Author's Note: Thank you all for the warm welcome to this fandom! It's been a rough time lately so that was a nice surprise, truly :) And as a reward (not just for being nice, but because it was done :)) the second chapter, a little earlier than I had anticipated. Please do not become accustomed to twice weekly postings because long term readers will attest, they are a unicorn!

To the chapter, we're now into my more usual writing style of shifting back and forth between the perspectives of each main character. I'd stayed exclusively with Snape the first time around because it was his world we were walking into. Now Hermione gets to be conscious (yay), so she's getting her own voice too.

Picking up shortly after we left.

Ashes To Ashes

Snape returned to Miss Granger as quickly as was possible, but it still took him at least five or six minutes to gather together all that he felt was needed to properly treat her in the short term.

So when he finally arrived back in the sitting room, he had a pillow from his bed and one of his nightshirts, tucked under his arm, and a half dozen phials of potions clutched in his hands and stuffed into his robe pockets. Fortunately he had almost everything he would need to get her to the next stage in her recovery, already prepared, and what he didn't have ready for her now, he could have fully brewed by midnight. The one positive, (if it could be called that) of being tortured on a regular basis for over twenty years was that he did now keep, "a little bit of everything," in his personal potion stores, just in case something horrible happened. Well . . . he began to lay everything out on top of his parents' ancient, cigarette scarred, coffee table . . . something horrible had happened.

It was just that this time it hadn't happened to him.

On some level he was perversely grateful at the realization of something tangibly, and objectively, good coming from his moronic decision to become a Death Eater at seventeen. For all the times he'd been flayed or crucio'd simply because that was the life one lived in subservience to the Dark Lord, now he would be able to save Miss Granger because of it.

It was something.

And after he'd revived her yet again with another shake of those two outside fingers, he carefully tucked the pillow under the back of her head, wincing when she let out a cry of pain as the fabric brushed against the raw flesh of her just reformed earlobe.

"Apologies," he murmured while stepping back with a faint tip of head, "but I need you elevated to take the potions."

"Right," she let out a shallow, unsteady, slightly hitching, breath, "okay, I'm ready."

So with her lifting her chin slightly, he brought the first of the tiny phials of colorful liquid to her burnt lips, and poured it down her throat. That first potion was for the pain, the second one he gave her was to begin the deep tissue muscle, dermal, and nerve regeneration, the third was for the outer, epidermal, regeneration, then there was the calming draught to help her anxiety, after that a strengthening potion, and finally there was a half dose of sleeping potion to help her rest through the worst of the first part of the regenerative cycle.

It took almost four minutes to get her to swallow the first five phials, as they had to keep stopping so Miss Granger could get them down her damaged pharynx and esophagus.

The potion fumes had caused burns there too.

So it came as no surprise to Snape, that by the time he'd picked up the sleeping potion, he could see from the way she was gagging and shaking her head, that the witch was on the verge of tossing the whole lot of them back up again.

That would have been disastrous.

"Look at me, Miss Granger," he implored softly while leaning down to catch her gaze.

And when she looked up, with shimmering pools of absolute panic in her eyes . . . she was definitely on the verge of vomiting . . . he shook his head.

"You will not be sick," he continued firmly, "you will take a slow, shallow breath, and you will hold it for five seconds. Then you will let it out, and then you will do it again." He tipped his head. "Now."

It took only a moment before she began to do as he had instructed. Slowly taking a breath in . . . holding it . . . and then letting it out again. He talked her through three cycles of controlled breathing, watching as if not the pain, at least the panic, slowly faded from her countenance. Though he was sure that the calming draught was assisting some with her emotional response, he knew that nothing he had given her would truly help with the nausea outside of her own sheer force of will.

Fortunately he knew that her will was formidable.

And after she'd reached the final, slow, exhalation, she just looked up at him. Their eyes were locked, and though he was not deliberately trespassing on her thoughts, with her strength so depleted, it was easy to read what she was clearly projecting there to him. Of course there was pain, and fear, those were overriding almost everything else. But also . . . somewhat to his surprise . . . he could see how much she trusted him, and that she had an existing level of genuine affection for him. Most importantly though, or at least most important to him, were the last things that she showed him. That he made her feel safe.

And that she believed he could fix anything.

Being given that knowledge was an odd boost to his own level of confidence . . . and confidence was clearly not an area where he was lacking as it was . . . so in response, and thanks, he lowered his own shields so that she could read him back without straining her limited strength. And what he projected for her, was not only his appreciation in her sharing her trust of him, but also true concern for her mental welfare and physical condition. And yes, there was admiration and affection there on his side as well.

He could see how her watery eyes widened in surprise at that.

But for as frustrating and complicated as it had been to deal with her in her formative years (she had been an annoying child – and he let her see that too), those years had long passed. Things had started to change that summer in Grimmauld Place. She'd lived there for many weeks with the Weasleys, and he'd often stayed there overnight to facilitate his business with the other members of The Order. It was in that time when he'd come to observe that outside of a classroom, where she was constantly begging for approval, Miss Granger's personality was far more tolerable. Not only was she generally quiet, (an admirable trait in a teenager), but she was also studious and respectful.

And much more mature than the entire Weasley clan on the whole.

It wasn't until a few years later though, after that night in St. Mungo's, and what he'd learned later on about how crucial she too had been in winning the war, that he'd realized how as she had matured, he truly had grown much fonder of Miss Granger as a person. The things he had started to observe when she was still an adolescent, had become her dominant traits as an adult. She was textbook brilliant, and perceptively clever, and he felt there was little in the world that she could not do, once her will was set to do it.

He let her see all of that too.

That's when he saw her swallow again as a tear slipped down her cheek. Then she gave him a firm nod.

"Okay," she whispered hoarsely, "I'm ready for the last one."

As he had known she would be.

"Good," he answered sharply while leaning in to press the glass to her lips, "because you will want to sleep for these first few hours of tissue regeneration." He shook his head as he slowly straightened up.

"They will not be pleasant."

Noting how her raw and reddened skin somehow managed to pale at that news, he had to look away for a moment. But then he heard her choke out an alarmed, "sir!" and his eyes snapped back to see that her whole body had begun to shake.

"This is normal," he assured her with a firm tip of his head as he scrambled to catch her left hand again, "it is the first stage, and it will pass in a moment."

The healing potions were seeking out the damaged tissue, and they were finding there was much to be done.

It took approximately two minutes for the worst of the shaking to subside, and somehow he found himself holding her fingers for that whole period of time. But once her body had began to settle, and the panic once again began to fade from her eyes, leaving only the pain that he had become her default expression, he let go of her pinky and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like some water now before the shaking gets worse again?"

Seeing her wince and nod as fresh tears filled her eyes . . . tissue regeneration hurt like bloody hell, and no amount of pain potion was going to shield her completely from the process . . . he quickly turned and transfigured one of the empty potion phials on the coffee table, into a plain glass.

He shot an Aguamenti out of his wand.

Once the transformed phial was half full, he turned back, and leaned down to press the glass to Miss Granger's reddened lips. After she'd drank her fill, including dribbling a decent amount down her chin . . . it was hard to drink when your nervous system was in spasms . . . he set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to her again. That time to begin gently dabbing away the water droplets on her face, being careful to not actually touch her skin, with a small black handkerchief that he'd pulled from one of his robe pockets.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered hoarsely as he straightened up, and another tear slipped down her cheek, "my throat was killing me."

"Of course," Snape murmured self consciously while tucking the small black square back out of sight. "And now," he let out a heavy sigh, "the sleeping potion will activate momentarily, and that should give you hopefully, a solid four hours of unconsciousness. But to be clear," he tipped his head, "with the amount of tissue damage your body has suffered, the amount of discomfort you're going to feel during the healing process will be," his jaw twisted, "extreme."

Noting the flinch on the face of the young woman in front of him, as another tear spilled over and slid down along her burnt cheek, he reached out to again hook his pinky and ring fingers through hers.

This action had already become his default method of offering a type of physical comfort that he was not used to providing. Not to anyone. Ever. However, she was suffering, and he didn't want her to feel as though she was alone during this time, which meant that he needed to be more than the man that he usually was.

This was him trying.

"I do not wish to frighten you with my assessment," he continued firmly, in his most professorial tone . . . the one he felt she would respond to best given the information he was conveying, "simply to prepare you for the worst, should it come. However," he took a breath, "it is my belief that you have probably already born the worst of the pain you are going to feel from this experience, when you stumbled through my floo. Everything your body goes through from here on out, will be under a steady, and regimented, dose of pain potion. The one I gave you a few minutes ago will help you to stay asleep, and while you're sleeping I'm going to start working on a stronger dosage for you. The strongest one that can be made. I have the ingredients, and it will take about twelve hours to brew, so fortunately it should be ready in time to give you a decent night's rest. And on that last note," he sucked in a heavy breath before his voice hardened slightly, "as you won't be well enough to leave here for at least the next several days, is there anyone you wish for me to contact regarding your location, and/or condition?"

Though it was likely to cause him physical pain to have either Weasley or Potter step foot into his home, (Merlin forbid both of them) Snape would allow it if that's what Miss Granger desired. Pain potions and calming draughts notwithstanding, her recovery was going to be a trial. And most people (not himself of course, but MOST people) would prefer to have emotional support from . . . he bit back an internal sneer . . . loved ones during such an ordeal. So he was surprised, shocked almost, when Miss Granger's remaining brow darkened at his question, her right one had mostly burned away, and she gave him a sharp shake of her head.

"No," she sniffed back, "there's nobody that needs to know what's happened."

The way she pointedly looked away from him after she'd said those words caused Snape to immediately become suspicious. There were clearly many unusual things going on in Miss Granger's life for which he was not currently aware, but the idea that she was now so distant from those boys that she wouldn't at least wish for them to be aware of her horrible accident, was almost unbelievable.

In fact he could not believe it.

So again, even though he absolutely did NOT want either of her 'friends' in his home, given her response, he couldn't stop himself from leaning down to catch her watery eyes again.

"Really," he asked with a narrowing of his gaze, "we don't even need to contact that gingered dunderhead?"

That time the question elicited a response of visible alarm on her face.

"Please sir," she whispered sadly with an unsteady shake of their joined fingers, "please don't contact any of the gingers," she bit her lip, "nor anyone with a notable scar either. What I was doing, what's been happening, I," she swallowed and looked away again, "it was private."

"And yet you reached out to me for help with this thing," he bit back tightly, and with obvious confusion, almost anger, "with this thing SO private that you don't even want your closest friends to know of it."

Her teary eyes shot back to his.

"Yes," Hermione took a slow breath, this time careful not to blink, "I did. I trust only you with this. Only you will understand what I have done. The others," she swallowed, "they would never forgive me. You might not either but," another tear slide down her cheek, "I'm already damned. So though it would make me so sad," her lips twisted in a grimace of a smile, "if it comes, I'll take your condemnation too."

Another moment passed where they just stared at one another. Surprisingly, Snape was the one that looked away first. And to cover over his own emotional shock and discomfort at her admissions . . . what in bloody hell could this witch, one who had breathed nothing but light since he had known her, have done that she felt was so horrific as to bring about her own damnation . . . he took a shallow breath and refocused his efforts on getting her settled in to sleep.

With a gentle shake of his hand, he disentangled their joined fingers, so he could reach over and pick up the long black nightshirt he'd tossed onto his reading chair next to the sofa.

A few quick wand waves later and the thick cotton garment had been transformed into an unlikely combination of flannel lined in silk. Silk being the only texture he thought her sensitive skin would be able to tolerate scraping against it.

And of course flannel for the warmth.

Then with a raise of an eyebrow, he asked the woman still closely staring up at him, "are you ready to change out of your burnt clothing?" When she gave him a sharp nod, he immediately looked to the wall behind her while muttering, "Evanesco" as he carefully moved his wand over her ruined robes, and the muggle shirt and undergarment she wore underneath. Of course none of those items were doing much to conceal her modesty in their current state of disrepair.

Most of those fabric layers were in tatters halfway down her chest.

Once all of that had disappeared though, with him still focusing very intently on a fly spot on that wall behind the sofa . . . this gave him only the faintest impression of her bare, pink and white flesh beneath him . . . Snape gave another wave of his wand and the nightshirt in his hand was instantly fitted over the slim body below.

When he looked down, now that it was safe to do so, he saw that she was practically swimming in the dark fabric. Given her condition though, he figured it was best to leave the garment as loose as it was so it wouldn't chafe her skin.

"Is that better?" he asked with a quirk of his brow as he tucked away his wand. And she gave him a now faintly sleepy, though still pained, smile as her pinky finger brushed along the soft fabric covering her mid-section.

"Yes, very much," she let out a heavy sigh, "thank you."

"All right then, I'll just take care of these . . ."

As his words trailed off awkwardly, he leaned down to pull the trainers from her feet. Fortunately they had been spared any visible damage from the brewing incident, so he just tucked them down on the carpet at the end of the sofa. This now left Miss Granger in his modified nightshirt, and her muggle jeans and socks. And seeing that the witch was finally on the verge of passing out, he gave her pinky another tap while asking quietly, "Miss Granger, do you want me to remove your trousers as well?"

With or without context, it was a somewhat uncomfortable question to ask of a young woman in her condition. Especially one clearly about to pass out. Given the potency though of the regenerative potions currently swirling through her body, he had to figure the less tactile stimulation against her skin the better.

Hence the idea of removing her blue jeans.

Still, he watched with some degree of apprehension as Miss Granger's lashes fluttered, and she looked up blankly for a moment. Then she seemed to process what he'd said and she gave him a faint nod as her eyes began to fall shut again.

"Yes, please take them off," she murmured with a faint wince, "they're starting to scratch my legs."

"Right," he harrumphed with a bit of conceit, while performing another quick Evanesco to vanish the denim covering her lower body, "that was my presumption in asking the question. Your entire nervous system is going to be incredibly sensitive to external stimuli for the next few days, so essentially I believe the fewer layers you're wearing, the more comfortable you will be."

"Hmm," she mumbled as her eyes began to close once again, "makes . . . smphf."

Noting how her words had trailed off into nonsense, Snape realized that the sleeping potion had finally done what it was supposed to do.

Put Miss Granger into a state of unconsciousness.

Which was really the best state for her, because she didn't need to be awake and aware, of every ravaged cell and flayed nerve ending knitting themselves back together. Even if the pain potion would dull her senses, she would still FEEL it happening, and he knew from experience . . . though his injuries had been on a far less extreme level . . . how unsettling it would be. So the more of that process she could sleep through, the better.

Still, she looked so vulnerable now in just the oversized nightshirt and her mismatched pink and blue socks. Her legs were bare, with a fresh spot of bruising on her left shin bone and a layer of furry growth on both legs, starting from what was visible from just above her knees, down to her ankles. It had been many years since he'd seen such stubble on a woman, and it was a curious intimacy now to see that layer of new hair, given the previous, private, circumstances when such occasions had arisen in the past. It reinforced to him just how much of an adult Hermione Granger really had become.

This was a woman's body.

At that realization, he felt the strangest, most inexplicable, surge of protectiveness. Miss Granger was a fierce dueler, and a battle seasoned combatant in a literal war against evil. Not a witch that most wizards would feel was in need of their physical protection. And yet . . . he let out a slow breath as his gaze shifted back to her sleeping countenance . . . and yet.

Here he was.

As his wand hand twitched, Snape saw that there was no point in pondering that line of thought any further at the moment. So with her condition now relatively stable, and her finally sleeping, he turned and walked out of the living room to head down the front hall to the main coat closet. Once there he opened the slightly creaky door and reached up to pull down an old quilt of his mother's from the top shelf. After he'd stepped back and gave it a shake to get out the dust (and any potential spiders), plus added a Scourgify for good spider dissolving measure, he transfigured the quilt just as he had his nightshirt.

One side in the softest of smooth silk, the other in a warm, thick, flannel.

Then he walked back into the living room, gave the newly transformed blanket another gentle snap and leaned over to cover over the young woman on his sofa. Fortunately the quilt was large enough, without any additional modifications on his part, to cover Miss Granger fully from her shoulders, down over just past her sock covered toes. Though he had some concerns with covering over her hands, (they were currently still the rawest of the damaged tissue, and therefore most prone to chafe while reforming), he decided that it was worth the risk to keep her from getting a chill. Because a cold Miss Granger was much more likely to start tossing and turning in her sleep, and though he could of course cast a spell to keep her from rolling about, he really didn't feel comfortable doing so.

Not when it hadn't been something they'd discussed prior to her passing out.

Her waking up frozen and terrified that she was unable to move, (and clearly she would be terrified at such a turn of events) was not a thought that sat well with him.

And after he'd added another log manually added to the fire . . . some things he did occasionally prefer to handle without magic . . . the living room was definitely warm enough for her.

Just when he was about to leave her alone so he could go begin brewing the enhanced pain potion, he suddenly rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

The sofa.

It was ridiculous . . . he pulled his wand back from his sleeve . . . and not really conducive to her proper rest, to leave Miss Granger lying on the lump laden, decades old sofa that he was quite sure his parents had inherited from a relative already long dead on his father's side, before Snape was even born. Really . . . he quickly cast another transfiguration spell . . . he should just levitate the whole thing into the bin, but for some reason he had left the house as essentially a shrine to his abusive childhood.

And then he'd decided to live there.

Yes, that was a decision he needed to examine at some point, but most definitely not today. For now, as he took a breath and tucked his wand away again, he was just pleased to have been able to reconfigure this ugly old piece of furniture, which he barely used anyway . . . he'd always preferred the wingchair for reading . . . into something useful. Because now, pressed against the wall under the faded landscape painting of industrial Manchester in the nineteen sixties (it was bad art even then), was a simple twin sized bed with a thick, doubly cushioned, mattress there for Miss Granger's battered body to rest upon. It was perfect.

At least as far as temporarily needed sickbeds went.

The last thing he did before leaving the room was quill out a quick note on a piece of torn parchment. It very simply said, 'if I am not here when you awaken, I am likely down in my lab. If you are in distress, or simply need assistance, scream. I will hear you. I promise. - SS'

Then he cast a charm on the note and left it hovering within eyesight just over Miss Granger's chest.

/*/*/*

Hermione was startled awake to the sounds of fire crackling and classical music in the air.

Clair de Lune, if her brain was remembering correctly.

Not that it mattered, but the piano chords were soothing, though not soothing enough to wipe away the remnants of the horrifying nightmare from which she'd just stumbled. Her heart was still racing as the adrenaline continued to surge, and the memories of the things she had done continued to plague her waking vision. But then suddenly she focused in on the note hovering in front of her, the one telling her to scream if she was in distress . . . and she was indeed in distress . . . so she decided to do exactly as instructed.

"SIR, I NEED YOU!"

It was clearly a scream, but the words came out hoarse and choked as her throat was still not fully healed.

Snape was there in an instant, (he must have just been in the other room), because he was immediately soothing, "I'm here Miss Granger, I'm right here," as he leaned over and put his hand on top of her blanket, down by her foot.

He gave her ankle a faint squeeze.

The sight of him immediately had a calming effect on her, as did his touch, light though it was. But it was clear in how his gaze narrowed as he stared into her eyes, that the reason for her state of agitation had not escaped his notice.

"Night terror?" he asked with a soft voice and a sharply raised eyebrow. It was a curious combination of the professor she once knew, and this kinder version of that man who had been taking such gentle and attentive care of her since she'd fallen, on the verge of death, into his living room.

Even by the standards of her life so far, it had been a strange day.

Still, for a moment she could only stare up at him in a fresh panic as the images from her sleep, the things she'd done, assaulted her yet again. Tears began to fill her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered back, her voice heavy with emotion, "it was awful. It still is," she sniffled and shook her head trying to clear away those thoughts, "I can't talk about it though, not yet, it's part of the other thing. But," she sniffed and looked up at him again, "everything hurts too." She winced, "everything. Like I'm being stabbed by a thousand tiny knitting needles, all from the inside," her brow wrinkled in worry, "is it too soon for another pain potion?"

Please Merlin, don't let it be too soon!

"No," Snape shook his head slowly as he gave her one final, appraising, look, "no, it's not too soon." Then he turned to reach behind him for the healing supplies he'd laid out on the coffee table. When he turned back, he had a fresh potion phial in hand.

"You've actually slept longer than I had anticipated," he continued speaking while releasing the stopper on the small glass bottle, "it's been just over five hours since the last dose. You're slightly overdue."

Those words were said while he leaned over to press the phial to Miss Granger's freshly reborn lips. They were a bit thin with dehydration, but he was pleased to see that the color was a bright, healthy, pink.

It was the only part of her face, body, that had completely healed so far.

Her appearance in general though . . . missing chunks of hair and one eyebrow notwithstanding . . . was slightly less, upsetting, overall. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the speed of her recovery process, but given how bad she'd looked when she'd arrived, 'less upsetting,' was actually encouraging.

Though for obvious reasons this was not a term he would be using with her directly.

After she'd swallowed the colorful liquid, Hermione looked back up at Snape with a blink.

"I haven't slept in three days," she explained quietly, "so that's probably why the sleep potion was more effective than you'd expected it would be."

Though Hermione had expected this man who missed nothing, would have something to say about her admission, all he did was narrow his gaze again. And as his lips pursed slightly, she sensed that there was quite a bit on his mind at that moment. Before she could say anything further though, he tipped his head to the side.

"Provided you have no complications, we'll discuss that, and everything else, tomorrow. There's no point in even starting the conversation today," he shot her an eyebrow, more wry than even exasperated, "I can't yell at you when you're in this condition. It would be unseemly."

Though he clearly wasn't angry with her at the moment, Hermione still felt a churn in her stomach knowing just how upset he was going to be when he'd found out the things that she'd done over the last six months.

She had to look away before she began to cry again.

After a moment of silence had passed, filled only by the crackle of the fire, and those still faint keys of Claire de Lune floating through the air, she licked the edge of her upper lip . . . it felt so much better now than it had before . . . and looked back over at him.

He was still staring at her.

"Were you able to brew that other pain potion?" She asked softly. Though of course she knew that he had, because Severus Snape had always done exactly what he'd said he would do. That's how they had won a war. But for now, this was a neutral, rhetorical, question intended to reset the tone of the conversation. And as expected, the searching look on his face gave way to a blank expression.

"If you are asking if I was able to brew the potion for which I said I would brew, and have been qualified to brew for over twenty-three years then, yes," he gave her a droll look, "yes, I did that."

The answer was so perfectly Snape that even given the circumstances . . . being in absolute misery in both body and soul . . . Hermione found her eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

"Just checking," she answered with a faint huff. And as expected she received a dry, "indeed," in return, which brought a spot of warmth to her chest.

It was a strange comfort to have such a history with someone whom she had not seen in so long, that she could still anticipate his reactions in almost any circumstance. And yet, as Snape moved closer murmuring that she needed to sit up, and then began carefully shifting her body . . . via a combination of muttered spells and physical touch . . . with a care and tenderness never seen by the man who had been her professor, she was reminded that she really didn't know him at all.

This was someone new.

But once he had her propped up against the pillow, which he quickly set with an Engorgement Charm to fluff it up, (it was so much more comfortable then) he adjusted her blanket so her arms were again free, and stepped back to give her an appraising eyebrow.

"Are you comfortable?"

For a moment she didn't answer him, she was too busy staring down at her slowly reforming fingers. They were still too thin, missing muscle and nerve and tendons, and the flesh was still shiny, almost translucent, in a way that made her feel sick to see.

All of that horror must have been on her face when she looked up at him a moment later, because she saw his expression soften right before he pulled out his wand.

"Velo," he murmured while looking down at her hands, and then suddenly they were covered over in silken gloves.

Black of course.

Grateful tears filled her eyes as she looked back up at him.

"Thank you," she whispered, "that was very upsetting to see."

"Yes," she saw him grimace while tucking his wand away again, "and I should have anticipated that it would be, and covered them while you were sleeping. I am sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," she responded with a shake of her head, "you've been wonderful. All of this," she looked down at the warm, yet silky, cloth he had her covered in, which was keeping her from seeing her injuries, "it's making everything much easier to bear." Then to lighten the mood, she could see a bit of pink forming on her cheeks at her praise, she added with a faintly hoarse, huff, "and I really like the black. I feel like a muggle rock star."

Noting how Snape's upper lip twitched faintly at her comment, she knew the awkwardness had been removed.

Good.

"It was not intentional to drape you all in black," he responded with an eye roll, "one item just led into another. Now then," he turned back to the coffee table which he'd repurposed into his personal apothecary, "time to complete the second round of potions. Though this time," he turned back to her with three phials in hand, "we'll be holding off on the sleeping draught so you can eat first. Regeneration will burn off quite a few calories, and," he gave her slim frame a once over, "it does not appear that you have any extra calories to burn."

A bit of a flush was felt on Hermione's face then . . . one which manifested as a curious tingling given what the potions were doing to her tissue . . . when she realized that he had noticed her extreme weight loss. That was exactly why she'd been avoiding Harry and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys all summer.

Just looking at her, having lost more than a stone since the spring, they all would have known instantly that something was seriously wrong.

And it was clear in how Snape was looking at her now, that this was the conclusion that he had come to as well. To his credit though, just like earlier, he still said nothing.

Clearly he would be keeping to his decision to discuss all of it tomorrow.

So instead he just shook his head and leaned in to given her the next phial. Just one through four that time, and then again he reached for her fingers when the tremors started, and didn't let go until they'd stopped.

As he started to turn away, Hermione bit her lip. Then she asked the question that had been on her mind since he'd listed her healing regiment.

"Are you not going to give me any Dittany, sir?"

She saw his head snap back, his eyes widening first in surprise, and then visible hurt, just before his brow set in a scowl.

"Did you think I had plans to leave you as a monster?"

Her eyes popped.

"What?!" she gasped, "no, of course not! I hadn't meant the question as an insult! I just, I'm so used to Dittany for everything, specifically to counter scarring I just," her eyes began to burn as she looked at him again, "I was afraid that maybe this degree of injury would leave scars no matter what, so that's why you hadn't bothered with it. That there was no point."

As soon as she finished speaking, the words he had spoken suddenly shot into her core.

"Wait," she took a breath as her eyes filled, "am I a monster?! Is THAT how bad I look?!"

Though she knew just from the pain, that her injuries were horrific, Snape wasn't avoiding looking at her face, not like she would have expected if she really was that hideous. But maybe he was actually keeping his Occulmency shields up when he dealt with her, so that he could pretend like things weren't that bad. And realizing then that was EXACTLY something that he would do, Hermione felt another surge of horror as she started to reach up with her gloved hands to feel along her jawline.

It was the only way for her to see.

But just before she was able to make contact, Snape had his wand out, and had frozen them in mid air.

"Bloody hell, witch," he yelled, "do NOT touch your face!"

Snape knew that yelling at the woman, AFTER telling her that she looked like a monster, was not his finest moment. A point brought home to him when she suddenly burst into sobs. And feeling a stab of pain in his own chest at seeing her reaction, and knowing that it was all his fault she was so upset, he quickly waved his wand to lower her arms back to the bed. Then he reached out to catch those two fingers on her left hand. They felt different now with the gloves on.

Her watery eyes snapped up to his.

"You are NOT a monster," he stated firmly, "but I will not lie. It is very bad, but it will get better. It is better already. I can see the differences in your face and limbs, subtle though they may be at this stage. And I do plan on applying Dittany after your third round of potions. There would be no point in doing it earlier," he shot her a look, "because you still have very little actual skin left to scar. But the underlying muscle and nerve tissue has clearly begun to regenerate. That is clear in how your flesh has filled out over your bones again. In another six hours, you should once more have a thin layer of epidermis covering those areas. That is when we will apply the Dittany. When it will count," his eyebrow inched up, "does this make sense to you?"

"Yes," she sniffled and nodded gratefully, clearly comforted by his explanation, "yes, it does. Thank you and," she gave him a weak smile, "I'm sorry if my question came out hurtful. I know that you know what you're doing, and I trust you completely. I just didn't understand the steps."

For a moment Snape simply stared down at her, then his jaw twitched.

"I could have explained your healing regiment better. It was a mutual misunderstanding," he tipped his head, "I will get the tea."

As he turned and stepped out of the room, Hermione watched him go with a sniff, and a faint twist of her own jaw.

Well, at least she wasn't doomed to a life living under a perpetual, full face, glamour to avoid frightening small children. That was a comfort. And he hadn't denied that her question had hurt him either. That one was a surprise. Professor Snape had always seemed much too hardened (and battle worn really) to have ever allowed such an admission. Like it would have been a weakness to admit that such a thing as 'emotional injury' could happen to him. It was encouraging to see that the man who had survived the war, two wars now, had evolved a bit beyond such a shell.

Her eyes fell shut then with both physical and emotional weariness. Crying was exhausting.

As was rebuilding her skin and muscle from the ground up.

More to the point though, there was much on her mind as she was thinking about what was going on at her family's summer cottage in Cornwall. She was wondering if everything there would be okay until she was able to get back. Or if maybe she would have to send Snape through tomorrow to handle things temporarily in her absence.

Just the thought of it made her stomach hurt.

But then she remembered that the stasis charms she'd set there there would definitely hold another twenty-fours, so she had until at least noon tomorrow to decide what to do, and how much she might have to confess to Snape before she was able to explain the whole horrible chain of events properly. So realizing then that there was no point in dwelling on these thoughts at the moment, especially when she really should just be focusing on her recovery, she let out a heavy breath.

And she waited for her caregiver to return.

A/N 2: So some points here obviously laying the groundwork for a proper relationship. Snape's realization that not only is Hermione an adult by the calendar years, but that she has a woman's body now, was obviously a key delineation for him. As was Hermione noting that the gentler version of this man who was taking care of her, still morphed with the old quirks and mannerisms of the wry, grouchy, professor she'd known before. Basically they have this history which binds them and sets a level of comfort and familiarity for them, but they're getting to know, and see, each other as the people that they really are beyond those old labels.

Phial vs Vial! I am American, and when I'm thinking of a little glass jar, I spell that word with a V. And I had sort of assumed that the 'PH' version was simply the British spelling for my V word. However, as I was going to be using the word pretty regularly here, I decided to google just to be sure. Turns out, the PH version seems to be for medicine exclusively, while the V spelling can be for medicine OR anything else, like perfumes, etc. So basically for our purposes, either spelling would have been fine (regardless of my place of birth :) but it just 'felt' more appropriate to go with the PH spelling (maybe my mental association with the PH for pharmacies makes it seem more the medical term) so that's what I'm sticking with for the duration.

They don't really seem to worry about infection like we do. Like" oh damn, someone just hexed my ear off and now I've got a big gaping wound that's going to get infected and then my whole head will fall off too!" No, they just bandage that shit up and go on with their day. So I googled and JK actually wrote a post on "Illness & Disability" for Pottermore. Relevant snippet from her as follows: "I decided that broadly speaking, wizards would have the power to correct or override 'mundane' nature but not 'magical' nature. Therefore, a Wizard could catch anything a muggle might catch, but he could cure all of it." So for myself, (sienna again) I'm picturing their healing spells include something akin to a 'magical antibiotic' that negates even the possibility of a 'mundane' muggle infection being caught. Which is all a roundabout way of justifying why Snape can cover Hermione over with clothes and blankets, like we never would if she was a muggle in a burn ward with the catastrophic injuries she has.

In case anyone had been wondering why Snape hadn't used the Dittany yet, that was my personal reasoning on why it wasn't part of her initial healing regiment. I know they're all magical potions so disbelief can be suspended, but it just didn't seem logical for him to apply something created to prevent scarring, when she literally had almost no skin at that point to scar. I also didn't think that he would be fazed by how awful she looks, simply because he's Snape. He's seen everything. Yes, he was horrified by what had happened to her, but he processed that, and he's fixing her, and to him she's still just Miss Granger, so he's treating her as such.

I cut a good chunk off the end of this scene and moved it over to Chapter 3 just so that chapter would be in a solid draft form before I posted this one. I don't want to leave myself with any empty spaces in the storyline, because I don't want to get tripped up. So next chapter maybe by New Year's.

And again, please keep the feedback coming. It's genuinely helpful in keeping things going knowing that people actually WANT to know what happens next. And I'll try to write back to folks individually but life is difficult right now so please know that not hearing from me personally, doesn't mean that I am not incredibly appreciative of the effort you took to leave a note. I am :)

Merry Christmas everyone!