"I've been hiding
Yeah, I got no defenses
From the violence
I hear you in my head
You're a poison
I'll be taking til' I'm dead
I've fallen
I don't need you to save me, but"
"Dangerous" – The Tech Thieves ft. Besomorph
The morning was hazy with receding fog. It clung to the grass and hills, formed gauzy shawls that cloaked the sheep in white, misty shrouds the colour and consistency of foamed milk.
She could see it all from where she reclined, propped up in an ancient wooden rocker that she'd situated in the front garden. From where she sat, her entire world was visible, bright and lush and green, with a slight chill in the morning air. Her ankles were moist from having brushed past and through the morning dew.
At first appraisal, all was silent. Until one considered the birds, and the slight breeze, and the whistling grass. The brook that could be heard off in the distance where the sheep took their water. The slight puttering of an old farm truck as it sped away about half a mile off.
The shrill shriek of—
What was that?
Hermione raised her head, pushing back her hair out of her eyes. As she turned, she saw that Severus had pushed to a seated position and was scouring his nightstand blindly with one hand, searching for the offender. He finally found it and accepted the call, mashing the mobile to one large ear as he dug the heel of his opposite hand into his eyes.
"The fuck is it?" His voice sounded more nasally than normal, affected to a considerable degree by the deep sleep he'd been enjoying.
"Jeez, Snape, it's ten in the morning and you're still not out of bed?"
Hermione could only faintly make out the voice of a testy woman on the other end of the phone. She pushed herself up to sitting and reached out to the side table for her wand (which they'd retrieved from the hospital when they'd visited Marcus for the first time since she'd left), and cast a charm to draw the curtains, bringing a rush of bright morning light that flooded their bedroom. The sun was high in the sky. They clearly had slept in.
At the door she could hear faint scratching and meowing. Crookshanks was clearly awake and ready for his meal. The witch groaned before she stood and fished around for her jumper, a necessity in Snape's cold flat.
"I'll be right there, Crooks—Severus, do you want anything?" She asked, turning to the man who still sat in bed, quarreling with the woman on the phone.
"I sent you the whole script last Friday! There's nothing more for me to do about it—talk to Charles, he has to decide about the character designs, I've got nothing to do with deciding how the spell-casting looks—"
Snape didn't look to Hermione, too absorbed was he in arguing over the phone. He listened, his frown growing by the second as the person on the other side of the receiver spoke.
"Well of course I vetoed the sparkles! Magic doesn't sparkle,"
The garbled response caused him to scowl.
"You tell Declan—"
"No! You tell Dec, yourself!" The voice shouted, loud enough that Hermione could hear it from where she stood by the door. "I'm fucking tired of being the go-between—you like to bitch about things not being your job—well that's not my job, Sev! We've a meeting today at eleven, you need to be here,"
Snape glanced up and locked eyes with Hermione, seeming harried.
"I've plans this morning," he told the woman on the other end. "Yes, every morning. All month. Until I hear otherwise."
"Damnit Snape, you can't just opt out of work for two months and not tell anyone what's going on and then expect us to pick up the slack for you and to be understanding—" There was a pause and an audible fumble over the receiver before the voice changed.
"Sev, you've gotta level with us—we're prepared to be more than understanding,"
"It's none of your damn business, Declan," Snape growled, sliding out of the bed sideways and nosing his feet into a pair of jeans that he hastily pulled up around his hips. "We—I've had a family emergency and have needed to be out of office. It's been years we've worked together and I've never taken a sabbatical—all I need is another few weeks,"
"It's been longer than a month already since we've seen you in the office,"
"And yet my scripts and reports on the servers have shown up, as promised, twice a week. You've gotten your pound of flesh—"
There came a sharp, derisive laugh, "Don't be a drama queen, Sev."
"You dare—"
Hermione, having heard enough of the quarrel approached him, squeezing his shoulder to get his attention. "I'll go myself this morning."
"No, Hermione. I promised him—"
The witch smiled tenderly up at her husband and leaned forward to press a kiss to his bare arm at the bicep.
"He won't know. Anyway, visiting hours go late, you can see him this evening if you want. Then he'll see us both for longer, in a way. The Royal London called last night while you were checking the servers. His nurse told me that he's getting close to six pounds and that as soon as he makes weight that we can bring him home."
Snape's eyes widened. He brought up a palm to cover the phone receiver. "That's faster than I anticipated... he's taking well to the potions then..."
Hermione nodded. "Very well. His paediatrician is sort of in awe... or at least that's how it seemed to me from over the phone," she grinned. "I'll take him his milk this morning around noon, and you can visit after you finish up at work. Then you can keep your promise."
The wizard glowered, though it didn't seem to be directed at her. If anything, his petulance seemed to be directed first at the wall, and then back at whomever he was speaking to on his phone. He raised it back up to talk. "Expect me at eleven, Declan."
"Good man. I'll have Terry and Charlie set up the conference room,"
Hermione didn't hear the rest of the conversation as she strode out into the main chamber, saying a quick hello to Eileen who was typing, as slowly as one might expect of an elderly witch, into a text box, and seemed too absorbed in her task to return the greeting.
Crookshanks received his bowl of steak, a luxury which Eileen normally whined about, and Hermione set about preparing herself a bowl of porridge to eat with her customary yogurt cup. Pumping milk for Marcus left her far hungrier than she normally was, and even when she didn't have an appetite, Severus had made it his mission to force her to eat whenever she neglected herself.
Not that the insufferable man had any room to talk, she considered with a frown. She had had to put her foot down on many of the powdered-sugar-dusted confections that he gravitated toward at the super-market on their joint shopping trips, and given that he didn't seem to feel any inclination to make better choices for himself, she had taken to preparing many of his meals herself. She'd not managed to take away his diet pop, but did grant that at least the carbonated beverages weren't as bad for the man as the sugary pastries he was partial to.
As long as she brewed him tea or prepared a cup of Nescafe before he made it to the fridge and grabbed himself an aluminium can, she could usually fend him off from the drinks until lunch (of course, she'd taken to replacing his three sugars with the calorie-free variety, but it was still an improvement in her estimation).
Snape exited the bedroom just as she was sprinkling a handful of diced strawberries on top of the porridge.
"I'll see you this evening. Evidently they have need of me all day." He sneered.
"Do you want something to take with you?"
"No." The wizard snorted as he came up behind her and swiped a can of diet pop from the fridge.
'Damn.'
"Apparently it was so important to them that I sit in on their petty squabbling that they decided to cater-in." He ripped the top off and took a long draught. "And Dec won't even be there, hypocrite that he is. Was a secretive bugger about it, too. Seemed way too excited to boss me around and demand that I come in when he's haring off to Merlin knows where,"
"Perhaps he's just returning the favour," Hermione quipped around a spoonful of oats, "you're not exactly known for being an open book."
Snape had busied himself by his desk, packing away his laptop, notebook, and a handful of writing utensils. "I have reasons for my secrecy, as you well know." He griped, mostly under his breath. Turning his head over his shoulder, he frowned at the bowl before her. "You know, speaking of hypocrisy, if you think it's any healthier to eat a bowl of oatmeal with that much molasses mixed in than it is to have a modestly sized pastry? Well. I've news for you—"
She pulled the bowl toward herself, defensively, her eyes narrowing at him. "I'm breastfeeding."
Sighing, he walked up to her and gathered her against his chest, pressing his face into the crown of her head. "I've not forgotten. I'm asking you to consider adding in some protein."
"Yogurt has protein," the witch protested.
"Perhaps some. The kind you prefer, however, is mostly sugar."
She glowered up at him. "I'll stop at Greggs for a ham sandwich after I leave hospital. Happy?"
He shrugged and kissed her hair. "Happier."
He departed after a short salutation to his mother, who was still ignoring all but her correspondence, and Hermione set about preparing the bottles of milk she'd pumped overnight with potions.
It wasn't exactly what she preferred, staying cooped up in Snape's flat all day with Eileen, who usually spent her time playing games or typing out long emails to someone she absolutely refused to speak about. Every so often they'd watch something on the telly together, but all things considered, Hermione was becoming terribly bored.
She'd considered looking for another job in the muggle world, but knew that her brief respite was to be short. As soon as Marcus joined them she would have far more to occupy her days.
The idea of it sent a frisson of both excitement and terror through her. They were sending her home with a defenseless baby. What on earth did one do with such a thing?
She'd held him at the hospital now. Had spent hours with the tiny boy supported, skin-to-skin, on her chest. She'd been coached through changing his nappy. For much of the time he'd slept, inured to the world by means of muggle medicine. What would it be like to have him cry for her? To have him awake?
When would he begin to play? When would he be strong enough to lift his head? When would he begin to have his own opinions about what he liked or what he hated? How he felt about who was holding him and how it was done?
Whose big idea was it to allow her, someone so unqualified, to have such a fragile human infant?
Hermione swallowed and reapplied herself to packing away the milk and assortment of things she'd need into her beaded bag.
Somehow the books she'd gone with Severus to buy didn't feel as if they shed any sort of light on how she was to spend twenty-four hours a day with Marcus when he finally joined them.
She looked over at her mother-in-law on the couch.
Eileen had done it. Somehow.
One night, the midwife had shown up at her door when she'd been called, and Eileen had been delivered of a son. Hours later the midwife left, and it was just Eileen and Severus. She'd not even been able to be healed magically... and somehow Hermione doubted that Severus' father had been as supportive of his wife and son as Severus was prepared to be for his own.
"What are you looking at, girl?" Eileen groused from her place on the couch. She was selecting cards with her cursor.
Hermione ignored Eileen's rudeness. It had always proven the best policy in the past. She knew the older witch liked her just fine.
"I'm just thinking about how surreal it must be to go from not having a child to having one."
Eileen frowned down at the screen, though she no longer seemed to be paying attention to her hand. Her mouth twisted and pursed.
It took her several moments to respond.
"There's no use in thinking about it. Thinking about it is what those of us who fail do."
Hermione joined her on the couch and reclined against one of the arms, watching the older witch as she submitted her bid. "I'm not sure I understand."
"There were all types of mothers in Spinner's End. There were ones with nine children, some who had babies by different blokes. Ones like me who only had the one. There were what you could call "good mummys," and there were bad ones," she commented, her voice dry.
For all that Eileen could be a cold and impatient woman, Hermione wasn't sure that she wanted to know what the witch thought constituted a 'bad mother.' The brunette shivered a bit.
"The worst would beat their kids, sure enough, but second worst would sit around in a stupor and wonder how they got there and what they were supposed to be doing." Eileen's black eyes narrowed. She still wasn't looking up from her game. Perhaps it was more comfortable not to look at her daughter-in-law. Perhaps she didn't know whether she herself had been good or bad. "You don't think, Hermione. You respond. If you respond quickly, and consistently, and don't lose your head—that's doing pretty well.
"When Marcus cries, you won't know why. First, you'll pop him on the left teat. And maybe that'll work. Maybe it won't. Then you'll try to wind him—sometimes that's all it takes. After that you'll check his nappy. If you've done all that, and then tried the right teat; you hold that boy while he cries for no reason, and know that you did it all, and now you're giving the last thing you can—comfort. 'Cause someday he won't be six pounds anymore.
"Someday he'll be nine, and he'll have made friends with the pretty girl down the lane that you just know is going to break his heart. Then he'll be seventeen, breaking your heart and telling you he made a damned fool of himself. He won't smell like milk and nap at the breast forever. So, you either make peace with the crying and learn to love how he needs you right now, or you live to regret it when you realise that you spent your best hours with him in a pit of despair over how you don't know what to do. There's only one thing for you to do: give him what he needs when he needs it, and then enjoy him the rest of the time."
Hermione gave the woman a brilliant smile which wasn't returned, though she thought she saw Eileen's lip twitch a bit. She leaned forward and pulled her mother-in-law, protesting, into a tight side-ways hug and gave her a squeeze.
"Oi! Let a woman breathe! It's my turn in a second,"
"Thank you, Eileen." The younger witch rose with a grin and checked her bag one last time. Everything was in its place. It was a quarter to noon already.
"I'll see you tonight," she told the woman, glancing over her shoulder. All that she received in response was a terse grunt and an errant wave, as if the irritable witch were waving away a particularly persistent fly.
"Go see to my grandson, girl."
Shaking her head, Hermione exited the flat, jogging down the stairs at a clip and even jumping down the final flight. She found herself in a curiously chipper mood. Perhaps it was the pep talk from Eileen. Or maybe it was because she knew Marcus would be home soon, that she'd finally be able to feed him without using the uncomfortable spell that she'd been employing to express her milk into jars. All she knew was that something felt different. Lighter. She spun on the spot once she stepped out into the alley and appeared in their customary spot, secluded behind a dumpster near the ambulance bay.
A quick look around told her that she was alone, but she still disillusioned herself to walk inside, only reappearing once she'd sequestered herself in a closed toilet stall.
Around her surged people going every conceivable direction, and she stopped frequently to allow nurses or doctors to pass. It was a bit of a trek to make it from the bottom near the emergency entrance all the way to the antechamber for the NICU. She had to offer her identification in order to make it past the attendant. There were at least five people in front of her, and twenty more milling about, probably there to visit.
A man with sandy, strawberry-blond hair had bumped into her more than once.
The first time had surely been an accident, but Hermione was certain that she'd seen his eyes widen at the sight of her, and that from there on out he was probably making some attempt at flirtation.
It had to be that. Hermione was quite certain she had never seen the bloke in her life. He was dressed far too convincingly like a muggle to be a magical interloper, and he was nearly falling over himself to get closer to her in the queue for the desk.
At last, after five minutes of watching him make a fool of himself, she thinned her lips and narrowed her eyes up at him, gesturing with her hand.
"You go first, please. I've time."
Possibly, he had realised that she'd finally caught on to his game, for he coloured a light pink.
"No, no I couldn't! You've been here longer than me,"
"Well, given how you're half-in-half-out of the queue, forgive me for thinking you might have been a bit antsy," the witch observed, her delivery somewhat terse. She raised her hand to push her hair back. Her left hand. Allowing the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs to catch off of the ring on her finger.
The man looked around wildly for a moment. "I... er..." he lowered his voice and hunched over a bit. "In truth I don't know who I'm here to see, if you'd believe that—"
"Oh?" she asked, her voice polite but also cool. She turned her gaze forward, trying as much as possible to communicate her disinterest.
"Yeah, and I gotta be honest, ma'am, you look like someone a bit familiar," he shot her a dashing, if lopsided, grin.
Hermione felt her blood run cold. She glanced over to him, her eyes taking stock of his appearance more carefully. Tall. Perhaps an inch or so taller than Severus. Short hair in a fashionable, muggle cut. Perhaps a few streaks of grey, though he looked to be younger than Severus. Maybe early forties.
He was dressed casually for a man of his age, though his clothes seemed on the expensive side. Designer distressed jeans, almost inappropriately youthful looking trainers, a graphic t-shirt...
GALDRVALE Y2K (re)LAUNCH PARTY
Time felt as if it were moving in slow motion, and before she had a chance to respond she heard the sweet young woman at the front calling out to her.
"Mrs. Snape? Is that you? You've come to check in on Marcus, haven't you?"
She didn't move a muscle.
"Mrs. Snape?" The girl called her again, perhaps thinking Hermione hadn't heard the first time.
The man before her was now looking at her with his interest clearly piqued. He gestured that she should precede him up to the counter.
"Sorry Amelia, I'm afraid I was a bit distracted," she told the young woman as she handed over her laminated (and adulterated) muggle ID.
"It's no worry," Amelia grinned, checking her in on the computer. "Where's Mr. Snape this morning?" She glanced at the sandy-haired man beside her with obvious curiosity. "Will you be needing an additional guest pass, or..?"
The witch shot a glare at the man beside her, suspecting, from his shirt and the little she'd heard of his voice, that she knew who he was and what he was about.
"Severus had a meeting this morning, I'm afraid." Her look soured further, if possible, into a truly venomous glower. "His partner demanded he come in to work with the team, but evidently had no plans on showing his own face at the office today."
The man at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.
"... He... he'd been very secretive... we were worried. I count Severus as a friend."
Hermione shook her head and took pity on the man, telling Amelia to allow him in as her guest. He offered up his own ID for her to enter into the system.
Declan Davidson
He accompanied her down the hall, keeping in step the whole way, though it required him to shorten his stride.
She kept her eyes on the hospital signage rather than her companion as she walked.
"Good to finally meet you, Declan." Her voice was dry. So dry that it was impossible to tell whether she was amused or irritated. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I can't say I've heard Severus speak about you at all, Mrs. Snape. We didn't even know he was married—" he chuckled.
"And you didn't suppose that perhaps that's the way he wanted things?" she asked, rhetorically. She didn't give him a chance to respond. "Actually, I think you've heard Severus talk about me rather a lot."
She felt his eyes on her, raking over her.
"Now that you mention it, I think you're right," he stopped beside her, forcing her to come to a stop as well. They squared off.
"Severus wasn't ever one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Not since I've known him." Declan grimaced. "I expect he told you all about how we met."
Hermione nodded, her eyes softening. "You don't have to talk about that,"
"Thanks." He swallowed. "But anyway, just because he won't wear it pinned to his sleeve, it doesn't mean that he's completely capable of hiding it. It's always there. When one knows where to look..."
Hermione sucked her cheek in to chew with her molars as she waited for Declan to finish his thought. Her rum-coloured eyes narrowed as she stared up at him.
"He's a man who is defined by his work, isn't he? Your husband?"
The witch turned on her heel and strode forward. They were only a few corridors away now. "He always has been."
"I doubt your name is really Hermia?"
"Hermione."
"And Marcus... who's Marcus?" Declan asked, catching back up to her.
She stopped again and stared at him incredulously. Could he really be so dense? She gestured to a sign in the hall with extreme impatience. "Look around, would you? Use your head—"
Declan let loose with a warm laugh, "Boy, you sound just like him..." he finally did so, the grin dropping from his face as he saw the signage. "... he's..."
"Marcus is our son. He's not well... he wasn't well, at least. He's getting better..." the last part Hermione said to herself almost, as if to reassure herself that everything would be alright.
Seeing Declan waiting for her had thrown her for a loop... but he was a mere muggle. A muggle whom Severus trusted. She didn't think he posed a threat to either herself or Marcus, beyond being rather annoying and invasive.
Like a doxy, she decided. The doxies she and Harry and Ron had had to clean out of the curtains in Grimmauld Place more than ten years ago.
He was a bit of a pest.
"And don't think I won't be telling Severus that you followed me here, either." She ground out, pushing into the NICU. She greeted the nurse, a kindly younger woman.
"Hi Gian, I've brought the milk for him,"
Gian grinned up at her from where she was adjusting a nappy on a little girl in her incubator. "'Lo, Mrs. Snape, if you put it over on the table near Marcus' cot I can take it from there. Who's this you've brought with you?"
"A friend of my husband's. He'll be along later this afternoon." She glared up at Declan once more. "He had to work."
They walked back together. "Christ, you're not going to let that go, are you?"
"I'm not. Severus promised Marcus he'd be in to see him every day until he comes home. He'll be furious when he finds out what you've done. How did you even know—"
The muggle grinned, his expression a bit sheepish. "Severus didn't cover the receiver until after I heard where you were going. Anyway, he's a bit of a dinosaur in some respects. Mobiles don't work precisely like the older phones we all grew up with; simply covering the bottom is no guarantee that sound won't make it through."
Hermione grunted with bad humour. "I'll be sure to tell him so." She groused.
"Anyway, I didn't call him to the office today with the intention of coming to see where he'd been going. We really did need him to come in. He likes to be the silent partner, or to act like he is, but around the office everyone knows him and things get sticky when they don't see both captains at the helm. Everyone knows that he's the vision behind the Vale—it's in our best interest that he pops his head in now and again."
The witch stopped before the incubator, the last one in the row, and sidled up beside the cot, no longer paying Declan any attention.
"Marcus," she cooed, her voice sing-song, bringing a finger beside him to brush against his soft cheek. The baby boy jerked a little in place but otherwise remained motionless, though his lips moved slightly around the tube in his mouth. "Mumma's here, sweet boy," she sighed, fitting her finger into his loose grasp.
Marcus was longer and heavier than when he'd been born. He now looked a bit more like an actual infant, though still in baby-doll-like proportions. He still seemed so breakable and fragile...
Declan had stopped speaking as he stared down at the infant. He audibly swallowed.
"He... he could have told us, you know? We'd have understood. We'd have been happy to have cut him slack. I had no idea..."
Hermione shook her head, stroking her thumb over Marcus' tiny knuckles. "Apologize to Severus when you see him next. I can't promise he'll be very understanding but it's no skin off my nose." The young woman sighed, her gaze fixed firmly upon her son. "I suppose you didn't mean any harm, and really there's been no harm done."
She looked up at her husband's friend. Perhaps one of his only friends in his exile. "I guess I'm glad I'm getting to meet you. He really did tell me a lot about you,"
"Probably a lot of complaining."
"There's been his fair share of that, certainly." Her mouth quirked slightly in a fond grin. "But he made it out that you've been something more than the average acquaintance to him—"
Declan grabbed at his heart in mock affrontery, "I'm wounded!"
"—in Severus speak," she continued as if she'd not been interrupted, "at least in my estimation, that basically makes you his best mate."
Declan chuffed out a small laugh and took a seat across from her, resting his chin on his palm as he leaned over his knees.
"Does he look much like Severus?"
"It's hard to say yet," she murmured. "I'm thinking he'll have his ears though. And his hair is dark,"
"So if a humble man like me, only a something-more-than-an-average-acquaintance, could be construed to be the man's best mate, how did you manage to become his wife?"
Her nose wrinkled in offense. "That's a bit rude."
The muggle man shrugged but didn't apologize. "How else should I have put it? Besides, you've probably gotten used to a bit of rudeness if you're married to Sev."
Surveying him from beneath her eyelashes, she considered her options. In all truth, she didn't know exactly how she would explain such a thing. There was the possibility of lying outright... but that didn't exactly appeal to her. In the month that they'd been living together, sharing a bed, visiting their son daily, and calling each other husband and wife to everyone who asked or looked askance, not once had they discussed it further amongst themselves.
Finally, she settled on the truth. In all of its queer ambiguity. "Would you believe me if I told you I actually don't really know?"
"No," the muggle drawled, "because then it would sound entirely too much like one of Snape's plotlines: improbable."
"That's not a bad way of putting it, actually." The witch reflected to herself, out loud. "And truthfully—I've played the game—the plotlines aren't really so improbable,"
"You're biased."
"I am," Hermione nodded. "But I'm also being honest."
"So the most recent one?" He challenged with a raised, incredulous, eyebrow. "Where you—where Hermia—is abducted by 'occultists?' That's not outside the realm of possibility?" He stifled a peel of laughter, and tried harder to still his guffaws when he saw her face.
It was deadly serious. She didn't say a word. Didn't have to.
"You're having me on." He choked. "Come on, all of that shit about Satanists abducting people and whatever was all some media circus back in the 80s, yeah? And you don't even look like you'd have been old enough..."
Shaking her head, she tried to give a smile, though it was rather feeble. "Who said anything about Satanists? Anyway," she looked down where she was scuffing the toe of her white plimsoll against the floor, "what I said was true. I don't know exactly how we came be married. It's not like I didn't know him; I've known him... it feels like forever," she said, her voice soft and distant. "Since I was eleven."
"Eleven?" Declan asked, seeming slightly taken aback. "Not to be ruder than I've been, but you seem younger than him by a bit. Younger than me."
"He was my teacher."
Declan blanched, his face seizing into a grimace. "I didn't... I didn't think he was like that?"
"No," Hermione rebutted, her voice firm as she realised her mistake, "not like how you're making it sound,"
"Oh good!" he exclaimed, a bit too loudly and with obvious sarcasm. He softened his voice at Hermione's pointed glare. "And here I was thinking you were telling me that I've been working with a fucking nonce this whole time."
The witch fairly growled, and she rose from her seat opposite of Declan's, Marcus' cot and still form sitting between them. "Severus is not a nonce,"
The muggle said nothing, but looked thoroughly unsure of himself. Hermione decided to take pity on him.
"I could have said it a bit better—yes, he was my teacher since I was eleven. From then 'til seventeen. And then... then he wasn't anymore. After '98 I didn't see him again until last autumn. Nothing happened between us like that at school. No business, funny, sexy, or otherwise, unless you count him treating me like a certifiable pain in his arse for six years."
"He didn't like you?"
"He barely tolerated me, nevermind liking me. In fact, if it wasn't for the Headmaster, I bet he'd have tried to have me expelled a time or two." She reflected, her eyes taking on a far-away look.
"Huh. I guess I never thought of him as the teaching type..." Declan grimaced. "I suppose now that I'm thinking on it he had said something about it when we were in hospital together. I always thought that was part of his psychosis, he never mentioned it since he regained lucidity, and I was so out of it at the time... the drugs they had me on..."
Hermione nodded, feeling a bit of sympathy for the man.
They spoke softly for the majority of the visit. Mostly small things, more often than not about Severus, their mutual acquaintance.
By mid-afternoon Hermione had begun to wonder when the nurse was coming back. It had been at least an hour since she'd come by to check on the babies in the room, and that seemed unusual. Luckily none of the alarms and sensors had gone off to alert something having gone wrong, but it was normally the case that a nurse or doctor would stop by every ten to fifteen minutes to do something or other for the children's care.
She rose and Declan followed her lead. "I suppose I ought to go back to Nottingham then, and apologise to that husband of yours?"
"Suppose you should," she granted as she led the way to the hall. She poked her head out. No one. The corridor was barren.
The muggle man followed at her heel, speaking without a hint of self-consciousness about everything and nothing. His levity and blithe disregard for the oddness that seemed to be permeating the hospital hallways was in direct contrast to her own sense of mounting concern.
Hermione swallowed and strode forward, Declan matching her pace, still talking at length about something she was no longer paying attention to.
"You have a mobile, right?" She asked abruptly, still walking as quickly as she could without running. They had made it out of the children's ward now. The oddity remained. No nurses or doctors walked the halls. She turned her head each time they passed a door, straining to look in through the small windows to the wards. The beds remained full. All of their occupants evidently asleep...
At only four-thirty in the afternoon.
"Yeah, of course—"
"Call Severus."
Declan stopped, chuffing a small laugh. "Why? He'll be upset enough with me as it is, I promise I'll offer up a sincere mea culpa as soon as I see him again—"
"Call him, now," Hermione demanded, swirling on the spot to look back. She felt an oppressive force settle over her. Like a smothering blanket before the weight settled into her awareness.
An anti-apparition ward.
The hospital was being locked down magically.
Declan seemed to be growing a bit concerned by this point, though his face registered his obvious confusion. "Alright, alright, doll." He pulled out a slim, shiny mobile, a Razr, and keyed in for a speed-dial, pressing it to his ear.
She could hear echoing footsteps, coming from the waiting room. The only sound beside her companion. It was taking too long... She chewed her lip until it swelled.
Shadows down the hall appeared, marching in a loose formation. Three...
She readied her wand.
Severus finally picked up. She heard his irritated voice on the other end, loud enough for her to breath a sigh of relief.
"You, Davidson, are a blackguard of the highest order. What is it? This had better be good—"
Startling Declan enough to fumble, she pounced at him and snatched the phone from his grasp, pressing it to her face and hissing into the receiver: "Severus—Severus, it's me! Someone's coming... I don't know, there are wards! They set anti-apparition wards and I can't leave—"
The ones making the footsteps appeared finally at the end of the hall. They didn't seem to have been in any hurry. They knew they'd have her trapped like a rat...
She'd not even bothered to duck into a broom closet. Hadn't thought to hide. As soon as she'd been aware she had walked as far away from the NICU as was possible, hoping to draw their attention away from Marcus' presence at the hospital. It was all she'd been capable of doing.
She had never been as skilled a duelist as Harry or Ron. Her remit in life was her books, not her ability to scrap.
Even if she'd been prepared to throw the first hex, everything flew right out of her mind as soon as she laid eyes on who was approaching. Her wand arm shook as she pressed the mobile into her cheek and ear with her opposite hand.
"Hermione?! Where are you? How are you calling from Declan's phone?" Severus demanded in her ear.
"Blimey! Look at their costumes!" Declan whistled appreciatively. "Think they did this for me? I didn't tell anyone where I'd be today! Good show, gents!" He called out to the approaching wizards.
Three heads, bedecked in red-lacquer skull masks glanced at each other with evident befuddlement, Declan's welcome of them having been unexpected. It didn't deter them for long, however. Each of them whipped out his own wand and began locking down the corridor with different hexes. The one on the left caught Hermione with an Impedimenta. Even if she'd managed to think of something quickly, she no longer had the impetus to act.
Her voice, when it came, was slow as the molasses she'd added to her porridge that morning, stuck in her throat as it was. "D—d—e—ath E—a—ters... H—h—os—pit—al..." It all came out in a dreadful, long drone, reminiscent of an air-raid siren, as by now she was attempting to shout. Declan looked at her in alarm.
"The bloody fuck's going on?"
"Petrificus Totalis!"
Declan dropped at her side, his eyes going wide. With agonisingly slow movements, she shifted the phone from her ear, activating the speaker phone function, Severus's voice protesting loudly over the receiver as she did so, and slipped it, open, into her pocket, hoping all the while that the call wouldn't end.
Someone must have been listening to her prayers, as he ceased shouting through the phone... but whether or not that meant that he'd taken the hint to shut up or if it meant the she'd lost connexion with him she didn't know.
"Think that's him?" Asked one Death Eater to the one who seemed to be at the head. He summoned Hermione's wand to himself with an Expelliarmus as he approached, though lacked the good sense to check her pockets. As they'd advanced it had seemed like they were more concerned with warding the doors of the hall closed and adding charms to keep the occupants of the rooms secured.
It was reminiscent of the crowd control method Hermione had heard Harry explain that the Aurory employed on occasion. The Impedimenta jinx had been stronger than any she'd felt before, and beyond her own body being slow to respond, the air around her felt heavy, as if it was also weighing down on her. Moving the phone from her ear had required her to expend both energy and magic that felt too precious for words at that moment.
"He's certainly lost his touch, hasn't he?" the same Death Eater asked, his voice tinged with glee.
"Don't underestimate him." Warned their presumptive leader. He waved his wand over Declan who looked near ready to piss himself with fear. "No glamour." He declared finally. "We'll have to wait an hour for the Polyjuice to wear off. No matter." He turned to Hermione and grabbed her up under her shoulders, hoisting her up so that she was crushed to him, pinned by his forearm over her breasts with her back to his chest.
Her arms and legs felt incapable of movement after the surge she'd expended in hiding the phone. The jinx, strengthened as it was, seemed to settle into her bones and to possess them with an inescapable heaviness, though her throat had relaxed enough to speak.
"You know, for someone supposedly so bright, you sure are stupid, aren't you? Did you really think your marriage wouldn't be registered with the Ministry?"
The others laughed as they dragged Declan behind them, through the dual swinging doors that led to the reception area. "Marrying a high-profile Death Eater? One that was presumed dead? You just about signed your husband's death warrant yourself. A bit dumb, isn't it?"
There came another chorus of hooted laughter. The band was in merry spirits.
"H-how d-d-did you f-find—"
"How did we find you?" One of them interrupted her slow, stuttering question. "Weren't that difficult. Then, I guess a daft bint like you would go and forget that your contract with the Ministry included consent fer a trackin' charm on your wand. Course, there were times every day where we couldn' find you. I guess you were a bit clever going back to your unplottable hidey-hole... but you came back here near enough every day. Like cursing kelpies in a crate, weren't it?"
"Don't worry Madam Snape. You and your husband are entitled to our finest accommodations," the leader snickered. She felt it as they finally passed out of the wards, but as they did so the jinxes keeping her immobilised were quickly redoubled.
"I'm sure that given that he's a Death Eater, you're concerned he'll be receiving special treatment. I wouldn't worry your stupid little head over it. On my honour, madam, you can be as united in death as you made the mistake of being in life. We'll personally guarantee that you'll be entitled to the very same treatment under the law." He sneered.
"What're y-you t-talking about?" She struggled to ask. "A-aren't y-you Death E-eaters t-t-too?"
He didn't answer her, but from beneath his mask, which only covered to his upper lip, she saw him smirk, amused.
"You know the place, lads," the man behind her called to the two who had commandeered Declan's petrified form. They both nodded back at him and winked out of sight with a spin.
Mere seconds later she felt the sickening sensation of whole-body compression as she was whisked away as well.
"Oh loving you is dangerous
Lead with fire and blood
And it's eating me up
Oh loving you is dangerous
I bleed when I'm cut
Yeah loving you is dangerous"
"Dangerous" (remix) – The Tech Thieves ft. Besomorph