Only moments after Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table the next
morning, a small brown school owl arrived. It fluttered onto her plate and
helped itself to some of her toast, which was all that was she was eating,
then left her with the urgent note from Madame Pomfrey claiming her
services for the Hospital wing.
Harry gave her a look when she feigned puzzlement at the summons, but Ron made a rude noise and told her not to be thick. "It's obvious, isn't it? Probably wants something a headache potion brewed or something, and doesn't want Cluny mucking it up. Give it here--we'll be sure Cluny knows where you've gone."
His long arm reached across the table and appropriated the note, but before she could say thank you he'd returned to his breakfast and his discussion with Harry over the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Ron had made the team in his fifth year and was, if anything, an even more fervent fan of the sport than ever before.
"Well. I'd better go, then," she told him, and received a grunt in reply in the middle of a tactical description.
Glad she'd at least gotten some response, Hermione gathered her books and left the table, once more struck by the loss of what had been a close relationship with Ron. She didn't miss the romantic part; what she really wanted back was the friendship that had been mistaken for more. Since they'd broken up, Ron had remained pleasant and cheerful, but some element still did not fit properly. As though a pane of glass had slid between them, Hermione felt separated from the tall redhead and despite her best efforts she'd been unable to reach for the easy camaraderie they once shared.
Once she reached the Hospital Wing, Hermione stood to one side as Madame Pomfrey dealt with a short queue of students who were claiming to be ill. They probably were, she reflected, since it was Friday and the next day was scheduled to be a Hogsmeade liberty. Madame Pomfrey listened and dosed and doled out advice and other orders, until the last child had been treated and either sent away or, in one case, tucked into a bed with some screens pulled around.
When the bells rang to signal the start of the school day, Madame Pomfrey led the way to the small laboratory. Snape and Dumbledore were discussing the incantation to be used.
"You're not going to use the same spell Professor Lockhart used on Harry's arm that one time, are you?" she asked Madame Pomfrey.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, idiot that he is, used a charm developed by cooks to de- bone fish, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Somehow I have confidence that Madame Pomfrey will accomplish her task without leaving me flat as a cuttlefish."
"Yes, sir," she replied meekly, but was heartened when Madame Pomfrey gave her a pat on the back. The list of implements to retrieve from Snape's private workroom had been moved, and it took Hermione a moment to locate it. The scrap of foolscap was on a large tray, along with all the items listed.
"I took the liberty of having the house-elves fetch these things for you, Miss Granger," volunteered Dumbledore before returning to his conversation with Snape.
With no excuse to put off starting things, Hermione began to set up for the task at hand. The smaller burner was still in good working order, burning brightly when she tested it at various flame heights. The ingredients she'd brought up the day before were still in the basket and she laid them out, separating the ones that needed further processing from the ones that simply needed to be measured. When she had finished and looked up, Madame Pomfrey had disappeared and both Snape and Dumbledore were watching her with various degrees of interest.
Since the Potions Master made no comment on her preparations, she took that to mean her actions met with his approval. She straightened the last few tools and waited with her hands clasped before her, trying her best to appear calm despite the butterflies in her stomach that insisted this was a test of some sort. It was, she thought to herself, though the results would not be a grade on her record but the difference between a man's life or death.
Snape rose unsteadily from the stool and dragged it closer to the workbench, leaning heavily on the dark wooden surface. "If you're ready, Miss Granger, why don't we start with the angelica root and the dragon heartstring?"
With that, they began.
Two or more hours passed without notice as she chopped, stirred, pounded and slivered under Snape's heavily lidded but still sharp eyes. Lemon balm and horsetail became a gray-green paste under her mortar, and small strips of jerky-like heartstring soaked up the red wine until they looked as though they'd just come from the unlucky dragon moments ago. The only disagreement they had was over the hawthorn flowers, whose wilted and dried heads were already in less than prime shape. Hermione refused to bash them into a powder, preferring to mince them instead.
"If we pulverize these in the pestle, any of the remaining oils will just end up smeared on the marble and not be in the potion where they belong," she insisted. "These are the best of the ones in your stores, and I doubt we could get more at this time of year."
"Very well," he allowed finally. "Continue."
Dumbledore lent a hand during the straining process, holding the sieve while Hermione hefted the small silver cauldron with a thick towel out of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets to insulate her hands from the hot metal. He observed her actions with mild interest, never making her nervous with the anxiety she knew was simmering under his calm exterior. Madame Pomfrey stepped into the room several times, speaking little but keeping an eye on the progress being made.
With great care Hermione strained the evolving potion again, this time from the wide-mouthed beaker through cheesecloth to a large vial. Fortunately, she reflected as she added the exactingly measured lemon balm, this particular elixir was not the variety that required days of simmering. On second thought, those concoctions intended for serious medical complaints probably ran out of patients if they took too long to prepare.
The finished elixir came to rest at last in a tall glass cylinder. Viscous and red as fresh blood but clear as fine crystal, it glowed like a ruby in the light coming from the window as it cooled in a metal rack.
"All right, Severus. Into bed with you," chivied Madame Pomfrey, and if Snape objected to being treated like one of her student patients, he made no mention of it. "Miss Granger, when you feel the potion has cooled sufficiently, please bring it to Professor Snape's room."
Hermione nodded as the mediwitch accompanied her patient out of the laboratory. Professor Dumbledore followed more slowly, but paused at the doorway.
"An excellent performance, Hermione," he told her, his creased face smiling gently. "Well done."
Warmed by the Headmaster's approval, Hermione cleaned the workspace and wiped out the silver cauldron, drying it carefully to avoid any tarnishing. When she had finished the majority of the clearing up, the elixir was just over lukewarm.
Elixir in hand, she tapped on the Isolation Ward door before opening it and passing through the arch into Snape's hidden room, where the Headmaster sat comfortably chatting with Pomfrey. Snape lay on the made bed, propped up by pillows. He still wore the trousers and white shirt he'd worn that morning to oversee the brewing of the potion, but the jacket lounging jacket hung from the bedpost and his shoes had been toed off without being untied and lay under the rusty metal frame of his bed. A deep vee in the neck of the shirt gaped open to reveal a scattering of fine black hair and a silvery scar across his breastbone. The skin itself was pale and translucent, throwing back the glow from Pomfrey's wand as she cast one last charm over his heart to be sure of her incantation's aim.
She motioned Hermione to come closer and had her hold the vial of elixir some twelve inches above Snape's chest as she began chanting. Her voice was sure and steady; she'd memorized the incantation perfectly and cast it with the assurance and skill of years of experience, directing the magic to destroy the fragment of bone and urging the properties of the elixir to work quickly.
Madame Pomfrey finished the spell with a decisive swish of her wand. Quickly she took the elixir from Hermione's hands and would have fed it to Severus if the man hadn't neatly relieved her of it. Snape gave Hermione a long, measuring look as he sniffed the ruby liquid, but he lifted it to his lips and tossed it back without a word.
Everyone waited. From her vantage point Hermione could see Snape's eyes narrow as several long moments passed with no change.
Suddenly the man convulsed, sucking in a breath as though he was in danger of drowning. His back arched and his hands reached out and clutched at nothing.
"Hold him!" commanded Madame Pomfrey. Hermione quickly moved forward, reaching for his shoulder, but he grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip. The mediwitch pinned his legs with her arm as he twisted on the bed. Almost as quickly as it hit, the seizure was over, and Snape's long form relaxed slowly.
Unconscious now, his black hair lay across his forehead in limp strands, growing damp with the sudden sweat that sprang up across his face. Madame Pomfrey ran her wand up and down his torso, her own face tense with concentration.
His breathing, though still shallow, resumed its rhythm, and the raised tendons in his neck began to relax, as did the hand that had put bruises around Hermione's wrist. Hermione reversed his hold on her and felt for the pulse, which was rapid and faint. After several long moments, it began to slow into a stronger but horribly irregular cadence.
"Shouldn't we get him to St. Mungo's?" she asked, worried.
"He made me promise not to," answered Madame Pomfrey shortly.
"Even if he dies?" Hermione demanded.
"Even if it should mean his life, Miss Granger," answered Albus Dumbledore. She'd forgotten his presence in the room. "He felt - feels it would be better to leave his whereabouts a mystery to all. Especially people like Lucius Malfoy."
Which meant that if he died here and now, he'd most likely end up buried somewhere on Hogwarts' grounds like a run-over cat, just to keep Lucius Malfoy from knowing anything. The thought of Malfoy explaining to Voldemort the whereabouts of his fellow Death Eaters - and his master - was a thought to keep a person warm on the coldest night. Hermione accepted the decision, even if she did not agree, and kept her attention on Snape. The pulse under her fingers continued to slow.
The hand that dangled from the wrist she monitored was frighteningly limp, and remained that way for what was possibly the longest half-hour of Hermione's life. When his heartbeat finally evened out and then began to grow stronger, she thought it was her imagination until she saw the smile growing on Madame Pomfrey's face.
"Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've done it. The elixir is working. His heart is stronger already."
Drained with relief, Hermione released the wrist with its bold, steady pulse and lifted Snape's arm up onto the bed beside his body as Pomfrey drew the folded coverlet from under his legs and pulled it up and over the unconscious man.
Dumbledore and Pomfrey were chatting quietly as Hermione excused herself, having been given the distinct impression they had things they did not wish her to overhear. At a loss as to what else to do, Hermione went back to the lab to finish the last of the clearing up. Lunch would be served soon, and she had another class directly after.
The original Elixir recipe and the letter to Madame Pomfrey were set aside; all the other bits of scribbling were scooped into the refuse along with the bits that hadn't made it into the cauldron. At the last second she saw the folded sheet with Dumbledore's name on it in a familiar bold writing. Snape must have written it while he'd been fiddling with the Latin grammar.
The single sheet of parchment had been folded to form its own envelope, and the edges made Hermione's fingers tingle slightly as she turned it over in her hands. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to figure out what was inside; it probably started with 'In the instance of my demise,' and went on from there.
Running her hand over the flap, she could feel the low ebb of magic on the seal. Any half-decent witch could have broken it, but she wasn't tempted. Instead she placed it in the pocket of her black robes and finished tidying up.
Hermione had just blown out the candles and picked up her things when she heard Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore's voices. Fumbling in her pocket, she retrieved the letter and intercepted the pair as they ambled through the ward.
"Here, Professor. I found this in the laboratory."
Dumbledore took it with a frown. "Thank you, Miss Granger. How like Severus to worry about loose ends, but for your efforts I doubt we'll need this. I'll just give it back to him later."
"You should be very proud of yourself, my girl," added Madame Pomfrey. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see Severus turning the corner, and we owe it all to you. Thank you again for your help."
For the rest of her life, Hermione could never be sure what exactly prompted her to open her mouth without thinking and ask, "Will you be needing any more help?"
Pomfrey paused and exchanged a look with Dumbledore. "As a matter of fact, I think I might. Albus, you mentioned something just the other day about my needing an assistant, now that Severus is unable to brew my supplies. If Miss Granger going to be shy a class, I'm sure we could persuade Minerva to award her some class credits for coming here and doing that for me."
"Yes, that would be wonderful," answered Hermione quickly. She'd forgotten she'd be forced to drop her Apparation classes. The loss of those credits probably wouldn't harm her average, but it still rankled.
"Certainly, Poppy. An excellent suggestion - I'll speak to her directly. Good day, ladies."
"You do realize you'll be required to work with Professor Snape," Pomfrey stated once the Headmaster had gone, "at least until you learn how to do the one's I'm always running out of. If you can stand to be in the same room with each other, that is. I'm sadly out of practice, and I simply don't have the budget to order everything through the post."
Hermione smiled and took the implied reprimand with as good a grace as she could manage. "Yes, and I promise to behave as long as he doesn't become too horrible. He's not my professor any more, though. He can't take off house points if I answer him back."
"No, dear, he can't. Though he's always more prickly when he's been injured, I must say these past weeks have been absolute hell for all of us."
Hermione frowned. "If I may ask. why has it taken so long to heal him? I've seen you mend broken bones in just minutes."
"Quidditch injuries are one thing, my girl. We honestly thought Severus was dead when the constables carried him in here."
With a frown, Pomfrey thought back on the night Hermione had been kidnapped. "You were absolutely hysterical that night, and with good reason, I might add. Severus was unconscious for days, and it was far too risky to attempt any major healing spells while his vitals were so low."
Hermione nodded. While minor spells used the energy of the caster, the more powerful spells also depended on the life force of the patient. If Snape was as injured as she was beginning to suspect he had been, it would take him weeks to recover.
"And we only discovered the problem with his heart about a month ago, when we got everything else taken care of and he kept fainting on me every time I bullied him up out of his chair. Took me days just to isolate the problem, and then finding a specialist I could grill who wouldn't ask me too many questions in return. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to tell Albus to take his secrecy and stuff it and just haul Severus over to St. Mungo's."
"Except he'd likely be dead before they could help him," finished Hermione.
Pomfrey gave an exasperated sniff. "Exactly. You sound just like Albus."
"Well," Hermione returned lightly, "I guess that's a compliment. I have Apparition on Monday & Friday afternoons," she continued, "but I'm dropping that, and my Wednesday afternoons are already a free period. I can be here right after lunch on those days."
"We'll start with Mondays and Fridays, my girl, and go from there. I don't want you overdoing it. You still have someone besides yourself to think about now, remember."
Hermione flushed at the reminder. "No, I haven't forgotten."
*****
Still lugging her useless books with her, Hermione managed to make it to the Great Hall in time to grab some lunch. Ron and Harry gave her a quick greeting as she plopped down opposite them, reaching for the platters of food with both hands as she suddenly realized how very hungry she was.
"So, what did Pomfrey want?" Ron demanded just as Hermione took her first bite. "'Nother epidemic coming?"
"You were right," Hermione managed around a mouthful of sandwich. "She wanted help with a potion."
"Told you she wouldn't let Clueless Cluny in on it. That man's horrid. Today, he actually told Malfoy he'd do better if he'd just apply himself. I'd like to apply him one."
"Sprinkle lightly around the roots," Harry added in a fair imitation of Professor Sprout. "Can't have too much manure around the roots."
Ron laughed and continued the Malfoy-manure joke, leaving Hermione to roll her eyes as her two best friends degenerated into childish scatological humor. Since they'd mentioned him, Hermione glanced surreptitiously at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was there, flanked on each side by Crabbe and Goyle, like two gigantic bookends guarding a diminutive book. Even as she looked, the young blond man looked back and made eye contact.
Unwilling to back down, Hermione glared, daring him to look away first. Instead of being intimidated, Draco smiled and mouthed something, which was too far away to understand but was undoubtedly as lascivious as the slow way he licked his upper teeth. Hermione simply glared more and made an obscene gesture she'd learned in primary school from the type of children her mother hadn't approved of as playmates. He probably didn't know what the gesture meant, but it was the thought that counted.
Hermione had never considered herself beautiful, never really wasted more than the occasional moment comparing herself to her female classmates, or considered whether boys watched her and commented on her body. Two years of dating Ron Weasley had consisted of Hogsmeade weekends, holding hands, and the occasional snog session in the hallways. His pressure to increase the level of intimacy in their relationship had been the end of said relationship, not improved it. She was unsettled by the sexual signals Draco was sending her and deeply suspicious of the Slytherin's true intentions.
"Hermione!" called Harry. "It's nearly time for class. Are you coming or not?"
"Actually, I am, but just this once more. I'm dropping out of Apparation."
"You're what?" demanded Ron. "You've been dying to take this class since the last time you fell off your broom!"
"And I'm never getting back on one, thanks the same."
Harry's dark eyebrows were drawn into a frown, and he gave Ron a quick glance before he asked her why she was dropping out.
"Madame Pomfrey has asked me to become a sort of nurse's aid. It's not really an apprenticeship program or anything, but it's very interesting. She said I could brew potions for her and help with the students and such. I can take Apparation lessons any time, but this way I'll learn all about medical potions and wizard first aid..."
"Enough, Hermione," interrupted Ron. "We get it-loads more to learn and all the books in the world to read. Should've known Apparation didn't have enough books for you."
*****
Professor Flitwick was of course disappointed that Hermione was leaving the class. Hermione thought she caught the faintest odd flicker of expression, and it made her wonder how many girls had dropped Apparation before and for the same reason she was, but the miniscule wizard accepted her explanation without too many questions.
The weekend passed uneventfully, filled with homework and the obligatory trip to Hogsmeade where she tagged after Ron and Harry as they visited their favorite haunts. They deserted her when she voiced her intention to visit the bookstore and subtly encouraged them to meet her later. Harry had plans to meet Ginny for a butterbeer anyway, and Ron was willing to spend time with his sister even though he complained about how much time Harry and Ginny spent on, as he called it, non-verbal communication.
This gave Hermione the opportunity to browse the section on maternity and child raising without worrying about getting caught. Unfortunately the majority of the books seemed written for absolute simpletons, and she gave up after spending several minutes thumbing through books full of color shots of pudgy, happy babies and chapter listings that all extolled the joys of diaper rash and potty training.
Half relieved, half disappointed she was not smuggling a book on her pregnancy into Hogwarts, Hermione joined her friends at the Three Broomsticks and pretended she had taken a sudden dislike to butterbeer in favor of unfermented cider.
***** Monday's potions class was deadly dull, as usual, but eventually it was over and after lunch Hermione reported to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey spent the afternoon explaining her methods and regulations, taught Hermione the charm that added notes to a student's medical record, where to find elusive ice bags, etc. Hermione did her best to appear only mildly concerned when she asked after Snape. She was told Snape was recovering nicely.
Truthfully, Hermione wasn't even sure how she felt about the tall, dark wizard who'd done his level best to make her and her friends' lives miserable for so many years. On one hand he was mean, sarcastic, and hateful at every opportunity. On the other, he was a double agent who'd been savaged by those he spied on, and nearly paid for it with his life. The fact that he was the father of the child she was currently carrying was something she kept locked tightly in an antiseptic, unemotional corner of her mind.
He hadn't been horrible during the two days it had taken to brew the Vie de la Coeur Elixir. As a matter of fact, he'd treated her with the same - for want of a better term - lack of active hostility with which he spoke to Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster. Adrift in her own confusion, she seized on the thought that perhaps he was unsure how to react to her either.
It was exactly a week before Hermione spoke to Snape again. Working for Madame Pomfrey turned out to involve far fewer spells and far more folding sheets than she had expected, and Friday afternoon found her on her knees, mending a torn screen with her wand. A sound caught her ear, but when she glanced up, she saw nothing. On the edge of dismissing it, she spied the door to the corridor standing ajar.
The hair on her neck began to prickle. Hermione brought her wand up and looked around the empty ward, searching for anything out of place. Beginning to feel slightly foolish, she nevertheless kept her wand at the ready and waited for something to tease her attention.
She let out a shriek when she heard a voice call her name. A black form materialized from the air and then she was blinking at Severus Snape, the same black lounging jacket over the ever-present white shirt. A fresh depilatory charm had left his chin clean-shaven, and he stood easily in the thin winter sunlight pouring in through the windows.
"Calm down, Miss Granger. You're in no danger from me."
Lowering her wand, Hermione stammered out a "Good afternoon, Professor."
"Good afternoon. I did not mean to frighten you."
"That's all right, sir. Was that wandless magic? Being invisible, I mean?"
The corner of his mouth twitched into a bare approximation of a smile. "I was not technically invisible, and no, it's not wandless magic. The spell requires a wand to cast, but dissipates upon command. It's a variation on the 'do not notice' spell, and you would have detected me within a few moments."
Hermione reflected that Severus Snape might have made a better than average Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Before she'd decided whether that would have been a good thing to say or not, he spoke again.
"I understand you will be assisting Madame Pomfrey here in the Hospital Ward for the foreseeable future. She has asked me to show you the makings of the potions she uses most often."
"Yes, sir. Since I cannot continue the Apparation class, she suggested I could earn class credit here, and she really does need the help."
"Not take Apparation.I see," he said uneasily. "And are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, sir," she told him, and quickly changed the subject. "I'd be glad to learn some new potions. It would make a change."
Snape's expression changed only slightly, but his next words were a wasteland of dry distaste. "You gave me to understand Geoffrey Cluny has taken over my classes."
"Yes," Hermione answered shortly, matching his tone.
"You have an opinion to share on my successor?" he challenged.
"The most positive thing I can say.is that at least Neville no longer has to buy his cauldrons in job lots, since he's not called upon to do anything that could be called a challenge. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had to take potluck in getting someone to fill in, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone as bad.
"Gilderoy Lockhart might be a worse choice," she added thoughtfully, "but it would be a near thing."
Snape chuckled, almost against his will, and Hermione was amazed at the natural sound of it. Who would have expected the dour Potions Master to have such a nice laugh.
"Pity," he remarked dryly. "I was sure Longbottom was going to break the record this year."
"What record?"
"I have kept a running tally on who melts the most cauldrons in their Hogwarts careers, Miss Granger. The Weasley twins made an impressive score, more from their deliberate experiments than lack of ability, but Longbottom was close to setting a new high water mark."
"Which is?" she prompted.
"Forty-three cauldrons in the course of seven years. A mark achieved by a Hufflepuff in my third year as a teacher here, and who inspired me to do my utmost to maintain control in my classroom. My predecessor had begun to keep track when the girl was in his class, and I merely continued the tradition."
"I see," Hermione replied, torn between amusement and pure astonishment at this glimpse of Snape's dark humor.
The man turned and made a small gesture, inviting her to walk with him. Hermione obeyed automatically as he walked towards the small laboratory, more slowly than the usual stride which made his robes flare out into the bat wings responsible for earning him so many nicknames, but his strength had apparently returned and he moved with ease.
"The first thing to be done is to go through Madame Pomfrey's stores and dispose of everything that's gone off. I'll want the shelves cleaned, and they need to be moved so they're out of the sunlight. The large Bunsen burner is a disgrace; it will need scouring. I also plan on speaking to the Headmaster about convincing the walls to change a bit; I have no intention of sneaking into the lab just because some fool student's got a bellyache."
Snape reached the door to the lab and did not quite fling it open, but he was obviously on the mend to judge by the energy of his action.
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," Hermione stammered, trying to catalogue his list of tasks while adding her own as she waited for him to enter.
Snape gave her an inscrutable look. "After you, Miss Granger," he indicated.
Author's Note: All the herbs I've mentioned are used in homeopathic medicine, but please don't try this at home. Also, Quillusion gets a gold star for being so very perceptive.
Harry gave her a look when she feigned puzzlement at the summons, but Ron made a rude noise and told her not to be thick. "It's obvious, isn't it? Probably wants something a headache potion brewed or something, and doesn't want Cluny mucking it up. Give it here--we'll be sure Cluny knows where you've gone."
His long arm reached across the table and appropriated the note, but before she could say thank you he'd returned to his breakfast and his discussion with Harry over the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Ron had made the team in his fifth year and was, if anything, an even more fervent fan of the sport than ever before.
"Well. I'd better go, then," she told him, and received a grunt in reply in the middle of a tactical description.
Glad she'd at least gotten some response, Hermione gathered her books and left the table, once more struck by the loss of what had been a close relationship with Ron. She didn't miss the romantic part; what she really wanted back was the friendship that had been mistaken for more. Since they'd broken up, Ron had remained pleasant and cheerful, but some element still did not fit properly. As though a pane of glass had slid between them, Hermione felt separated from the tall redhead and despite her best efforts she'd been unable to reach for the easy camaraderie they once shared.
Once she reached the Hospital Wing, Hermione stood to one side as Madame Pomfrey dealt with a short queue of students who were claiming to be ill. They probably were, she reflected, since it was Friday and the next day was scheduled to be a Hogsmeade liberty. Madame Pomfrey listened and dosed and doled out advice and other orders, until the last child had been treated and either sent away or, in one case, tucked into a bed with some screens pulled around.
When the bells rang to signal the start of the school day, Madame Pomfrey led the way to the small laboratory. Snape and Dumbledore were discussing the incantation to be used.
"You're not going to use the same spell Professor Lockhart used on Harry's arm that one time, are you?" she asked Madame Pomfrey.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, idiot that he is, used a charm developed by cooks to de- bone fish, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Somehow I have confidence that Madame Pomfrey will accomplish her task without leaving me flat as a cuttlefish."
"Yes, sir," she replied meekly, but was heartened when Madame Pomfrey gave her a pat on the back. The list of implements to retrieve from Snape's private workroom had been moved, and it took Hermione a moment to locate it. The scrap of foolscap was on a large tray, along with all the items listed.
"I took the liberty of having the house-elves fetch these things for you, Miss Granger," volunteered Dumbledore before returning to his conversation with Snape.
With no excuse to put off starting things, Hermione began to set up for the task at hand. The smaller burner was still in good working order, burning brightly when she tested it at various flame heights. The ingredients she'd brought up the day before were still in the basket and she laid them out, separating the ones that needed further processing from the ones that simply needed to be measured. When she had finished and looked up, Madame Pomfrey had disappeared and both Snape and Dumbledore were watching her with various degrees of interest.
Since the Potions Master made no comment on her preparations, she took that to mean her actions met with his approval. She straightened the last few tools and waited with her hands clasped before her, trying her best to appear calm despite the butterflies in her stomach that insisted this was a test of some sort. It was, she thought to herself, though the results would not be a grade on her record but the difference between a man's life or death.
Snape rose unsteadily from the stool and dragged it closer to the workbench, leaning heavily on the dark wooden surface. "If you're ready, Miss Granger, why don't we start with the angelica root and the dragon heartstring?"
With that, they began.
Two or more hours passed without notice as she chopped, stirred, pounded and slivered under Snape's heavily lidded but still sharp eyes. Lemon balm and horsetail became a gray-green paste under her mortar, and small strips of jerky-like heartstring soaked up the red wine until they looked as though they'd just come from the unlucky dragon moments ago. The only disagreement they had was over the hawthorn flowers, whose wilted and dried heads were already in less than prime shape. Hermione refused to bash them into a powder, preferring to mince them instead.
"If we pulverize these in the pestle, any of the remaining oils will just end up smeared on the marble and not be in the potion where they belong," she insisted. "These are the best of the ones in your stores, and I doubt we could get more at this time of year."
"Very well," he allowed finally. "Continue."
Dumbledore lent a hand during the straining process, holding the sieve while Hermione hefted the small silver cauldron with a thick towel out of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets to insulate her hands from the hot metal. He observed her actions with mild interest, never making her nervous with the anxiety she knew was simmering under his calm exterior. Madame Pomfrey stepped into the room several times, speaking little but keeping an eye on the progress being made.
With great care Hermione strained the evolving potion again, this time from the wide-mouthed beaker through cheesecloth to a large vial. Fortunately, she reflected as she added the exactingly measured lemon balm, this particular elixir was not the variety that required days of simmering. On second thought, those concoctions intended for serious medical complaints probably ran out of patients if they took too long to prepare.
The finished elixir came to rest at last in a tall glass cylinder. Viscous and red as fresh blood but clear as fine crystal, it glowed like a ruby in the light coming from the window as it cooled in a metal rack.
"All right, Severus. Into bed with you," chivied Madame Pomfrey, and if Snape objected to being treated like one of her student patients, he made no mention of it. "Miss Granger, when you feel the potion has cooled sufficiently, please bring it to Professor Snape's room."
Hermione nodded as the mediwitch accompanied her patient out of the laboratory. Professor Dumbledore followed more slowly, but paused at the doorway.
"An excellent performance, Hermione," he told her, his creased face smiling gently. "Well done."
Warmed by the Headmaster's approval, Hermione cleaned the workspace and wiped out the silver cauldron, drying it carefully to avoid any tarnishing. When she had finished the majority of the clearing up, the elixir was just over lukewarm.
Elixir in hand, she tapped on the Isolation Ward door before opening it and passing through the arch into Snape's hidden room, where the Headmaster sat comfortably chatting with Pomfrey. Snape lay on the made bed, propped up by pillows. He still wore the trousers and white shirt he'd worn that morning to oversee the brewing of the potion, but the jacket lounging jacket hung from the bedpost and his shoes had been toed off without being untied and lay under the rusty metal frame of his bed. A deep vee in the neck of the shirt gaped open to reveal a scattering of fine black hair and a silvery scar across his breastbone. The skin itself was pale and translucent, throwing back the glow from Pomfrey's wand as she cast one last charm over his heart to be sure of her incantation's aim.
She motioned Hermione to come closer and had her hold the vial of elixir some twelve inches above Snape's chest as she began chanting. Her voice was sure and steady; she'd memorized the incantation perfectly and cast it with the assurance and skill of years of experience, directing the magic to destroy the fragment of bone and urging the properties of the elixir to work quickly.
Madame Pomfrey finished the spell with a decisive swish of her wand. Quickly she took the elixir from Hermione's hands and would have fed it to Severus if the man hadn't neatly relieved her of it. Snape gave Hermione a long, measuring look as he sniffed the ruby liquid, but he lifted it to his lips and tossed it back without a word.
Everyone waited. From her vantage point Hermione could see Snape's eyes narrow as several long moments passed with no change.
Suddenly the man convulsed, sucking in a breath as though he was in danger of drowning. His back arched and his hands reached out and clutched at nothing.
"Hold him!" commanded Madame Pomfrey. Hermione quickly moved forward, reaching for his shoulder, but he grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip. The mediwitch pinned his legs with her arm as he twisted on the bed. Almost as quickly as it hit, the seizure was over, and Snape's long form relaxed slowly.
Unconscious now, his black hair lay across his forehead in limp strands, growing damp with the sudden sweat that sprang up across his face. Madame Pomfrey ran her wand up and down his torso, her own face tense with concentration.
His breathing, though still shallow, resumed its rhythm, and the raised tendons in his neck began to relax, as did the hand that had put bruises around Hermione's wrist. Hermione reversed his hold on her and felt for the pulse, which was rapid and faint. After several long moments, it began to slow into a stronger but horribly irregular cadence.
"Shouldn't we get him to St. Mungo's?" she asked, worried.
"He made me promise not to," answered Madame Pomfrey shortly.
"Even if he dies?" Hermione demanded.
"Even if it should mean his life, Miss Granger," answered Albus Dumbledore. She'd forgotten his presence in the room. "He felt - feels it would be better to leave his whereabouts a mystery to all. Especially people like Lucius Malfoy."
Which meant that if he died here and now, he'd most likely end up buried somewhere on Hogwarts' grounds like a run-over cat, just to keep Lucius Malfoy from knowing anything. The thought of Malfoy explaining to Voldemort the whereabouts of his fellow Death Eaters - and his master - was a thought to keep a person warm on the coldest night. Hermione accepted the decision, even if she did not agree, and kept her attention on Snape. The pulse under her fingers continued to slow.
The hand that dangled from the wrist she monitored was frighteningly limp, and remained that way for what was possibly the longest half-hour of Hermione's life. When his heartbeat finally evened out and then began to grow stronger, she thought it was her imagination until she saw the smile growing on Madame Pomfrey's face.
"Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've done it. The elixir is working. His heart is stronger already."
Drained with relief, Hermione released the wrist with its bold, steady pulse and lifted Snape's arm up onto the bed beside his body as Pomfrey drew the folded coverlet from under his legs and pulled it up and over the unconscious man.
Dumbledore and Pomfrey were chatting quietly as Hermione excused herself, having been given the distinct impression they had things they did not wish her to overhear. At a loss as to what else to do, Hermione went back to the lab to finish the last of the clearing up. Lunch would be served soon, and she had another class directly after.
The original Elixir recipe and the letter to Madame Pomfrey were set aside; all the other bits of scribbling were scooped into the refuse along with the bits that hadn't made it into the cauldron. At the last second she saw the folded sheet with Dumbledore's name on it in a familiar bold writing. Snape must have written it while he'd been fiddling with the Latin grammar.
The single sheet of parchment had been folded to form its own envelope, and the edges made Hermione's fingers tingle slightly as she turned it over in her hands. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to figure out what was inside; it probably started with 'In the instance of my demise,' and went on from there.
Running her hand over the flap, she could feel the low ebb of magic on the seal. Any half-decent witch could have broken it, but she wasn't tempted. Instead she placed it in the pocket of her black robes and finished tidying up.
Hermione had just blown out the candles and picked up her things when she heard Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore's voices. Fumbling in her pocket, she retrieved the letter and intercepted the pair as they ambled through the ward.
"Here, Professor. I found this in the laboratory."
Dumbledore took it with a frown. "Thank you, Miss Granger. How like Severus to worry about loose ends, but for your efforts I doubt we'll need this. I'll just give it back to him later."
"You should be very proud of yourself, my girl," added Madame Pomfrey. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see Severus turning the corner, and we owe it all to you. Thank you again for your help."
For the rest of her life, Hermione could never be sure what exactly prompted her to open her mouth without thinking and ask, "Will you be needing any more help?"
Pomfrey paused and exchanged a look with Dumbledore. "As a matter of fact, I think I might. Albus, you mentioned something just the other day about my needing an assistant, now that Severus is unable to brew my supplies. If Miss Granger going to be shy a class, I'm sure we could persuade Minerva to award her some class credits for coming here and doing that for me."
"Yes, that would be wonderful," answered Hermione quickly. She'd forgotten she'd be forced to drop her Apparation classes. The loss of those credits probably wouldn't harm her average, but it still rankled.
"Certainly, Poppy. An excellent suggestion - I'll speak to her directly. Good day, ladies."
"You do realize you'll be required to work with Professor Snape," Pomfrey stated once the Headmaster had gone, "at least until you learn how to do the one's I'm always running out of. If you can stand to be in the same room with each other, that is. I'm sadly out of practice, and I simply don't have the budget to order everything through the post."
Hermione smiled and took the implied reprimand with as good a grace as she could manage. "Yes, and I promise to behave as long as he doesn't become too horrible. He's not my professor any more, though. He can't take off house points if I answer him back."
"No, dear, he can't. Though he's always more prickly when he's been injured, I must say these past weeks have been absolute hell for all of us."
Hermione frowned. "If I may ask. why has it taken so long to heal him? I've seen you mend broken bones in just minutes."
"Quidditch injuries are one thing, my girl. We honestly thought Severus was dead when the constables carried him in here."
With a frown, Pomfrey thought back on the night Hermione had been kidnapped. "You were absolutely hysterical that night, and with good reason, I might add. Severus was unconscious for days, and it was far too risky to attempt any major healing spells while his vitals were so low."
Hermione nodded. While minor spells used the energy of the caster, the more powerful spells also depended on the life force of the patient. If Snape was as injured as she was beginning to suspect he had been, it would take him weeks to recover.
"And we only discovered the problem with his heart about a month ago, when we got everything else taken care of and he kept fainting on me every time I bullied him up out of his chair. Took me days just to isolate the problem, and then finding a specialist I could grill who wouldn't ask me too many questions in return. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to tell Albus to take his secrecy and stuff it and just haul Severus over to St. Mungo's."
"Except he'd likely be dead before they could help him," finished Hermione.
Pomfrey gave an exasperated sniff. "Exactly. You sound just like Albus."
"Well," Hermione returned lightly, "I guess that's a compliment. I have Apparition on Monday & Friday afternoons," she continued, "but I'm dropping that, and my Wednesday afternoons are already a free period. I can be here right after lunch on those days."
"We'll start with Mondays and Fridays, my girl, and go from there. I don't want you overdoing it. You still have someone besides yourself to think about now, remember."
Hermione flushed at the reminder. "No, I haven't forgotten."
*****
Still lugging her useless books with her, Hermione managed to make it to the Great Hall in time to grab some lunch. Ron and Harry gave her a quick greeting as she plopped down opposite them, reaching for the platters of food with both hands as she suddenly realized how very hungry she was.
"So, what did Pomfrey want?" Ron demanded just as Hermione took her first bite. "'Nother epidemic coming?"
"You were right," Hermione managed around a mouthful of sandwich. "She wanted help with a potion."
"Told you she wouldn't let Clueless Cluny in on it. That man's horrid. Today, he actually told Malfoy he'd do better if he'd just apply himself. I'd like to apply him one."
"Sprinkle lightly around the roots," Harry added in a fair imitation of Professor Sprout. "Can't have too much manure around the roots."
Ron laughed and continued the Malfoy-manure joke, leaving Hermione to roll her eyes as her two best friends degenerated into childish scatological humor. Since they'd mentioned him, Hermione glanced surreptitiously at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was there, flanked on each side by Crabbe and Goyle, like two gigantic bookends guarding a diminutive book. Even as she looked, the young blond man looked back and made eye contact.
Unwilling to back down, Hermione glared, daring him to look away first. Instead of being intimidated, Draco smiled and mouthed something, which was too far away to understand but was undoubtedly as lascivious as the slow way he licked his upper teeth. Hermione simply glared more and made an obscene gesture she'd learned in primary school from the type of children her mother hadn't approved of as playmates. He probably didn't know what the gesture meant, but it was the thought that counted.
Hermione had never considered herself beautiful, never really wasted more than the occasional moment comparing herself to her female classmates, or considered whether boys watched her and commented on her body. Two years of dating Ron Weasley had consisted of Hogsmeade weekends, holding hands, and the occasional snog session in the hallways. His pressure to increase the level of intimacy in their relationship had been the end of said relationship, not improved it. She was unsettled by the sexual signals Draco was sending her and deeply suspicious of the Slytherin's true intentions.
"Hermione!" called Harry. "It's nearly time for class. Are you coming or not?"
"Actually, I am, but just this once more. I'm dropping out of Apparation."
"You're what?" demanded Ron. "You've been dying to take this class since the last time you fell off your broom!"
"And I'm never getting back on one, thanks the same."
Harry's dark eyebrows were drawn into a frown, and he gave Ron a quick glance before he asked her why she was dropping out.
"Madame Pomfrey has asked me to become a sort of nurse's aid. It's not really an apprenticeship program or anything, but it's very interesting. She said I could brew potions for her and help with the students and such. I can take Apparation lessons any time, but this way I'll learn all about medical potions and wizard first aid..."
"Enough, Hermione," interrupted Ron. "We get it-loads more to learn and all the books in the world to read. Should've known Apparation didn't have enough books for you."
*****
Professor Flitwick was of course disappointed that Hermione was leaving the class. Hermione thought she caught the faintest odd flicker of expression, and it made her wonder how many girls had dropped Apparation before and for the same reason she was, but the miniscule wizard accepted her explanation without too many questions.
The weekend passed uneventfully, filled with homework and the obligatory trip to Hogsmeade where she tagged after Ron and Harry as they visited their favorite haunts. They deserted her when she voiced her intention to visit the bookstore and subtly encouraged them to meet her later. Harry had plans to meet Ginny for a butterbeer anyway, and Ron was willing to spend time with his sister even though he complained about how much time Harry and Ginny spent on, as he called it, non-verbal communication.
This gave Hermione the opportunity to browse the section on maternity and child raising without worrying about getting caught. Unfortunately the majority of the books seemed written for absolute simpletons, and she gave up after spending several minutes thumbing through books full of color shots of pudgy, happy babies and chapter listings that all extolled the joys of diaper rash and potty training.
Half relieved, half disappointed she was not smuggling a book on her pregnancy into Hogwarts, Hermione joined her friends at the Three Broomsticks and pretended she had taken a sudden dislike to butterbeer in favor of unfermented cider.
***** Monday's potions class was deadly dull, as usual, but eventually it was over and after lunch Hermione reported to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey spent the afternoon explaining her methods and regulations, taught Hermione the charm that added notes to a student's medical record, where to find elusive ice bags, etc. Hermione did her best to appear only mildly concerned when she asked after Snape. She was told Snape was recovering nicely.
Truthfully, Hermione wasn't even sure how she felt about the tall, dark wizard who'd done his level best to make her and her friends' lives miserable for so many years. On one hand he was mean, sarcastic, and hateful at every opportunity. On the other, he was a double agent who'd been savaged by those he spied on, and nearly paid for it with his life. The fact that he was the father of the child she was currently carrying was something she kept locked tightly in an antiseptic, unemotional corner of her mind.
He hadn't been horrible during the two days it had taken to brew the Vie de la Coeur Elixir. As a matter of fact, he'd treated her with the same - for want of a better term - lack of active hostility with which he spoke to Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster. Adrift in her own confusion, she seized on the thought that perhaps he was unsure how to react to her either.
It was exactly a week before Hermione spoke to Snape again. Working for Madame Pomfrey turned out to involve far fewer spells and far more folding sheets than she had expected, and Friday afternoon found her on her knees, mending a torn screen with her wand. A sound caught her ear, but when she glanced up, she saw nothing. On the edge of dismissing it, she spied the door to the corridor standing ajar.
The hair on her neck began to prickle. Hermione brought her wand up and looked around the empty ward, searching for anything out of place. Beginning to feel slightly foolish, she nevertheless kept her wand at the ready and waited for something to tease her attention.
She let out a shriek when she heard a voice call her name. A black form materialized from the air and then she was blinking at Severus Snape, the same black lounging jacket over the ever-present white shirt. A fresh depilatory charm had left his chin clean-shaven, and he stood easily in the thin winter sunlight pouring in through the windows.
"Calm down, Miss Granger. You're in no danger from me."
Lowering her wand, Hermione stammered out a "Good afternoon, Professor."
"Good afternoon. I did not mean to frighten you."
"That's all right, sir. Was that wandless magic? Being invisible, I mean?"
The corner of his mouth twitched into a bare approximation of a smile. "I was not technically invisible, and no, it's not wandless magic. The spell requires a wand to cast, but dissipates upon command. It's a variation on the 'do not notice' spell, and you would have detected me within a few moments."
Hermione reflected that Severus Snape might have made a better than average Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Before she'd decided whether that would have been a good thing to say or not, he spoke again.
"I understand you will be assisting Madame Pomfrey here in the Hospital Ward for the foreseeable future. She has asked me to show you the makings of the potions she uses most often."
"Yes, sir. Since I cannot continue the Apparation class, she suggested I could earn class credit here, and she really does need the help."
"Not take Apparation.I see," he said uneasily. "And are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, sir," she told him, and quickly changed the subject. "I'd be glad to learn some new potions. It would make a change."
Snape's expression changed only slightly, but his next words were a wasteland of dry distaste. "You gave me to understand Geoffrey Cluny has taken over my classes."
"Yes," Hermione answered shortly, matching his tone.
"You have an opinion to share on my successor?" he challenged.
"The most positive thing I can say.is that at least Neville no longer has to buy his cauldrons in job lots, since he's not called upon to do anything that could be called a challenge. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had to take potluck in getting someone to fill in, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone as bad.
"Gilderoy Lockhart might be a worse choice," she added thoughtfully, "but it would be a near thing."
Snape chuckled, almost against his will, and Hermione was amazed at the natural sound of it. Who would have expected the dour Potions Master to have such a nice laugh.
"Pity," he remarked dryly. "I was sure Longbottom was going to break the record this year."
"What record?"
"I have kept a running tally on who melts the most cauldrons in their Hogwarts careers, Miss Granger. The Weasley twins made an impressive score, more from their deliberate experiments than lack of ability, but Longbottom was close to setting a new high water mark."
"Which is?" she prompted.
"Forty-three cauldrons in the course of seven years. A mark achieved by a Hufflepuff in my third year as a teacher here, and who inspired me to do my utmost to maintain control in my classroom. My predecessor had begun to keep track when the girl was in his class, and I merely continued the tradition."
"I see," Hermione replied, torn between amusement and pure astonishment at this glimpse of Snape's dark humor.
The man turned and made a small gesture, inviting her to walk with him. Hermione obeyed automatically as he walked towards the small laboratory, more slowly than the usual stride which made his robes flare out into the bat wings responsible for earning him so many nicknames, but his strength had apparently returned and he moved with ease.
"The first thing to be done is to go through Madame Pomfrey's stores and dispose of everything that's gone off. I'll want the shelves cleaned, and they need to be moved so they're out of the sunlight. The large Bunsen burner is a disgrace; it will need scouring. I also plan on speaking to the Headmaster about convincing the walls to change a bit; I have no intention of sneaking into the lab just because some fool student's got a bellyache."
Snape reached the door to the lab and did not quite fling it open, but he was obviously on the mend to judge by the energy of his action.
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," Hermione stammered, trying to catalogue his list of tasks while adding her own as she waited for him to enter.
Snape gave her an inscrutable look. "After you, Miss Granger," he indicated.
Author's Note: All the herbs I've mentioned are used in homeopathic medicine, but please don't try this at home. Also, Quillusion gets a gold star for being so very perceptive.