AN: I'm lightly editing these chapters as I go, because 20-somthing year old me liked to use a lot more words than were necessary to get the point across. She also liked to reuse the same words over and over, so I've supplied a more diverse selection. (Readers, never feel bad about being 30+. It just makes you better at basically everything.)
Thanks for reading - and reviewing, you great reviewers!
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Snape looked awful, though it took Hermione a moment of intense scrutiny to identify just what gave her that impression. His skin was not so pallid as it had been during her time as a student and in fact had a healthy glow to it, likely a result of improved nutrition. His hair, left to the capable care of St. Mungo's Finest, was trimmed to the level of his jaw and combed back against the pillow, effectively clear of the white scars gnarling his throat. Even the calm expression on his face lent him a seeming peacefulness that wiped years from his appearance. In fact, had it not been for that singular, wrong something, the man would have looked better than he had in years.
Then, he opened his eyes.
For an instant, Hermione was afraid that she had been caught peeping. Excuses bubbled at the back of her throat until she noticed that those black eyes were not glittering with the intensity she remembered. In fact, they were not glittering at all. They were unfocused and seemed to flutter away from things as quickly as they lighted on them, as if they followed the path of some butterfly, visible only to him.
"It's oatmeal, today, Mr. Snape. Open up, now."
The nurse, having seated herself on the edge of the bed, was slowly approaching the wizard's face with a spoonful of off-white paste. Hermione almost expected to see his expression sour, to hear him snarl some of his usual nastiness. When his mouth simply opened and his eyes continued their lazy journey around the room, it felt as if a cold brick had Apparated into Hermione's belly. She knew now what was wrong with this healthy-looking wizard.
Snape's eyes were open, but Snape was not home.
There had been a piece in The Prophet several months ago, run under some insipid headline like 'The Sorry Story of Severus Snape.' Apart from rubbing the reader's nose in the ex-professor's lifetime of unsavory acts, it reported that Healers believed he had developed a high level of immunity to a great many toxins. It went on to speculate that Snape's immunity had saved him from the snakebite, only to then interfere with the various healing spells cast upon him, resulting in his mind being wiped clean as an infant's.
Hermione had always suspected that theory was rubbish, but now she knew for a fact. Snape didn't look like a newborn. He looked blank. Empty.
She had known upon reading that the entire article was based on rumors and assumptions, but that may have been due to her personal bias against that beetle-brained harridan, Rita Skeeter. There had also been some talk of Skeeter writing Snape's biography, but Hermione imagined the woman (in an uncharacteristic display of either courtesy or caution) must be waiting for Snape to actually kick off, first.
She watched with brow furrowed as the man took another bite of oatmeal, seeming to swallow without chewing. His eyes rolled past her, not only failing to recognize her as a familiar face, but seeming not to see any face at all.
Hermione frowned. Notebook still in her lap, she reached down into her bag for a Muggle ink pen. In a rush born of the fear of lost ideas, she sat up, yanked off the cap, pressed the ball point into the page, and scribbled out half of a word before her mother bolted upright in bed.
"Donald!"
Startled by the fear in her mother's voice, Hermione dropped everything and leapt to her feet, wand drawn. Her heart banging in her chest, she followed her mother's wide-eyed gaze to the partly open curtain. All she saw was the nurse peering back at her.
"Everything alright?" the nurse asked, genuinely concerned.
With a brief glance at her mother, who was now sitting perfectly still, Hermione nodded and offered a tiny smile. "Sorry, Gwen. Bad dream."
The nurse nodded in sympathy and turned back to Snape, spoon at the ready.
Hermione took a deep breath and tucked her wand away, then sat on the edge of her chair, leaning close to her mother's bedside. The slender woman still had not moved and her blue eyes held the unsettling stillness of marbles.
"Dad's not here, Mum." She paused a beat, scraped her bottom lip against her incisors. "He's stepped out."
"Has he?" Jane Granger's eyes softened into life with a flicker of movement, then revived fully as they fell on her daughter. "Hermione, love, be a dear and find my glasses. Your dad's been hiding them from me again."
"Sure, Mum." Hermione set her voice into Business Tone as she plucked the sensible steel-framed bifocals from the bedside table – where the nurse always left them.
It was really best to just play along. She'd tried breaking the news to Jane in the beginning, but only in the beginning. Jane's mind had worked so hard to insulate the memory of the attack, along with the shattering grief and horror she had endured. To remind her of it was an act of selfish cruelty - because it had quickly become clear that Jane Granger was never going to stop forgetting. She would rise every day looking for him, waiting for him to appear. She would never remember just why she was in the hospital, though she was fully aware that her chronic pain was a part of it.
"Thank you, dear." Jane tucked her glasses neatly into place and turned her familiar blue eyes – alive again and full of love – on her only child. "Now tell me, how are things?"
And with that, Hermione was off. Ignoring the notebook that was still splayed on the floor, she scudded down her mental list and left a great red check next to each topic accomplished. Her mother easily held up her end of the conversation. Shortly after the nurse, Gwen, brought in her breakfast, Jane sat up and posed comments and questions between bites of toast. In fact, Hermione began to notice that, as Jane came more fully awake (and polished off a potion and her first cup of tea) the tides began to turn and control rapidly slipped from the witch's grasp.
Finally, the cunning older woman wrestled the conversation to her favorite topic. "So," she began, her smile betraying the way she relished this victory, "when are you and Ron going to get married and have those grandchildren I've been waiting for?"
"Oh Mum, I've told you I want to do something more than just have children." Hermione fought the whine out of her tone and continued in a more dignified manner. "Besides, Ron is far too busy with his training right now and I'll kindly remind you for the fifty-first time that you have been warning me off boys since I was twelve in the interest of my academic career."
En guarde!
Jane waved a hand. "Oh, pish posh, Hermione! That was when you were in school. You've a job now and your dad and I aren't getting any younger. You should have them while we're still spry enough to lend a hand. Let your old Mummy and Daddy take care of those babies whilst you're out pursuing your full potential." Jane was smiling, lacing her fingers together in her lap. To Hermione's narrowed eye, she looked almost like a self-satisfied spider, perched atop a bound-up and struggling moth.
Touche…
Hermione frowned as she searched for a proper counter for that argument. It was precisely this sort of fiendish composition of guilt, logic, and flattery that made these discussions with her mother such a challenge. A beloved challenge, but no less difficult for that.
She must have had quite the pained look on her face, since Jane heaved a great sigh while looking at her and said, "Oh, now. I know I shouldn't pressure you, love, but… I've felt rather… old of late. Perhaps it's this place. I feel as if I've been here for years." Jane's blue eyes fell to the bedspread, her expression tired and almost stunned.
Hermione took the chance to look at her mother more closely and, to her distress, she had to admit that Jane truly did look old. She was drawn and silver-haired where once she had been bright and blonde and the only wrinkles upon her had been the distinguishing marks from her smile.
Insidious, the thought crept into her mind; What if she's right? What if the curse damage wears her body down in the next few years and, finally, one day, she's just not there anymore? And then, crueler still, How selfish I've been!
Jane was by that time gazing at the flowers at her bedside, a faint smile playing across her lips. In Hermione's mind, she heard her mother's voice repeating the soft affection of last week. Donald just seems to get better and better every day. He's always learning new tricks with his paints.
In her throat, a hot knot was tightening.
As suddenly as she did everything, Jane took a deep breath, looked Hermione in the eye, and smiled brightly. "It's been lovely visiting with you dear, but I'm getting rather hungry and I'm sure you have better things to do than watch me nibble the day away. Send the nurse over on your way out, won't you?"
Still feeling rather dumbstruck, Hermione gathered her things, kissed her mother's cheek, and shuffled out of the curtained-off space, only to find someone waiting for her. She forced a smile, "Morning Gwen."
"Hullo Hermione. Had at you again, has she?" the nurse asked in a low voice loaded with sympathy.
"I suppose she has. She wants her lunch already." Hermione checked her watch and was surprised to see that it was already half-past noon.
"No surprise there. Jane has maintained an excellent appetite for seven consecutive months, now."
Gwen was a tall witch with the sort of cheery face that could make a person feel a bit more optimistic about most anything. It was rather like looking up into the face of a sunflower. Hermione had wondered on occasion whether the nurse had a little dryad blood, so enchanting was her mellow presence. Presently, though, her mind drifted toward other things.
"I notice you have a new patient." She gestured toward Snape's bed, where the curtains had again been drawn shut.
Gwen smiled faintly. "Yes. St. Mungo's has had a funding cut this year, so the Veteran's Wing had to be closed." At Hermione's startled blink, the nurse intensified her smile. "Don't worry, Hermione. The Veteran's Wing only housed a few patients. We are more than capable of taking them on comfortably here in Spell Damage."
"I don't doubt the abilities of your staff, Gwen. I'm just surprised that the Veteran's Wing didn't even last two years." Hermione smiled briefly, for an instant trying to gentle what might come off as judgment, but then abandoned the effort. No wonder Neville had seemed distraught. His parents weren't supposed to be living in this ward anymore. Brow slightly furrowed, she pushed on. "That ward was intended to honor those who made sacrifices for our society. It is highly disappointing that St. Mungo's would so easily fold to the winds of politics."
Gwen smiled her calm smile. "Of course. Far be it from me to state my own opinions on policy – I'm just a Mediwitch – but times are changing, Ms. Granger. St. Mungo's Board must adapt Hospital policy to reflect the needs of Wizarding Britain." She shook her head gently, like some oak waving under a high wind. "There is no malice behind this change, only necessity."
For a few long moments, Hermione stared back at her, fighting to control her own hostility. She knew that her frustrations stemmed from her mother's state and the current political situation more than from Gwen's gentle reminder of the way things were, but knowing this did not make her feel differently. Sensing that her ire was fading away under the nurse's soothing gaze, Hermione found at least some consolation. Her theory about Gwen's ancestry had just won more merit.
Deciding that a change of subject was the best course, Hermione glanced back towards Snape's curtained-off bed. "Out of curiosity… Pr- Mr. Snape clearly did develop an immunity to the venom of the snake that bit him. Why hasn't he made a full recovery?"
Gwen seemed to consider something briefly, then sighed. "Hermione, it is against St. Mungo's Contract of Confidential Care for me to discuss Mr. Snape's condition with you." Her mouth curled up at one corner and she went on in a low tone. "I can, however, tell you that the venoms of most snakes are neurotoxins and that developing immunity to a magical neurotoxin is considered medically impossible for reasons outlined in Rasputin's Reptilian Resource."
Recognizing a peace offering when she heard it, Hermione finally found it in her to smile warmly back. "Thanks, Gwen. I'll look into that."
She made her way out of the hospital with her head bowed slightly in thought. Several times, she had to dodge out of the way of other patients and staff members at the last minute before collision, earning a few scowls and snapped reprimands. None of this was quite enough to draw Hermione back from the bubbling stew in her mind - one of spell residues, magical neurotoxins, and babies.
