Tuesday, 9pm

Hermione probably would not have been able to rest at alted that she didn't want to take it. She wanted to sit up all night and be mad. But she also wanted to be discharged and go home and get back to work, so she took it, and she slept.

Wednesday, 7am

As if awakened by a bell, her eyes opened at exactly 7 AM.l except the mediwitch had come in right at nine to administer a tiny quarter dram of sleep potion. At first she was so agita Breakfast trays were being delivered by hospital elves and mediwitches were busy dispensing morning potions and minor treatments. The familiar chatter and bustle that 7 AM at St. Mungo's brought made Hermione smile a bit, until she remembered why she was there and her fight with Snape the night before. Why couldn't he just save her life and be pleased with himself and let her get on? Why did he have to turn everything into an argument?

This had been going on for too long, as long as she could remember. It had started with him flat out saying she was too young to do such work, and progressed into decrying the details of her philosophies and abilities. Little digs, long arguments, "I told you so" looks. They punctuated the days spent with him. Although, she reminded herself, she did tend to spend many of her days with him.

Healer Siobhan came in at 8:30 after Hermione had pried herself out of bed to shower and change her patient robes. She didn't want to appear too happy to be there, but presenting herself as clean and able bodied seemed the key to being discharged today. Siobhan, who had known Hermione since her first stint at St. Mungo's for a head wound two years ago, could not resist ribbing her patient a bit. Hermione took this as a good sign that she would be leaving soon.

"Of all the faces I love to see, Hermione, I hate seeing yours the most!" Healer Siobhan's thick Irish accent was familiar and comforting to Hermione, even though it meant her injuries warranted the best healer in the building. She leaned over to gently hug her patient hello. "For someone who doesn't like to stay here very long, you certainly keep turning up, you and that partner of yours."

"Bad sickles, the two of us," Hermione half-smiled.

"Well, Mr. Badsickle is downstairs, you know, waiting to see you back home, or to the pub, or the race track, or anywhere else but work."

"You can tell Mr. Badsickle that I'll be doing my own escorting today, and it will be back to work, when you say so."

"Well, I do not say so today, m'dear, and you'd do well to listen to him - this one time," she added. "This is the worst of what you've gotten since we've met, and I've seen you and Badsickle through a number of scraps and scrapes. But this one is much worse. I'm only letting you go home because I know you'll go battier than a long tailed kneazle in a room full of rocking chairs!"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Siobhan put up her hand and continued. "Don't be actin' like it's untrue. You both hate it here, and bless you, but you both drive me mediwitches mad. You go home, you floo me if you have any pain, or bleeding. I'm sending you with a bag of goodies, nothing you haven't had to take before. I expect you to follow medical advice, or I'll be callin' on yer boss to wrangle ye back here. Do ye hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Hermione promised.

Siobhan sighed and leaned in a bit. "You need to know… This was really bad. When I first saw yeh, all the color'd gone from ya. You were near dead when Severus brought you in. If it had been summer, you might not have made it. Between his quick thinking and the cold, well… That's the reason you're still here."

Wednesday 930 AM

Snape was right where Hermione expected him to be, sitting in the entrance hallway on the last bench against the wall, a cup of coffee growing cold on the low table next to him. He stood when he saw her, a veil of indifference on his face which Hermione easily recognized as an old look of his, one he used when pretending to play it cool and removed. It was a mask, she discovered later, when his true allegiances and deceptions were all brought to light. It was his poker face, and Hermione could recognize it anywhere.

"You got your wish," she smiled kindly. "I'm to do anything except go back to work. Or... Bull fighting, perhaps," she shrugged.

"I am surprised that you decided to take the advice of a medical professional," Snape drawled, taking Hermione's bag and tucking it under his arm. "After your speech last night, it was apparent that you were not going to let anyone of any standing tell you what you could or couldn't do."

"I don't have a death wish, Severus. If she tells me I'm not fit for work, then so be it. But I won't have you or anyone else overruling her when she does clear me to go back."

Snape did not say anything, so Hermione looped her arm lazily through his and they exited the hospital together. "Take me home, please. I haven't seen it in weeks and I'd like to know which house plants I need to replace."

"You haven't any," he reminded.

"Then get me some."

"Where are your roses?"

"I left them for the mediwitches."

"You'll see them again soon, I'm sure, the way you work."

"Har."

Siobhan had not cleared her to apparate for two weeks, but had reluctantly approved the floo to get home. But she conceded to let her be driven and walk a little since Severus Badsickle Snape was accompanying her. They took a Muggle cab to the south edge of Holland Park because Hermione wanted to walk through it and get her land legs back. Snape chose not to argue as he knew he'd never convince her otherwise.

It was a very Muggle park, full of toddlers hanging on playground structures and older people learning the basics of tennis on the chalky green courts. They neared the open air opera house that Snape knew Hermione would go to, alone, because none of her friends cared for opera and he despised sitting in large groups unless he was stalking a dark wizard in a sketchy pub. They strolled quietly through the Kyoto garden, which even Snape had to appreciate for its tranquility and simple beauty. Despite the cold weather and the clouds gathering from every side, the jeweled peacocks were out in full pomp, their tail feathers splayed as they strutted. But the peahens were not interested in the least. They approached the large, bronze tortoise sundial that Snape hated, as it foretold that their travels were nearing an end. From the west edge of the park it was only a ten minute walk to Hermione's flat off Holland Park Ave.

They were out on the main road and only a stone's throw from the door of her converted warehouse space before either of them spoke, for they had traveled the entire way from one end of the park to the other in easy silence. At the corner of Holland and Clearwater, the alley down which Hermione's flat was located, she stopped and politely held her hand out for the bag Snape was still holding for her. "Thank you for seeing me home," she said with a smile. A bit confused, he handed it to her. She continued up the alley, her medicine and care instructions now tucked under her own arm.

Snape had dreaded to hear from her great perfusions of thanks and gratitude, nor had he expected to be invited in out of courtesy. But he was a bit taken aback when he realized she was parting from him before even getting to her door. He was not much for social graces, but he did know that when walking a lady home one usually was not dismissed at the curb. As it was, he had walked her home a great many times before, and this was the first time she had ever left him literally at the curb. He had not even been given a chance to leave her with a biting remark about her impending convalescence.

"Ah," he said stupidly.

It was a foreign sound, and Hermione turned to look at him, her brow knit. "Sorry?" She was only about ten feet away, but, for just a moment, he looked lost. It vanished quickly, though, and he was back to his old poker face.

"You… Have everything you need for your recuperation?"

Hermione knew that Snape was well aware that her kitchen looked exactly like his always did: tea, coffee, some stale bread, and something from the cheese family that always seemed to be five days past consumption. They were not home people; they were work people. If either had kept an elf, or at least a cleaning lady, perhaps things would be different. But neither Hermione nor Snape rarely ever had anything more than caffeine in stock.

She couldn't help but smirk a little. "Severus, there are two grocers less than a five minute's walk from here, and you know very well that Harry or Ron or George will be impossible to keep away once they hear I've taken a day off."

"Four days," he reminded sternly.

"And my mother knows exactly where the tube lets off," she continued, ignoring him completely. She smiled. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be just fine, thank you." With nothing more to argue over, she turned again and walked away from him.