Painful Consequences

"Dear god, what happened here!"

"No idea. I heard screams…"

"Who is he?"

"Don't know…"

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I thought I saw three blokes, two of them real thugs, but they seemed to have just vanished."

"I heard a few cracking noises, if that means anything…?"

"Has anyone called an ambulance yet?"

"I'll go, my office is closest."

"Be quick. I don't know how long he'll hold out for. He's been beaten up pretty bad…"

Someone snorted with grim amusement.

"'Pretty bad'! Bloody hell, what does it take to be really bad!"

"Anyone here a doctor or anything?"

"Yes! Excuse me please. Excuse me. I'm a nurse if that's any goo…" She stopped abruptly, staring at the tall, slim figure in front of her in utter horror.

The man was sprawled on the cracked tarmac, his face chalk white beneath the blood. His dark hair was stringy and matted and a livid, black bruise was covering most of his face. His leg was bent, not at a joint, into an unnatural angle and one of his arms was twisted and blood streaked. His thin wrist was bent back on itself and a red stain was dripping quietly from a scored line across his abdomen.

Swallowing her revulsion, the nurse knelt down next to him and pulled up his shirt to see how deep the cut was beneath his clothes. Someone passed her a sweatshirt, which she placed across the obviously grievous wound in a hope to stem the flow.

"Hello. I'm Margaret Woods and I'm a nurse. How are you and what's your name?"

A strange silence ensued as everyone waited for a response, which never came.

"Can you hear me?" she repeated loudly as she tilted his head back slightly with her right hand while opening his mouth with her left. She was unsurprised when there was no answer.

"They're coming," someone called from an office doorway as he ran back over to the small crowd surrounding the man. "I've just spoken to them so they should be here any minute."

"Is it going to be Guy's or St. Thomas'?"

"Who cares! They both know what they're doing…"

"St. Thomas' is closer…"

A distant wailing of sirens could be heard a few minutes later which grew steadily louder. Soon afterwards, an ambulance slowed to a stop near the group and two paramedics jumped out, each holding either a bag or some other form of equipment.

"Has he been conscious at all?" one of the paramedics said calmly, without preamble, as he walked over to the pale man's crushed body.

"No," the nurse, Margaret, answered as she stepped out of the way. "He's been unconscious for at least ten minutes although he has been breathing on his own. He's sustained what looks to be a stab wound in his abdominal region."

The two paramedics glanced at each other and exchanged dark looks before they crouched down next to the man.

"Hello, can you hear me?" he called as he lifted the man's chin carefully, which had fallen back onto his chest as soon as the nurse had let go of it. Without waiting for a response, the paramedic looked over to the ambulance where his colleague was collecting a stretcher. "Bob, phone ahead to Guy's and tell them to prepare for a serious trauma victim; critical chest injury, serious head trauma and possible spinal injuries."

For a few more minutes, the paramedics worked in almost total silence. One was strapping each of the man's limbs in splints and trying to stem some of the bleeding while the other was continually checking his vital signs. After a further ten minutes, one of the medics suddenly stood up and dragged the stretcher closer.

"Sam! On three. One. Two. Three."

Together, they picked up the man from the floor and placed him onto the gurney, carefully supporting his back and neck as they put him on the stretcher with infinite care. A second later, the strange, pale faced, greasy haired man went suddenly limp as he stopped breathing. One of the paramedics noticed instantly and issued a harsh sounding command: "Scoop and run."

Together, the two paramedics pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance and instantly hooked the man on it up to two IV lines. The second paramedic, Sam, pulled a mask over the man's nose and mouth and started to turn the dial which controlled the oxygen flow.

"What do you reckon? Twelve litres a minute or fourteen?"

"Fourteen. This guy's critical now," the other medic answered with a trace of despair creeping into his voice.

The sirens wailed into life as soon as the doors of the ambulance were slammed shut. One of the paramedics attached several sensors to the collapsed man's chest and several of the monitors started to trace out a thin line across the screen. One of the paramedics closed his eyes for a second in defeat.

"We're losing him, Bob. He's in hemorrhagic shock; are you going to call it or shall I?"

"He's not dead yet, Sam," the second paramedic answered with a snarl. "Don't give up on him; there's always a chance, always a hope…"

A minute later, the ambulance pulled to a steady stop and two waiting nurses flung the back doors of the ambulance open before helping the two paramedics to lower the stretcher on to the floor. Pushing open the double hinged doors, the two paramedics wheeled the gurney quickly into the corridor where they continued straight on as fast as they sensibly could. Neither of them bothered to read the letters stamped in a glowing red across the doors as they pushed their patient into the midst of at least four waiting doctors and countless nurses.

The nurses following them did read the sign though and they flinched involuntarily.

EMERGENCY ROOM

"Status?" one of the senior doctors asked as soon as they came through the doors.

"Approximately forty year old male. E one, M three, V two. In shock and suffering from an abdominal stab wound, hemopneumothorax caused by broken ribs and severe head trauma as well as a fractured femur and ulna. Fractured spine is possible. Well, is very likely, to be perfectly frank.''

One of the doctors took in a breath with a sharp hiss. "May I make a suggestion? Someone phone Jones down in surgery and get Morison over here from resus."

"Any family?" one of the other doctors asked distractedly as he finished cutting away the man's dark clothing.

"Not that we know of…"

For several minutes, the four doctors worked continually trying to slow down some of the bleeding while the two paramedics did everything in their power to keep the man's airway clear. The machines surrounding them were flickering continually as the readings they were taking began to drop languidly. Almost everyone present looked up as soon as they realised and the darkly significant looks they exchanged briefly said everything – almost all of them had given the man up as a dead loss. Literally.

"Concentrate," one of the doctors spat as he pushed a needle into Snape's thin arm. "He's still fighting; he hasn't given up so neither should you."

"Surgeon Jones says he's ready and waiting," one of the nurses said breathlessly a moment later. "He asked me to say you can take him down as soon as you feel he's stable enough to; everything is set up to receive him. Morison's already down there."

A couple of the senior doctors nodded to each other in unspoken agreement. "We'll take him now, then. And as for being stable, you've got to be joking."

One of the doctors hit the button calling the lift up from the theatre and as soon as it arrived, the doctors pushed the stretcher into the space. The most senior doctor started issuing sharp orders as he shone a small penlight into the Potions master's vacant eyes.

"Me and Jack will take him down to theatre as quick as we can. As I said, we'll have to stabilise him there: he's critical. Jane, I want a stat EKG and six bags of O Neg. blood, looks like we're going to need it."

One of the nurses nodded and turned away quickly. The Half-Blood Prince made no visible move, seemingly oblivious to the chaos going on around him; because of him.

"Good luck to him," Sam said grimly, his job now over, as the doors slid closed and the lift itself moved downwards into the operating theatres. "Good god, he's going to need a miracle. I cannot believe that any human being could be that cruel to do that to someone deliberately – those sorts of injuries aren't exactly caused by accident."

Several other people nodded in resigned agreement as an odd, saddened silence only intensified the tense atmosphere.

"I just hope he lives through it," someone added quietly. "An attack like that - it all just seems so unnecessary and pointless to me."

"I know what you mean," a doctor answered, pulling off his thin, blood soaked gloves in anger. "It's times like this where I'd do anything for a magic wand which could just put everything right with one simple wave." He tailed off into silence, gesturing flicking an invisible wand. "Did he have anything on him that we could identify him with? Someone has got to know who he is and come searching for him eventually but it would be better if we could contact them first."

"We found some possessions on him in at the scene," Sam said, walking over to a small bag one of the nurses had brought in from the ambulance. "A bottle of something, a letter and this."

"That's just a stick; what does he carry that around for?" one of the nurses said in surprise.

Sam shrugged, passing it to the doctor who was looking curious. "There you go, Doctor," he said jokingly in a desperate attempt to lighten the depressed atmosphere. "A stick for you. You never know, dose yourself up on enough Morphine, or Vodka, and you'd be able to pretend it's a wand."

The doctor threw Sam a filthy look.

"Severus Snape," one of the nurses said suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That man: his name is Severus Snape. It's on the letter. It says he lives at Spinner's End, which I guess is in Spinner's Avenue which is only, what, about fifteen miles away? And it also mentions Minerva McGonagall and a place called Hogwarts. Never heard of there though."

The doctor looked mildly curious. "Take it up to reception and they'll contact this McGonagall person and see if she can tell us anything more. Take that bottle and this stick thing with you. It looks like it's important to Severus, or whatever his name was."

"Magic wand, Doctor, not stick," Sam said with a half hearted smirk, dodging the playful swipe sent at him. "Honestly though, the weirdoes you get now; he looked like he'd been through the mill a bit, even before those sods beat him up."

"Shut up, Sam; the next thing you'll come out with is poor old Severus is a wizard or something. Or a vampire…"

Sam took the rod off the doctor saying "You never know…"

Quite simply, Sam didn't know that his harmless guessing as to what the stick was had been spot on. He was a Muggle; his guess had just been a falsely light hearted comment as he tried to deal with the horrors they had all just had to contend with. The doctor, however, had been less accurate than the young paramedic had been. No simple wave of a magic wand would be able to help Severus this time; there was only so far magic could heal someone and even then it only speeded up the natural healing process; it couldn't create miracles.

Somewhere in the bowels of Guy's Hospital, four doctors were struggling to save a man they didn't even know the name of. As the time the Potions master wavered on the thin line between life and death steadily increased, the odds of him ever waking up again were slowly dwindling.

Snape was fighting for his life but he was only holding on by a fraying thread. As the Half-Blood Prince became steadily weaker, a group of sick minded individuals drank in celebration of a job well done.

It was the middle of the evening and Hermione Granger was sitting quietly in her office at Hogwarts, absentmindedly stroking her cat, Crookshanks.

"He's been missing for weeks," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I wonder where he's got to. I thought that he'd at least contact us…"

Crookshanks purred loudly.

"Sorry, Crooks. I know I'm probably annoying you again."

Hermione sighed and picked up a book and started reading it. She got as far as the third paragraph before she slammed the book back down again.

"Where is he?" she repeated, glaring at Crookshanks as if she expected him to answer. "He's never been like this before, even when he was spying."

Reasons started to creep into Hermione's mind.

He's just angry with you and Professor McGonagall…

He would have contacted you anyway, another voice hissed nastily. He wouldn't just vanish off the face of the earth. Something's happened to him…

No, it hasn't… another voice added unconvincingly.

Hermione picked the book up again, thinking deeply.

The War had changed everyone; Harry and Ginny had grown steadily closer while she and Ron had drifted away. Their relationship had been fun while it lasted but the deaths of so many friends and Order members had forced the two of them apart. It had been said that times of trouble pulled people closer together but it also ripped whole families apart, too.

Hogwarts had also suffered; it had remained open throughout the War so far but ever since Dumbledore's death, it hadn't been the same. Professor McGonagall had tried her best but she wasn't ever in the same league as her predecessor.

The most drastic change in anyone, however, had come from the disgraced Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Snape had always been on the leaner side of normal but ever since he had been forced to murder Dumbledore, he'd been on the verge of skeletally thin with his face slowly turning to a waxy paleness as the days drifted on. Somehow, though, he'd managed to survive for this long despite his double agent role. He had partly redeemed himself in the last battle when he had stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry for the first and probably last time as they attacked the Death Eaters together.

After the attack, Professor McGonagall had offered Snape his original position as Potions professor more out of conscience than anything else and Snape had accepted instantly, but his heart hadn't been in his job like it once had been. After a few weeks, it became apparent that Snape had suffered more emotional damage than physical injuries and as time wore on, he began to miss both meals and lessons more and more frequently and he sometimes disappeared for hours at a time. Professor McGonagall had not really had any choice when she had dismissed him; he just wasn't in a fit state to teach anyone anything.

There was a steady knock at the door and Hermione glanced up, jolted out of her thoughts. "Come in," she called quickly.

She was very surprised when Madam Pomfrey walked in closely followed by Professor McGonagall, the latter of which was worryingly pale. There was a tense silence for a few moments.

"What?" Hermione said nervously as neither of the two visitors made any move. "What!"

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said shakily, causing Hermione to shudder. Professor McGonagall never used her full name anymore.

"What!" Hermione asked again, her nerves starting to get the better of her as the Headmistress bowed her head in sorrow.

"Miss Granger. It's Severus," she answered, sounding desperately guilty.

Hermione turned white at Professor McGonagall's words. "What about him?" Hermione said quickly. "What's happened? Tell me he's all right. Isn't he?" she added, suddenly afraid. Professor McGonagall started to say something before Madam Pomfrey interrupted in her characteristically strict voice.

"Professor Snape is anything but all right, Professor. In truth, I would class what he has gone and done to himself as grievous to the extreme. Even worse than Potter usually does."

"No…" Hermione whispered, knowing full well that the news wouldn't be good.

"He was attacked in Black Prince Road, London, a few hours ago and was taken by Muggle ambulance to Guy's Hospital soon after the assault," the matron said bluntly as the Transfiguration teacher said nothing.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Well, that's not too bad," she said shakily. "I mean, Guy's is a really good hospital and they treat loads of people and it's meant to be really great and everything and I'm sure they know what they're doing and…"

Madam Pomfrey held up her hand to stem Hermione's terrified babbling.

"Hermione," she said more gently, showing a much more caring, understanding side than she usually showed. "Does the Glasgow Coma Score mean anything to you?"

Hermione shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"It's a rating used a lot by Muggle Trauma units, and St. Mungo's, to grade patients with regards to how deep a coma they are in. The Glasgow Coma Score, or GCS, is graded on a score of three to fifteen, with fifteen being best," Madam Pomfrey continued steadily as if she had decided that telling Hermione all the facts quickly was the best way to break the news to her.

"If the number is thirteen or higher, there is likely to be a mild brain injury; if it is between nine and twelve, there is often a moderate injury and if the score gets to less than eight, there is often a severe brain injury. When it gets that low, it's possible that the person will never fully recover. If the score drops to three, it means that, for the sake of a few minor technicalities, they are dead."

"Oh," Hermione said suddenly, absorbing the information remarkably calmly. "So Severus is what, fifteen? Fourteen? Thirteen? Twelve?" Her voice became slightly higher pitched with each number. "Eleven then?" she added, almost pleadingly.

Professor McGonagall raised he head slightly, her eyes betraying her utter sadness and remorse.

"It's eleven then. That's not too bad. It could be worse," Hermione tried to convince herself as she took in Minerva McGonagall's stricken gaze. "I mean, that's really bad but I think Madam Pomfrey said that's only slight damage. I mean, it's not as if it was lower than eight, is it…?"

Minerva McGonagall looked at her in undisguised regret, her beady eyes never leaving Hermione's brown ones.

"Hermione," she said, her voice muffled with guilt. "The last information we were told was that his score was a six, and that score is likely to drop further over the next hour or so."

Hermione started backing away in fear. "No…"

"Hermione," Madam Pomfrey started, looking suddenly strained and worried for the first time. "He didn't have any choice in this. He will fight his injuries as best he can but just don't get your hopes up too high. From what Guy's told me, it looks as if Professor Snape may never…"

"…wake up," Minerva McGonagall finished, looking unimaginably guilty.

"When can I see him?" Hermione asked, her voice cracking.

"Soon, I think," Madam Pomfrey answered in a professional voice as she reeled of the facts she knew. "I'm not sure exactly when. Guy's said that his condition was critical and that the Muggle Healers were having trouble stabilising him. They said that he had got critical injuries to his chest and he had a collapsed lung, as well as serious head injuries to make matters worse."

"When did the… you know… happen?"

"About five hours ago now. I suggest you rest, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey finished gently. "I will let you know as soon as we know anything more."

For three hours, Hermione stayed with Crookshanks absentmindedly stroking his fur as they all waited for news. She closed her eyes and dropped her head into her arms in sorrow. It was awful; there was nothing she could do except wait.

This wasn't meant to happen…

"Hermione?" Professor McGonagall called softly. "Hermione? It is time for you to wake up now. Hermione?"

Hermione woke with a start and looked wildly at the Headmistress.

"How's…"

"Guy's has just informed Madam Pomfrey that Severus is now out of theatre and is in a stable, but still critical, condition."

Hermione's lower lip started trembling as she looked into Minerva McGonagall's shadowed eyes as the Headmistress started speaking in a deadened voice.

"I am afraid to say that Severus is still in a coma and, from what the surgeon has told Madam Pomfrey and myself, it is unlikely he will awaken from it any time soon. Severus has broken several ribs, one of which had punctured his right lung, and he suffered a badly broken leg and a fractured wrist. He also has been struck on the head with massive force and the surgeon was not certain, but he said that it looks like the injury was caused by Severus being thrown over backwards and hitting his head on the road. He went into shock very early on as he has lost a lot of blood from a knife wound to his stomach and he has been unconscious since the attack itself occurred.

"So far, we have no idea who his attackers are or why they assaulted him. My only guess is Severus was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It is possible that the attackers intended on murdering Professor Snape after they had attacked him but the arrival of several Muggles forced them to flee, possibly through fear of being identified."

"When can I see him?" Hermione whispered.

Professor McGonagall sighed heavily, her eyes full of sorrow. "Severus came out of surgery an hour or so ago and is now in Intensive Care. You may visit him now if you wish, although," the Headmistress added, raising her hand to stop Hermione from standing up. "The surgeon who operated on Severus suggested that I came with you and also requested that any physical contact with him was to be as little as possible and we are not to touch his head or chest for any reason. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded awkwardly. "You said… maybe I… he's only just come out of theatre?"

"Yes, Hermione," the Headmistress answered faintly. "He has been in surgery for the last seven hours. My guess is that whoever attacked him had meant it to be murder; the surgeon said his injuries were some of the most extensive he'd ever seen."

With a grimace of fear, Hermione stood up and led the way down to the gates of Hogwarts in worried silence. Both teachers Disapparated to London as soon as they were outside the walls of the grounds. Together, Professor McGonagall and Hermione walked side by side up to the main desk of Guy's Hospital where a tired looking woman of about twenty looked up.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

"We are here to see Severus Snape, admitted by ambulance several hours ago. I was informed by Doctor Jones that it would be possible to visit him now."

"Certainly," the woman answered, looking down at a long list in front of her. "Ninth floor, ward six, room one." The woman looked slightly nervously at Hermione, who was looking terrified. "Maybe I should warn you now – I would strongly advise that you visited Surgeon Jones' office before you visit your… friend? In fact, I will inform him of you arrival so he can meet you now. The lifts are on your left."

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall answered softly before leading the now trembling Hermione over to the lift doors.

"Hermione, are you sure you want to go through with this?" the older Professor said, remarkably composed as she kept her emotions tightly in check.

Hermione violently shook her head, a tear dropping down her face. "No… I just want to… get it… sort of… over… you know… maybe… This is my fault!" Hermione burst out. "I… if Voldemort hadn't…"

Professor McGonagall looked sternly over her glasses at Hermione. "If this is anyone's fault, it is mine. It is my fault Severus was in London at all; if I hadn't…"

Professor McGonagall didn't finish her sentence as she walked into the lift shakily and pushed the 'nine' button. After a minute or so, the lift slowed to a standstill and the doors opened as a recorded message inside the lift said emotionlessly: "Floor Nine: Intensive Care".

Hermione blanched.

"Minerva McGonagall, I assume? And this would be…?"

"Hermione Granger," Professor McGonagall answered quietly to the tall, almost imposing man standing directly outside the lift doors in a cotton shirt and a mask still around his neck which had had not bothered to remove. "She was a close colleague of Severus, and knew him better than many..."

Hermione stared down a corridor in search of ward number six and didn't look up at the surgeon as he started speaking again.

Oh Merlin; he'll be all right. He has to be all right. If only I hadn't agreed that Severus should be sacked… This won't be as bad as I think…

"I am Surgeon Mark Jones and it was I who operated on Severus when he was brought in. The operation itself went remarkable well once we had controlled the bleeding and stabilised him, to an extent, and there were no extra complications, which is very encouraging. There is still a chance that your associate will make a relatively full recovery."

Relief washed over Hermione's face.

So there is at least a chance. That's something… I was right, this will be fine. Severus will just be unconscious, like he's sleeping or something…

"I feel it is only fair to warn you, however, that due to the severity of his injuries the chances of a full recovery are very low, but still possible; the odds of him surviving at all with his injuries are only about twenty to thirty percent. I am certain that the road back to full health is going to be a long, slow one I'm afraid. I'm so sorry," he finished, looking understanding.

The hope fell off Hermione's face with the suddenness of a bomb blast. Silently, she prepared for what she perceived to be the worst condition the acerbic Potions master could be in.

"Severus is through here," Doctor Jones said steadily, taking in Hermione's pale face with a sympathetic nod. "I suggest you prepare yourselves for a bit of a shock…"

He pushed open a polished, wood panelled door and stepped into the room. Professor McGonagall followed him tight lipped and in tense, expectant silence. Hermione took a moment to register that she should go into the room and she jerkily stepped over the threshold.

Hermione took one look at the immobile figure on the bed; and screamed.

To Be Continued…

Charbar: Thanks a lot for your kind encouragement and I'm so glad you're enjoying it! And as for feeling sorry for Snape… smiles

Old Crow: Have patience! And it has happened already – what do you think the reason of Snape being attacked in chapter 1 was? I hope everything becomes clear soon and thanks for reviewing!

Nancy: Thanks!

Galleena: I'm honoured! I'm so pleased you enjoyed it and as for who's dying… nope, not Hermione but good guess; sorry!

Ji: No, you haven't confused me! I'm so glad that you like it and that you'll enjoy what's coming!