalf. Repeatedly!" Severus grudgingly listened to her explanation, not really wanting to, but having little choice in the matter. According to the second bane of his existence, the Miss Must-Know-Everything Granger, Potter had indiscreetly disclosed his all of his most private memories, divulged the shape of his Patronus!?

His hands clenched as he'd listened to her, and his dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "You mean to tell me that not only did Potter expose my private memories, the information I gave him, in the heat of the moment as he faced the Dark Lord, but he told everyone that I loved his mother, about my loyalties, in front of everyone—God and all sundry—when he should've been fighting him?! He was supposed to be destroying that narcistic megalomaniac—not taunting a one-upmanship regarding my alliances! How dare that insolent prat converse about my loyalties and love life, or lack thereof, instead of doing what he was destined to do—vanquish the Dark Lord and save the Wizarding world—again. How bloody brilliant!"

"Well, yes. The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet has published articles about your activities under Dumbledore and for the Order. Of course, the portrait of Dumbledore was carried into court to corroborate on the evidences presented by Potter and me. Even Witch Weekly andthe gutter press The Sorcerer's Star printed numerous articles about you. You are an acknowledged hero, now."

"Do you mean to tell me that Potter's declaration had been repeated in every known publication for—what—over a month?" He was so mad there was tiny flake of spittle that flew out of his mouth. "How dare he! Did he do this just to insure that every living person in the Wizarding world knew my most privately guarded secrets?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that." She turned in her chair to look at the door. "Harry might have been a little overly enthusiastic…"

"Get out!" he barked.

Her body jerked, startled. "What?"

"Get out!" he snarled, his cold eyes glaring maliciously.

"Not this again. I have to help you with your therapies," Hermione said patiently.

"I said GET OUT!" he shouted, grimacing once at the pain, then glared at her furiously. "Do not make me start hexing you."

Her eyes went wide. "You wouldn't?!"

"I most certainly would! Now. Get. Out!" he said using his soft, dangerous, pushed-me-too-far tone.

"No, you need me," she pleaded.

Severus concentrated all his anger into his center and directed it out his hand as he pointed at her. She yelped in pain as the Stinging Hex hit her. "You—you…"

A second jolt cursed down his arm. "I said get out!" he snarled as a burst of magic sent Hermione flailing against the door. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, but she scrambled to her feet and fled the room.

The Healer that brought him his lunch scolded him for hexing Hermione, saying he should be grateful to her, that she'd sat by his bedside every day, reading to him, massaging his arms and legs, saying encouragements to make him want to live, to wake up. He refused to acknowledge the wizard, and didn't touch is food until the man left.

He wondered if she'd have the audacity to come back. He'd yelled at her before and she always did. She was nothing if not persistent, especially with his therapy. Although he'd be damned if he'd tell her that he liked—no looked forward to the massages. He shook his head at the memory of the fantasies he'd had about Hermione, many that were highly inappropriately sexual. But then, what would one expect when they had someone rubbing their body in such a manner daily? Think of daises! The very daises Hermione had unceasingly kept in the vases by his bed. He was a red-blooded male wizard.

Try as he might, and he had tried, to avoid the glances down her blouse when she'd leaned over him, biting on her lip while she worked, but it was impossible. Or the times she'd squatted down before him, to correct the position of his feet, then sat back kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with that expressive face in encouragement and… and… He didn't want to admit it, not now—not ever. But it had been a look of affection. The bloody girl had fallen for him—him. She'd even confessed to having feelings for him, as preposterous as that was.

Severus rolled over and stared at a picture of a Mexican or Caribbean beach, fuming at his revelations as he watched the gentle waves rolling in on the white sandy sore as the breeze made the palms sway slightly in the image.

Forge ahead, it isn't over yet!

~~ooooo0ooooo~~

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to my betas, Pookah, CourtneyRochelle, and MadBrilliant, for helping me clean up my many mistakes. I really appreciate it more than you can possibly know. I'd be ashamed to show my story to anyone without your invaluable help.

Someone is dead—and Severus/Hermione is next on the list. (Or someone else.) Meanwhile, clues, riddles, mocking pieces of evidence are being scattered throughout Hogwarts. It's a race against time to find the murderer before the murderer finds them. Feel free to explore the noir, murder mystery, knife-edge side of things—just make it thrilling, please.