She screamed and screamed until he came running, half asleep in only a pair of silken, black pajama pants. It was early, she was an early person but apparently he'd been asleep still. It was amazing he'd heard her at all, as far away as his bed chambers were. She had curled up on the floor, dripping and naked holding her arm close to her body.
"What happened?" he asked, grabbing her pink towel from the rack and draping in over her shoulders and pulling her up to her feet. "Let me see."
"I slipped," she said, tears streaming down her face. He pried her arm away from her and she held the towel with her other hands, though it failed to really cover anything.
"I need to get my wand," he said and left the room, nearly sprinting. She stared at her arm in horror, feeling herself go into shock. She was still standing there when he returned with his wand. He cast a spell that caused the towel to wrap around her and stay there. She was grateful for that though the shock of her being naked in front of her potions professor was losing its novelty. He cast another spell and her arm was splinted and wrapped in gauze.
"What?" she asked, sniffling, staring at her arm. The bone was once again straight and the skin smooth, if bruised, but it was by no means healed.
"It's the best I can do right now. You have so much Skele-Grow in your system that no bone mending potion is going to do anything. It's just going to have to heal naturally," he said. She nodded but didn't stop crying. "Hermione, I've hardly ever seen you cry."
"I'm sorry. I just feel a little shocked and a bit stupid. My bone broke like I was snapping a pencil," she said. "I hate to cry in front of you, especially you."
"Me?" he asked.
"You're so… Snape. I mean, you haven't yelled at me since all this happened and I don't seem to disgust you the same way I did in potions class but you're still the smartest person I've ever met. You're good at everything you do and now you've saved my life. I don't want you to think after all that I'm undeserving and weak," she said, looking at her arm instead of him. She moved it away from her body experimentally and felt immediately light-headed with pain.
"You don't have to hide your emotions from me," he said, but in a very unemotional tone. It was so ironic and hypocritical that she had to laugh.
"And you from I, professor." He said nothing, but pointed her out of the bathroom. She knew what that meant. He was ordering her to rest.
oooo
She lay in bed and thought about things, her arm on a few pillows next to her to keep it elevated it. He'd given her the equivalent of two aspirin and it did little for the throbbing pain. She tried not to linger on the mental image of him rushing into the bathroom in such a disheveled state of undress. The way the black pants hung so low on his narrow hips. He was skinny and pale and though she hadn't registered it at the time, looking back now, she could see the dark mark on his arm as clear as day. She wondered about that.
"You aren't resting." His voice startled her from her reverie and she saw him in the doorway, fully dressed now.
"I'm thinking," she said.
"About what?"
"How you've not been called away since this all started," she said. He stiffened a bit. "I saw it on your arm this morning."
"You aren't to be concerned with that," he said and turned away.
"Wait!" she called.
"Miss Granger, there are some things that are my business and my business alone," he said.
"Back to Miss Granger, again," she said, mostly to herself.
"You have always been Miss Granger," he said, and rubbed the line between his eyes – an expression of his tiredness and frustration.
"Except when you call me Hermione, which I like," she said. He said nothing; picked fuzz off his sleeve that she suspected wasn't there. "Why don't you ever talk about what's happening outside of here? You must give daily reports to the Headmaster. Why don't I ever see a daily prophet lying around?" she asked, feeling a little suspicious.
"You haven't ever asked to see the paper," he said, "And except for one letter from your friends, Misters Potter and Weasley, you've not been in contact with the outside world either." She didn't bother to include her correspondence with her parents as they knew nothing of the wizarding world either.
"Well, I'm asking now," she said.
"Good. It is a sign of progress," he said. She waited for him to start offering up information but it was, after all, Snape. "We're almost through, Miss Granger."
"Hermione," she corrected.
"Hermione," he relented.
"Promise me?" she asked.
"I promise," he said, but this time he knew what he was promising. He left, clicking the door shut firmly behind him and though she was tired of resting, she spent an hour with her eyes closed.
Later, deep into the night, Hermione was restless and a little hungry. She realized, with a start, that she felt better. In fact, she didn't feel sick at all apart from the throbbing arm. She went into the washroom and looked at her reflection. Her skin was pink and the circles beneath her eyes were gone. She wished she could go outside and put her toes in the lake – giant squid be damned (though so many legs, nay, tentacles frightened her) – and breathe in the moonlight until her lungs were full and she would run in the grass and never complain about hard dormitory beds or Ron copying her notes or Harry running of to his most certain death because that was life and she knew that now.
She brushed her teeth (dentists) and washed her good hand and ran her damp fingers through her hair. She'd broken her right hand, her quill and wand hand, but she would manage. She left the bathroom and looked at the rumpled bed and just couldn't get back in. The pillow seemed lumpy and the sheets were always hot and scratchy against her skin. Instead she removed her night gown and put on a fresh one. One her mother had sent her for her 16th birthday in the beginning of the school year. It was long – floor length – and satin. It was black and had a robe that went over it. She was tired of feeling frumpy. It was feminine and sexy, something for a woman. It wasn't inappropriate, however. With the robe it just seemed classic and expensive. She was certain her mother had sent it without her father knowing about it. She tied the sash tight so very little skin showed.
She left her room and wandered down the hall. She wished she'd put something on her feet. The stone was freezing and felt almost mossy or slimy. Was Snape the only person who ever came down here? Were his feet the only ones prior to hers? Before she knew it she stood outside the door that lead to Snape's sitting room. It was where she had first read the letters. The door was not, as she expected it would be, closed and warded. It was ajar, about four inches, and she could see the fire burning inside. She could see his empty wingback chair and his abandoned desk, scattered with papers. His notes on her progress, most likely. She pushed open the door and entered inside. A voice in her head warned her against coming into his personal quarters uninvited but this Snape, this new Snape who almost cared for her, would never lash out in such a way as the old one. He would not take points (a concept she had all but nearly forgotten) and he would not assign her a detention. He might snap at her, order her back to her room, but he would never physically harm her. She was pretty sure about that, at least.
She stood in front of the fire for a few moments, warming herself. She couldn't see him in the room. She'd never been further into his chambers than this room. But she could see down the dark hallway where his bedroom was. That door was ajar as well and she held her breath to listen. She couldn't hear him moving or snoring. He may not even be in there at all. Slowly, if drawn by some higher power, she walked to the door and pushed it open. She saw him in his big bed. He was on his stomach, his long hair marring his features. He was again in his black pants and nothing else. She could see the expanse of his back more clearly. It was muscular but heavily scarred. She wanted to run her fingers over his skin, to see if it felt as callous as it looked. She walked forward before she stopped.
What was she thinking? She couldn't touch Snape! And yet, she was already at the edge of the bed and she could see the fingers of her left, uninjured hand reaching toward him and lightly brushing the jut of his shoulder blades. He stirred a little. She sat on the edge of the bed and moved her hand up to his hair. It was greasy but then, when did he have much time to himself with taking such exquisite care of her? She pushed the hair back so she could see his eyes and jumped when she saw they were open.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I – I was just… I couldn't sleep," she said, withdrawing her hand quickly. He sat up and watched her.
"No one has ever been in here before," he said.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, and started to walk away at a normal pace, forcing herself not to run.
"Where does a girl like Hermione Granger get a robe like that?" he asked, in a nearly conversational tone. She turned around and fingered the silver embroidery on the hem.
"What kind of girl am I?" she asked.
"Practical. Too practical for enticing fabrics," he said. He ran a hand through his hair, and she saw the mark on his arm again. It didn't frighten her like she though it would.
"Even practical girls like soft things," she said. "It was a sweet sixteen present."
"You're so young," he said, looking away for a moment. "I know it's difficult being down here with me. It's lonely for someone not used to such segregation."
"I thought it would be harder, actually. I thought taking your help would be like pulling teeth or some acute form of torture at least," she said. "But actually, it's much better than the hospital."
He patted the bed next to him and she resumed her perch.
"Hermione, you only have a few weeks left here," he said.
"Then what? I'm released back into school just in time for the exams I've not studied for? I'm going to have to repeat this year," she said.
"Nonsense. The summer months will offer you more than enough time to catch up," he said. "Besides, the fact that you made it through that treatment is a miracle."
"You cured cancer," she said, suddenly in awe.
"No, Hermione, I mean it is a miracle. I had strong doubts you would survive. Most people wouldn't have made it past the first week. You have strength I've never seen," he said. She smiled a little.
"When can I have my wand back?" she asked.
"Soon," he promised. "Hermione…"
"I'll go," she said.
"You don't have to. I could transfigure you a bed in here. Or, out in the living room. Your room was really meant for the start of the treatment. It's sparse," he said.
"I couldn't," she said. "But thank you." He started to argue but bit his lip instead and nodded. He walked her back to her room and made sure she was tucked into bed. He extinguished the lights and went back to his rooms. She fell asleep soon after and woke at dawn. She pushed back the covers to go the bathroom and was startled by the sound of a quiet snore. He had come back in the night to sleep in the other twin bed. It made her smile. She wondered what was happening.