Chapter 21

Hermione was aware that she was holding her breath; and clutching the arm of the plump Healer Strout for support, as Professor Snape broke the Legilimency connection between himself and Frank Longbottom, and his head crashed against the high back of the chair in which he was seated.

Neville had been on Hermione's other side a split-second previously, but at the sight of Snape leaving his father's mind, he had rushed around to the end of the bed, where he was now nervously perched, leaning forwards, looking at his father who was sitting up straight in bed, his eyes screwed shut as if he were suffering from a particularly nasty migraine.

They had been here, in this strange sort of limbo, for hours. Snape had entered Frank Longbottom's mind in mid-morning. Now, Hermione could see the sun beginning to sink below the horizon from the hospital's tall, thin windows. The Legilimency connection had been sustained this entire time, for the two wizards had not broken eye-contact with one another. It was so strange, to see Snape's achingly-familiar black eyes open and focused, but yet unseeing.

It had been a long day. She, Neville and Healer Strout had covered each other for toilet breaks, to ensure that Snape and Frank Longbottom were not left alone, but other than that, none of them had left the bedside. Lunch had been delivered for them all, and fed to Alice by her son, but there was no way that either Snape or Mr Longbottom were capable of eating - their eyes locked together, communicating by the connection of their minds alone.

What were they doing? Were they together, wherever they were? Legilimency was something she had absolutely no experience in.

Sometimes, Frank Longbottom's face would contort in pain, or he would let out a cry of anguish that had her rushing to Neville's side as if he were the wounded one. Hermione would hold her friend tightly, feeling the fear and heartbreak coursing through his tall, solid body. At other times, Professor Snape's lips would begin to move, fast and urgent, as if he were delivering a speech that needed to be heard in the shortest possible time. He was talking, but yet they could not hear him, could not understand the information he appeared to be so desperately trying to impart.

Healer Strout was long past the time when she should have finished her shift and left the hospital, when Snape finally broke the connection. Quickly recovering his composure after hitting his head on the back of the chair, he looked at his and Frank's conjoined hands, the man's closed eyes, and then up at Neville. The pale face of her Potions professor and forbidden lover looked drained and haunted, and Hermione was unsure whether this indicated success or failure.

Snape gently extracted his hand from the clutch of Neville's father.

"Open your eyes, Frank," he said, in a quiet, even voice. "You are home."

Every one of them held their breath.

To their utter surprise, Frank opened his eyes, blinking as if he were in a room of bright sunlight, rather than a dim hospital room at dusk. It was not unusual for Frank to be in this ward, eyes open. After all, he had lived here for years – eating, existing, fiddling and fumbling with small, mindless amusements. But had he ever really seen this room before?

He looked at Snape, and then down at his own body.

"I am … am wearing clothes," he stumbled, his voice sounding weak and rusty.

Neville let out a small, choked cry at hearing the sound of his father's voice, for the first time, for he had only been a baby when Frank had been incapacitated. Hermione stepped over to her friend and held his shoulders tightly in support, and she felt his hand clutch hers, hard. He was shaking.

"Indeed you are, Frank," Snape replied. "I told you, that where you have been trapped was not real. Your body has been here, all the time. Clothed and well cared for."

"There is no pain."

"There is not. Physically, you are healed."

Frank Longbottom, only a few years Snape's senior but seeming much older, continued to stare at the professor's face, as if holding on to the one thing he believed to be real. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione could see tears streaking down the face of the Healer who had cared for Frank all these years, tears of hope and joy that she was silently dabbing away with a ragged white handkerchief.

"Severus, you said your name was?"

"That is correct, Frank. I am Severus Snape, a professor at Hogwarts. I am your son's teacher."

Frank licked his lips as if they were parched, and Snape handed him a glass of water, from which he took a few small sips to moisten his mouth and vocal chords before passing it back.

"Severus, where is my son? Where is my baby boy, Neville?"

"I'm here, Dad."

Frank continued to stare at Severus, and at first, Hermione was unsure if Frank had heard Neville speak.

"Do not be afraid, Frank. Turn around; and meet your son. He has been waiting a very long time to make your acquaintance."

Agonisingly slowly, Frank turned his upper body towards where Neville was seated on the end of his father's bed. It was at this point that Hermione could see that Frank's eyes were brimming with unshed tears, that began to fall freely as he came face to face with the grown man that he'd last looked upon as a tiny baby.

"Neville?" he croaked.

"I'm here, Dad," Neville repeated, moving up the bed and holding out his hands.

Frank grabbed them, examining his son's hands, turning them over and stroking them, tears dropping onto Neville's palms.

"My god," Frank mumbled, inhaling a sharp breath. "Good god. My beautiful boy. My only son."

Frank looked up, and the father and son's eyes met in recognition for the first time.

"I know you," Frank said, surprised. "I have seen you, in my dreams."

"I've visited here a lot, over the years," Neville replied. "Maybe you remember me."

"That is likely," Snape interjected. "Your father may not have been able to acknowledge you, but he may have been able to build up a bank of subconscious memory. Your visits here have not been in vain. Now, take my seat, Mr Longbottom, for it is you that should be seated at your father's side, not I."

Snape stood up from the armchair, and Neville took his place, quickly, and his father's body turned towards him, as if he did not want to lose sight of him for a second. The professor looked unsteady, and exhausted, and Hermione wished more than anything that she could envelop him in a reassuring embrace. Indeed, he looked at her, and she could have sworn that his black eyes were full of longing.

"Miriam," he began, addressing the Healer. "I am going to excuse myself to the toilets. Could a cup of strong coffee be arranged for my return?"

"Certainly, Professor Snape," she replied, heading for her office.

Snape shot Hermione a final look when the Healer's back was turned, and then spun around to leave the ward. No doubt he was going for a much-needed cigarette, as well as to the loo. He deserved it. He had been locked in Frank Longbottom's mind for hours on end, and his task was clearly not over yet, not by a long way.

"Where have you been, all these years? How have you and your mother coped without me?"

Hermione heard Frank speak again, and saw the look of horror that crossed Neville's face, but to his credit, he hid it quickly so as not to alarm his father. Frank didn't know that his wife had met the same fate as he?

"I've been with Gran. Your mum. She raised me."

"My mother?"

"Yes. She's fine, doing well. She still wears that awful crow hat."

Frank's mouth twisted into an amused smile.

"That bloody hat."

"Yeah. Its hideous."

Father and son shared a conspiratorial smile which was a delight to see, although Hermione knew that the joy from the brief moment of humour was about to come crashing down.

"But son, why did your grandmother raise you? Where is your mum?"

Neville's face blanched, and Hermione could see him biting the inside of his cheek to control his emotions. He placed his other hand over his father's, as if trying to give him strength to hear the news that he was about to impart.

"Dad."

"What, son? What is it? Has she passed? Tell me, quickly, for I am not sure I can stand the pain."

Frank Longbottom began to visibly shake, and the tears started to fall yet again, which was unsurprising for a man so emotionally vulnerable.

"The attack, Dad. The attack that put you here in the hospital. They, erm, the attackers … after erm … well, afterwards, they started on Mum. Did the same thing to her."

"Did they kill her? Tell me, Neville. I must know. Please."

Neville's eyes flicked across to his mother in the neighbouring bed, where she sat propped against the pillows, half-sitting and with eyes open, but utterly unresponsive. Frank's eyes followed his son's and he turned slowly round, his face expressing the horror as he saw his wife, not just older, but completely incapacitated.

"Please, no," he whispered. "Alice …"

"Dad, she …"

"Alice!" he shouted, his voice full of tortured pain. "Alice!"

"Dad … she can't hear you."

"I don't understand anything, son. I don't understand where I have been, nor where your mother is, nor how my infant son can be the young man seated before me. I know you, but yet I know nothing of you. What has happened to us? I don't … I don't even know what year it is!"

Neville took a deep breath.

"The year is 1998. The second wizarding war has just ended. Voldemort is finally dead, and we are living in peace."

"You say his name?"

"There is no more to fear from him. He is gone."

Hermione privately thought that Frank should know exactly the crucial role that his son had played in the Dark Lord's downfall, but now was not the time. Healer Strout returned with a cup of coffee just as Snape entered the double doors of the Janus Thickey ward, stalking down the centre of the two lines of metal hospital beds in his usual billowing fashion. Miriam Strout held out the cup to him and he took it with a nod of thanks, and Hermione could smell the familiar aroma of his cigarettes. So, he had been for a smoke, not that she could blame him, the pressure he'd just been under.

"What has been happening?" he asked the Healer, looking across at Neville and his father conversing.

"I've just got back myself. Perhaps Hermione could tell you?"

Snape turned towards her, looking down his long nose with his eyes expressionless, and the intimacy between them pained her – to be so near, yet so unable to touch or comfort him.

"Miss Granger?"

His voice sounded strange. Distant, controlled.

"Mr Longbottom does not know what happened to him, Professor, nor that his wife is in the same state he was. Neville just told him."

"Very well."

Snape turned away from her, his answer clipped and to the point. Even though Hermione knew he had no choice, it still stung.

"Frank."

Neville and his father looked up at the sound of the professor's voice, and he seated himself on the end of the bed, at a respectful distance.

"There is much that you will not understand, not immediately, at least. I will ensure that you are told everything you need to be – about the attack that led to your condition, and that of your wife. But, and this is very important, the first thing I must tell you is that your mind was damaged beyond all conceivable repair. For the last month I have been administering you with an experimental potion in the hope of achieving some kind of recovery. To see you conversing with your son is more than I could have hoped for, but I must caution you not to push yourself too hard, too soon. In order to heal you, it was essential that your mind was forced to forget … certain things. You will need to accept that."

"So, Dad will never remember exactly what happened, Sir?"

"No. And nor should he be forced or encouraged to."

"I never want to go back to that place," Frank Longbottom said, mournfully.

"If you follow my advice, you will never have to", Snape reassured. "Now, if you would permit me to cast some diagnostics?"

Neville scooted back in the chair, allowing Snape room to cast the diagnostics with his wand. He then handed Frank a small vial of liquid to take, which must have been the forgetfulness potion, watching with apparent pleasure as Frank uncorked the potion himself and swallowed it.

"All seems well," he pronounced, after a short while. "Miriam, I will leave Frank to your care. I shall return in the morning to administer the next dose to Alice, and I believe that Frank should continue to take the potion for a while yet. It is good to see him take the potion himself."

"I agree with you," Healer Strout replied. "And do not trouble yourself to return in the morning. After what you've been through today, Professor Snape, I suggest a long lie-in is well needed."

"The potion is not yet sanctioned to be administered by St Mungo's staff."

"What they don't know, won't hurt them," the Healer quipped, with a wink. "Now, be off with you. Saturday night – get some good food inside you, and then a good night's rest with a Sunday morning lie-in."

He nodded his head once in reply, before turning around and leaving the ward quickly, his long black hair flying behind him. He was mostly likely headed towards the main St Mungo's Floo, since Hermione could not see a fireplace here in the Janus Thickey ward, which was probably a good thing, in a ward full of mentally-disturbed patients. The professor had not bid either her, Neville or Frank goodbye, which was rather rude, but not unlike the surly wizard she had known over the years. His contempt for the feelings of others was legendary.

Frank was gazing at his wife again.

"She looks so much older than I remember."

"So do you, Dad," Neville reminded him.

"I do? Can you fetch me a mirror so that I can see?"

Healer Strout went into her office and came back with a large mirror that she handed to Frank. He scrutinised himself intently, wiggling his nose, checking his teeth and inspecting the thinning, but still curly hair on his head. He appeared unperturbed by the physical ageing that must have taken place, thankfully. Like his son, Frank must not have been a vain man. Hermione liked him, already.

"I look like my Uncle Albert," he said, in an interested tone.

"He died a few years ago," Neville reported.

"Only a few years ago? He must have reached a great age, then."

"He was a hundred and eleven, I think."

"Well, there you go."

Frank set down the mirror and looked at Neville, reaching out a hand to touch his face.

"You look like your mother's side of the family," Frank told his son, gently. "You have Alice's eyes, and colouring, and certainly the height. Why, I reckon that when I get out of this bed you'll be taller than me, son. You are a handsome young wizard, and no mistake."

Neville appeared to bask in the praise of his father, and with an unexpected lump in her throat, Hermione was forced to remind herself that he, like Harry, had never known the warmth of a parent's love, nor the soft touch of a hand upon his face, as Frank was doing now. His grandmother had provided care, of course she had, but there was no substitute for this.

"I have been ignoring this young lady," Frank said, suddenly looking up at Hermione, as if noticing her presence for the first time. "Is this your witch, son?"

Neville smiled.

"No, Dad. I do have a girlfriend, her name is Hannah, and you'll meet her as soon as she recovers from the flu. This is Hermione Granger, a very good friend of mine from school."

"Hermione. What an unusual name. I am pleased to meet you. Thank you for being here with Neville. I am sure he draws comfort from the support of his friends."

"I was happy to do it, Mr Longbottom," she replied. "And yes, our group of friends are very supportive of one another."

"Frank, please. No formality here."

"Neville told me that you'd say that," Hermione said, smiling, thinking of the time when Neville had suggested that his mother would want to be addressed as Alice, rather than Mrs Longbottom.

"You have been here before, Hermione?"

"Just the once."

"This is all so very odd."

"It will be odd for a while now, Frank," Healer Strout cut in. "Now can I get you all some dinner?"

"Dad, this is Healer Miriam Strout. She's been caring for you and Mum all this time."

"She has? Well then I am very grateful to you, young lady."

The middle-aged Healer giggled girlishly, and Frank winked at her. Hermione and Neville both grinned – it seemed that Frank Longbottom had been a bit of a charmer. No wonder everyone loved Neville, with his bumbling manner and self-deprecating humour. It must be genetic.

"Dinner would be great," Neville said. "I think I'm going to stay here, too, if that would be ok? I just don't want to leave Dad, not now."

"That's understandable," Healer Strout replied, "and I think it's an excellent idea for your father to have you here as long as possible. I'll transfigure that chair into something slightly more comfortable for you to sleep in."

"Hermione, will you tell Professor McGonagall where I am?" asked Neville.

"Of course. I'm going to go back now, I'll eat at school, and I'll go to the Headmistress' office to advise her of what's happened here today, and why you're still here, if that's ok?"

Neville nodded, and rose to his feet to embrace her.

"Thank you for being here today," he whispered into her ear, as they hugged. "I can't believe this has happened."

"It's amazing," she agreed, releasing him and giving his arm a squeeze. "Enjoy every moment of it."

Bidding the Healer goodbye, Hermione walked up the hospital ward, turning at the door to see Neville and his father deep in conversation. They had picked up the mirror again, and were now both looking into it together, as if they were looking for similarities between their appearances. Her heart lurched with happiness for her friend, for his father had, against all conceivable odds, been returned to him.

As she made her way down to the main fireplace in the St Mungo's reception area, Hermione tried very hard not to think of her own father, now as lost to her as Neville's had once been.

-xxx-

She went straight to the Headmistress' office on her return to Hogwarts, to firstly confirm that she had returned to school safely, as both she and Neville were on an exeat pass, and secondly to advise that Neville would be remaining at the hospital that night, with his father, giving a brief summary of the day's events.

"Thank you, Hermione. Professor Snape returned to school an hour ago, but I did not get much information from him. I am delighted to hear that his potion appears to have been successful for Mr Longbottom. I will send word to the hospital that I am aware that Neville will be staying with his father tonight, as is only right and understandable."

Hermione nodded her thanks, and stifled a yawn.

"And as for yourself, you have had a long and trying day supporting your friend. I request that you return to your room and order a light supper from the kitchens, before having an early night. And I don't want to see you at breakfast in the morning, I would prefer that you slept as long as you need to, for it is the weekend and there are no constraints on your time. I am sure the day has been emotionally exhausting; and even though you are not directly involved with the family, I am aware of the personal sacrifices you have made, regarding your own parents, and the mixed feelings that today's experiences may have invoked."

The Headmistress knew?

"Yes, Headmistress McGonagall. And thank you."

It was all she trusted herself to reply, as she had no wish to enter into a discussion about the Obliviation of her parents. Her former Head of House nodded that she was excused, and Hermione left the Head's office and down the stone steps, heading straight for the guest corridor and the sanctity of her own private room, hoping against hope that she would not meet anyone along the way.

She was in luck, reaching her room without incident or conversation; locking and warding the door behind her. As she stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket, Hermione realised how tired she really was. She stepped into her small, bathroom and cleaned her teeth, washed the hospital smell from her hands with a fresh soap that smelled of apple, and splashed cold water on her face, which felt blissful.

Towelling her face dry and slipping into the thin floral robe, Hermione thought that however tired her own bones were, there would be someone who was likely to be in a worse state.

She chanced the Floo, and was pleased, but not altogether surprised, to find the connection between her room and Snape's quarters to be open. Sticking her head into the green flames, she called out for him, but getting no answer, decided to step through uninvited, which felt very different to all the other times she had entered his living room, where she had tumbled straight into his waiting arms.

Merlin, she had missed the very feel of him, these past weeks.

He was not in his living room, so Hermione walked towards the door that led to his bedchamber, not tiptoeing, but also not making enough noise to wake him, should he be sleeping. Perhaps he wasn't here at all?

He was.

Snape was in his bed, fast asleep on his back, the green eiderdown curled around his clearly naked body. One arm was slung behind his head, the other stretched out across the mattress as if he were waiting for someone to creep in and snuggle themselves in it.

She stepped closer.

His skin was pale, the black hairs on his chest and forearms stark against their white background. The scar on his neck stood out, wicked and pink, and the intermittent healed welts on his flank were clearly visible. Nonetheless, his body was still compelling to look at, and most certainly still desirable to her. The professor's breathing was heavy and even, his wide nostrils flaring as he inhaled.

Hermione could see the spider veins of tiredness on his eyelids, as they lay closed. It really was incredibly intimate, to be gazing upon this notoriously private and taciturn wizard as he slumbered.

Leaving him be, she returned to the fireplace, ordering supper for two to be delivered and left under a warming charm on the small dining table, before heading back to the bedroom, slipping off her robe, and insinuating herself into the inviting crook of his extended arm. She pulled the eiderdown around herself, ensuring that he was still covered, and rested her head on his bare chest, revelling in the feeling of being naked with him for the first time in over a month, enjoying the steady beat of his heart beneath her right ear.

Putting her arm across his chest, Hermione finally allowed herself to close her eyes. She felt his arm tighten around her, and his lips press to her forehead in a slow, heavy kiss.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I am a former spy, Granger," he replied, his voice thick with sleep. "I am alert to any intruder, however welcome the intrusion might be."

Snape took his hand from behind his head; and tipped up her chin so that he could reach her mouth with his lips, and began to kiss her lightly, as if reacquainting himself with the taste of her. Unable to resist the temptation, Hermione allowed her tongue to slip between her lips and press at his, seeking entry, and with a small moan he capitulated, opening his own mouth to envelop hers, creating a delicious seal around her lips. His large hands caressed her naked back as they kissed, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair, angling her head and holding it in the best position to continue the plundering, searching kiss.

This wizard made her head spin. She had watched him perform extraordinary magic today, reviving a man from a living death through his potion-brewing skills and his ability to hold open a Legilimised connection for hours on end.

And yet.

This powerful, magically-talented wizard was still just a man, a man with human desires and needs – needs that he was making known against her mouth, with every press of his lips, with every swirl of his clever tongue.

"I want you, Hermione," he whispered, his lips still touching hers. "But I am so very tired."

"Your magic is depleted," she replied. "Sleep. I have ordered food, and we can eat when we wake."

"You will stay?"

"Of course. All night. I've been banished to my room to rest, by order of the Headmistress."

"How very convenient."

"Isn't it?"

He pushed his long hair from his eyes, before stroking his large hand down her face, reverently.

"Sleep," he confirmed, kissing her lips a final time. "Sleep, then food. And after that, Miss Granger, we have all night to occupy ourselves, for there is something I have missed greatly."

His exhausted, sly smile was enough to turn her guts over with sheer desire.

She wanted that. She wanted everything.

Pulling her body firmly against his, as if he were unable to sleep without her touch, Hermione covertly watched Snape close his eyes again, and his features began to slacken as his body prepared for the sleep it so desperately needed.

"I just missed you, Severus," she whispered, into his chest.

The twitch of his fingers upon her spine suggested that he had heard her.