Disclaimer: No rights bekong to me. I make no money out of it. (No, I am not going to keep saying this before every chapter. But I might as well keep dropping the disclaimer here and there.)
Chapter 26: That Audacious Chit!
"Do you think I love Harry or is it just a fling?" Was the first thing Ginny blabbered as she came into the hearing distance of Hermione's bed.
"Ginny-" Hermione didn't know what she supposed to saty except laughing at the other girl's suddenness. Two Fourth year Ravenclaws on the adjacent beds looked too interested in what the red-head was saying.
"What are you laughing about?" The younger girl managed a shrug similar to that of his brother. "I want advice."
"How long have you been actually dating for?" Hermione asked. Of their blooming relationship, she was almost clueless. She had only had a brief conversation with Harry about it, and a brief words with Ginny before Hagrid had come to meet her, too.
"A week, officially," Ginny plonked herself on the stool. "But you know I always had a thing for him... What should I do?"
"I don't know..." Hermione bit her lip. It was something she had no knowledge of, to impart. "Give yourselves time."
"And do what?" She asked in a sarcastic tone. "Know each other? I've known him almost all my life. At least, the life since starting Hogwarts."
"Yes, but that had been as a friend, not a...boyfriend?" Hermione landed upon questioning than advising.
"I don't know. What's the difference between a date and a boyfriend, anyway?" She shrugged again.
"A commitment!" Hermione huffed.
"Look, I am not one of those who can commit to a lifetime of romance so soon," she stated. "I mean, I really like Harry, but I don't know if I love him. How do you decide if you want to be with someone forever?"
At that, Hermione couldn't help laughing. "You're more clueless that I thought I would be." And clueless Hermione was. How did one decide they loved someone? Well, she sighed inwardly, not that she would ever need to learn that lesson now.
The red-head sniggered. "Look, we've kissed several times, but haven't really talked about where we want to take this from here. But making out-"
"I really don't want the details, Gin," Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Oh, c'mon!" Ginny huffed. "What happened with Krum?"
"A couple of kisses," Hermione told her honestly. "That was the end of it, and whatever else there was, I think."
"He'll regret that, for sure," Ginny winked at her playfully. "Anyway, so... You think I should wait? But I don't think Harry will ever openly discuss this with me. He's just clueless. And you know how he doesn't talk talk about things..."
"Trust me, I know how Harry runs away from such conversations." Hermione shook her head, making the other girl laugh. "Ginny, I think as long as you're content with whatever you share, it's good enough. You don't need a name for it. It can start with a 'fling' as you call it, and it can lead its own path."
"And what if Harry doesn't take it as seriously as I might come to take it?" Ginny asked.
"As much as I know him," Hermione said, "His friendships and relationships matter to him the most. With the war looming over us, I think he just can't focus on anything much else."
"Yeah, right," Ginny said thoughtful. "So...I guess I'll give us time."
"Yes, that would be good," Hermione agreed. "Oh, by the way, did Harry lose the Marauder's Map? Ron was saying something about it."
"Yes, he's being weird about it," she told Hermione. "He didn't tell anyone on his own, in fact. Ron asked him the other day for his Map, then he told us that he's lost it. We think somebody might have stolen it."
"Could be..." She mused. "When was the last time he used it? When he was looking for me?"
"Yeah," Ginny nodded. "McGonagall had come to the common room, really worked up, looking for you. That was when Harry went to his dorm to check the Map. Then, he came down, white as a ghost, and Flooed McGonagall, telling her where you were."
"But why was Professor McGonagall looking for me?" She deliberately emphasised on the title.
"Don't know," Ginny shrugged. "But when she told us what had happened..." She practically shuddered, "We were so shaken up. I should be more polite but—what the hell were you doing on the bloody Tower at that time?"
Hermione gave a wry smile. "Studying?"
Ginny eyed her with seriousness. "Hermione."
"Nothing," Hermione sighed. She was not goof at sarcasm. "I was just...sitting. And I...fell." She had to avert her eyes under the guise of removing imaginary lint from her duvet.
"Hermione," the younger girl placed her hand on Hermione's, then in a low voice, said, "Are the rumours true? Did someone...push you?"
"What? No!" She quickly clarified. If she could not own up to her mistakes, she could at least keep innocent people out of trouble on her account.
"You don't have to protect anyone," she said solemnly. "Even if Dumbledore has asked you to."
"Why would the Headmaster-" She shook her head. "Ginny, no. I'm not protecting anyone, I promise. Nobody pushed me."
"I can't say I totally believe you," Ginny said. "Because yesterday, McGonagall had assigned Malfoy and his goons a month long detention—to clean all the toilets on the first and second floor."
"Really?" Hermione's first reaction was to be surprised, followed by chuckling. Though she could say why Professor McGonagall would have done that, she had not expected her Head of House to actually punish the Slytherins.
"And the reason for detention, too, was something pretty dumb," Ginny told her. "Something about Malfoy and cronies missing the curfew. I mean, you, Ron and Harry do it all the time."
Hermione couldn't keep the grin off of her face. After her fight with the Slytherins in the dungeons, any notions that she might have had about their capacity to still redeem themselves was gone for good.
"So," Ginny said in a whisper, "Did they push you?"
"No!" Hermione immediately clarified. "No, they did not. Trust me, nobody was with me on the Astronomy Tower that night."
The other girl eyed her with suspicion, then asked, "You jumped?"
Ginny had always been remarkably audacious, Gryffindor to the core. But her sudden voicing of her suspicion had caught Hermione off guard. Nobody had asked her that particular question since she had woken up. Hermione had been glad that nobody suspected that of her. But now that Ginny had the guts to ask her, Hermione didn't know anything else but to Occlude in order to successfully lie.
"No, Ginny, of course not," She said convincingly. "What gave you that impression? God!"
That seemed to have relaxed the other girl. "Oh, thank Merlin." She let out a shaky smile. "It just came to my mind from nowhere. Sorry."
"You have, after all, gone mad," Hermione attempted at a joke.
"Yeah, I guess." Ginny audibly sighed. "Oh, did you have a row with Ron?"
"He told you?"
"You think he'll admit to anything he was at fault for?" Ginny asked sarcastically.
"No."
"Exactly," Ginny leaned forward and rested her elbows on Hermione's bed. "But he refused to come with me to visit you."
Hermione was still annoyed with the boy. But she would have liked to see him, if he apologised. He was one of her best friends, after all... "He was just being a-"
"Dick?" Ginny contributed.
"Yes," Hermione chuckled as she slowly willed her Shields to slip. "I was going to use something less outrageous but you get it."
"When is Ron not a dick?" Ginny snorted. "He's been too lucky to still have you, you know. He needs to know being completely bonkers would help him lose you sooner than he could say 'dick'."
Hermione suspected something in the way Ginny had said it. "What are you...implying?"
"What? C'mon, Hermione, we all know, you love him," Ginny said as a matter-of-fact.
"We?"
"The Weasleys, all of us," Ginny elaborated and Hermione felt her stomach drop. They expected them to be together? "Mum's extremely pleased with the idea. Fred and George keep teasing Ron about you. Dad even warned Ron to be gracious with you."
"What!" Hermione was gaping, suddenly regretting having let her Shields down. "Ron told everyone?"
"No, but it's very evident," Ginny said. "I know you two are not a couple officially, but... You know Mum, she's always upon making matches and all. She had been committed to Dad since their Third or Fourth year."
"But I never said that I..." She trailed off. "We are too young!"
"Young? You're of age, and so will Ron be, soon enough," Ginny was not understanding.
"So? We have our entire lives ahead of us, with the life-expectancy of over hundred!" Hermione could not imagine what had possessed the Weasleys to draw such conclusions only by a crush that she had!
"People get married soon after they graduate, Hermione," Ginny said slowly. "I think you're so shocked because you come from a Muggle background?"
"But Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, what about them? They are graduated, too." She pointed out.
"Bill will probably get married to Phlegm by next year, Charlie is gay so I can't say what he would eventually do, Percy is a prat but some girl is dumb enough to be seeing him I've heard, and Fred and George are still expanding their shop, and George is already seeing Angelina," Ginny explained. At Hermione's horrified face, she continued, "Hermione, it's not a rule, okay? You can get married whenever you want or never, if you like. It's just a...thing, here. People like to settle down fast... Mum and Dad got married when they were Seventeen. Harry's Mum had him when she was Nineteen. There's usually no such thing as higher studies in most of the professions here. Like Percy joined the Ministry as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts. That's why people get settled quicker."
"You mean, you might get married to Harry as you graduate?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "Considering, you get sure about him," she hastily added.
"When he starts his Auror training and I have started on something, yes," she answered casually. "He's older to me by a year, so by the time I have graduated, he would be settled somewhere. And let's hope the war would be over, too."
"So... Let's say, you'll be married before crossing Twenty?" The idea just could not bode well with her. She had always thought waiting until late twenties to take such a drastic step in her personal life, when she was settled well in her profession. Truly, she could never understand some traditions the Wizarding World favoured.
"Pretty much before that, yes," she admitted. "But it's not a rule. You can make Ron wait till you're fifty, and he better waits because he's not getting anyone better than you!"
Ron. They all thought that she would... With Ron. Even if her reality with Professor Snape was not to be considered, she might still not have been with Ron... Or maybe she might have, but she could never explore that angle now.
They demanded very differently of life, if she considered their future. Where Hermione wanted a distinguished career, Ron wanted a family, she knew him. Though she was not averse to the idea of a family, she would consider it only after establishing herself well.
Hermione wanted to explore, to travel, to find herself in the expansions of the Wizarding World. But Ron... So was not the case with him. He wanted domestic bliss. Although she did not know how she would ever fulfil her own ambitions with her current plight with the Professor, she wouldn't have at least knowingly gotten married to a person so different from herself... Thoughts like that confused her—would she have been with Ron, had the bonding ceremony never happened?
"Ginny," she Hermione carefully, "I'm not sure if Ron and I... If we are even a thing..."
"He won't initiate, I know," the younger girl missed the point. "You'll have to spoon feed him, I guess, though he really does love you. Okay, honestly, I don't know how you even tolerate my dick of a brother."
Ginny was not even considering it a possibility that she, Hermione, might not want anything more than a friendship to blossom between Ron and herself. There was not even the prospect of 'trying' when it came to them, because of the bond.
As much as the bond irked her, Ginny's implication that Ron and Hermione were expected to be together annoyed her even more. That was a very personal decision. Families could not interfere in such an initial step of a supposed relationship. It was not like they were going to get married immediately that the families were involved!
Now that she thought of it, was Ron the sole reason Mrs. Weasley was so affectionate towards Hermione? No, she told herself. Mrs. Weasley was just as loving towards Harry, too. But even Harry might have a future with Ginny now! Was the entire Weasley family looking for partners for their children!
Her decision of not being with Ron would affect her relationship with the Weasleys as a whole. Hermione wished that was not the case. She really adored the family. In the light of the now standing bond between herself and Professor Snape, Hermione had decided that before anything more than a friendship sparked with Ron, she would discourage it politely. But now that she thought of it, her 'discouraging' might soil a perfectly beautiful friendship.
What a mess!
So leaving Ron would mean losing a precious friend and a lovely family. There was no other option, anyway, she told herself, vaguely twisting the invisible band on her finger.
She looked at Ginny. No, now was not the time. Hermione had to dissuade Ron's feelings before telling any of the Weasleys of her decision. Not the other way around.
"Tell me, what's going on in the common room?" Hermione switched the subject to what Ginny would talk about with interest. "Anything that I should know of?"
A sly smile played on the red-head's lips. "You know, there's something going on between Seamus and Parvati. So, the other day..."
UUUUUUU
More than five years of a beautiful friendship.
Hermione scribbled in her diary.
And in these years, we have lived through a slew of adventures, both enthralling and endangering. Now, because of the bond-
Hermione stopped. She decided she would keep the writing on the pages of diary hidden under spells—when she got her wand back. She had already logged some classified information in her journal.
...I find myself on the verge of losing a dear friend. Ron. Ron, I know, has feelings for me. For my part, I do love him, very much, but as a friend. Yes, I did feel the same way for him as he does for me, now. But Ron and I are very different, so different that we can't be together. Though I don't really feel romantically for him, I can't even explore because of the bond... I think, the idea that I will never have love in my life is more painful than the idea that I can't give a try to Ron.
For me, love has always been important. I wanted to be with a person with whom I can be an open book, no secrets, no fears... Who would love me for who I am, whoever I am.
But now that that idea does not stand a chance and is shattered, I don't even want to give my mind the least bit of liberty to stray in that direction...
And she let go of all that ached her heart so.
When she was finally calm, she noticed she had filled five pages already. She felt sated and clean? She felt light...like writing it down gave her an assurance that she would live through this, too. Hermione smiled to herself, the Professor was indeed a creative man. She wondered if he, too, maintained a diary like that? If he did, did he jot his sarcastic comebacks there? She giggled.
Hermione looked down at her diary and caressed the cover gently, feeling the texture of the leather beneath the pads of her fingers. Writing might actually help her get through. And get through, she had to.
UUUUUUU
Hermione studied the object before her in awe and apprehension. She had never really seen a Charmed-Chair before or even read about it. Wizards didn't often lose their motor functions for long, or if they did, they ended up with magical prosthetics, like Alastor Moody's magical eye.
But Hermione knew she was going to be confined to the Chair in front of her for two months or more. The thought in itself was dismaying. But if she compared that to the much worse results she could have ended up with, like losing her legs forever, the temporary confinement seemed better. Considering the foolish stunt she had tried to pull, she begrudgingly accepted that she deserved to face the consequences.
The Chair would no doubt pose inconvenience to some extent, especially transferring herself to and from it. But Karly would assist her. It would also make Hermione more conspicuous a subject for a while—more than she already was, due to her supposed accident. Roaming around the school in a Chair would not exactly be in Hermione's favour, but it was her only option. She could not miss more classes because of her injuries.
The Chair itself seemed more or less like a Muggle wheelchair, but without wheels. The Charmed-Chair was to float in the air, a little above the ground, as high as a Muggle wheelchair would be. Hermione's feet were to be settled atop the foot plates provided at the base. The black leather seat and backrest made it look comfortable enough. The arms of the chair were half-cushioned, to accommodate her forearms. Beyond that, the material had changed to metal.
There, on the metal surface of the left arm, Hermione could trace the direction she wanted to go in, with her fingers. The magic would thus lead the Chair. The left arm was preferable because she used her wand in her right. For a brake, she was only to tap the metal arm with two fingers, twice.
The Chair was Charmed not only to float when it moved, but also rise to a certain height from the ground or lower itself to aid her with the desks in classrooms. On the stairs, the Chair would accommodate itself up and down on Hermione's commend. It came with a mild Sticking Charm to prevent her from falling at any time.
Professor Flitwick, Hermione was told, had been very kind to put strong Anti-tampering Charms on the Chair, too. Hermione made a mental note to thank the Professor the next time she saw him.
"Let's get you settled, shall we?" Madam Pomfrey brought the Chair closer to Hermione's bed with the handgrips.
"I believe the house-elf can be of help here, yes?" Professor McGonagall beckoned Karly, who leaped with joy at the prospect of being of assistance.
Hermione looked from the Chair to Karly, at a loss. Her lower body was still paralysed, and magically healing. If they expected her to move somehow to the Chair...
Her train of thoughts broke as she gasped. Karly had used her magic to slightly levitate her from the bed. Within a second, Hermione found herself sitting in the Charmed-Chair. Due to her gown, that only reached her knees and the loss of the duvet that was usually draped on her lower body, the extent of her injuries was left visible, making Hermione quite self-conscious.
"Never mind that, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall seemed to have gotten the idea, for she Transfigured a light blanket from an empty potions vial, for Hermione. Draping it over her legs, Hermione mumbled her thanks, a little embarrassed.
"Are you comfortable, Miss Granger?" The Medi-witch asked. "Any pain?"
"No, Ma'am," she adjusted herself a bit—as much as her body could accommodate her movements.
"Let's get you moving , then," Madam Pomfrey stepped back and opened the curtains. "Test the Chair here."
The Hospital Wing was now empty except Hermione—the two Ravenclaws now discharged. She had a wide space to test the Chair, without any spectators gawking at her—though that would happen as soon as she resumed classes, for sure.
Hermione traced her index finger on the left arm of the chair. The metal was cold to touch, but she could also feel the sensitivity with which the Charms of the Chair responded to the order, as well as how the magic swirled in that area. With a slid of her finger forward, the Chair moved forward, too, but with a jolt.
Hermione yelped when she thought she would collide with the opposite wall, and in reflex, left the metal arm to clutch the leather part tightly, instead. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the collision. But when none came, she finally looked up. The Chair had stopped of its own accord.
"Now I know why you almost failed your flying lessons in your First year, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's voice had a hint of amusement, and Madam Pomfrey gave an un-lady-like snort.
Hermione could feel her face warming and pictured it to be blushing red. "Have they provided a brochure along with the Chair?" She asked, looking back at the two ladies.
"Not everything can be learnt from books, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey was giving her a tight-lipped smile. "Come now, you have the entire afternoon to practise."
Hermione sighed. God, she truly despised being anywhere above the ground. She again traced a finger so as to turn to her left.
She practised moving down the row of empty beds. As she moved, she decided to keep her finger on the control area to keep the speed in check and avoid jerky movements.
She was allowed to attend classes from the coming Monday. Hermione was glad to be leaving the Hospital Wing after her long stay. Although, she would have to report back to the Infirmary by curfew, until she was on the Chair. A private room would be assigned to her from the Isolation-Ward that opened next to the door of Madam Pomfrey's office. The said Ward was only seldom in use now, because the students who caught a communicable disease at Hogwarts were immediately sent to St. Mungo's.
The decision was wise. She was heavily dependent on Karly. Hermione was not comfortable in showing her infirmity to her roommates, especially when the two were such gossipmongers. The other reason was that her dormitory had shower stalls, but as Hermione could not be on her feet, yet, the bath in the private room would be more suitable.
But at least, she did not have to miss more classes than she already had. She could spend her time at the Library or the Gryffindor common room at her will. She was secretly happy about the fact that if she spent more time along with Madam Pomfrey, it would accelerate her curriculum of learning Healing magic. The Medi-witch might even let her assist outside of the decided schedule.
But first, she decided, as she took another turn, she would like to go outside to get some fresh air and sun.
It took Hermione about half an hour to get the hang of moving with the Chair, and another half an hour to control her fears that were screaming at her about the vulnerability of the being above the ground, floating in thin air. But at last, she felt comfortable enough to spend the coming weeks on the new magical artefact.
UUUUUUU
Severus' day had gone extremely poorly. It started with an early morning firecall from the Headmaster. The old man was experiencing the effects of the curse in his hand, reminding Severus of how little time his employer had got. On his part, Severus was increasingly feeling like his Mastery in Potions was of no worth at all! Nothing he brew could release Albus of the curse.
The rest of the day went in teaching dunderheads. Potter, Severus had noted, had a suspicious gaze set on him whenever he thought the Potions Master was not looking. The Potter boy was planning something, Severus was certain. That was another mystery to solve. And Draco, that boy was exceptionally exasperating. Severus had still to get any lead of what the boy was up to. Moreover, after the well-deserved detention that Minerva had assigned to him, in the name of breaking curfew—but actually to punish him for attacking Granger, the obnoxious lad had come to him, whinging. Of course, Severus had dismissed the boy, expressing his own disappointment in him for his misconduct and for dousing the House reputation.
Currently, he was in his Private Lab in his quarters, his workbench bearing a burning cauldron. A Bubblehead Charm was smug around his head as he leaned into the cauldron to study the potion in making. It was an attempt at another remedy for the dimwitted old man who had gone venturing into the metaphorical woods and returned with a sorry case of fatal curse.
Why do I even bother!
The fumes emitting from the cauldron were slightly toxic, thus the Charm. Severus had little hope from the potion, which had nothing to do with his overall pessimistic attitude. He stirred the cauldron clockwise, waiting for the the liquid to attain the desired hue.
After having added Horseradish and Leaping Toadstool, the potion was required to attain a dull yellow.
A small glass vial, filled with Albus' blood sat waiting near the cauldron. When the potion attained the colour, Severus would have to pour the blood into it. If the mixture turned white, the potion could prolong the Headmaster's life by eighteen months.
The quality of Severus' day was further exacerbated when the Floo in his living room went alive. Normally, nobody could step in without his explicit permission, but the Headmaster was more of an omnipotent tyrant in the school and did not need permission to access any area of the castle.
Though Albus usually waited until Severus invited him in, even if only for formality. But today, he did not wait. Severus heard the man stepping through without reservations. He had an inkling that whatever business had brought the old man to his quarters was not going to be pleasant.
"Severus?" Albus called from the living room.
"My Lab, Headmaster," Severus called dryly. The potion that he was making needed his undivided attention so he could not humour the old man, or so he would have the said old man believe.
Albus showed up at his door. The Headmaster bore trepidation on his usually calm face. "Severus."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Albus?" He did not bother to hide his extreme displeasure at being interrupted.
"Were you summoned recently?" He asked.
Severus looked up with a frown, "Had I been, you would have received my Patronus. What kind of a question is this!"
"Did your arm burn, indicating to any Death Eater activity?" Albus went on.
"My arm burns only when I am being summoned!" Severus said irritably.
"Did you get any news of any activities that were to take place?" The Headmaster continued with his inane inquiries.
Severus gave the stirrer a loud clang to the side of the cauldron. "Believe me, Albus, I am not in the mood to play 'Twenty Questions' in the middle of brewing a potion to save your not-too-long a life!"
If Severus' harsh comment affected the old man, he did not show. "There has been an attack, Severus."
"Yes, I did gather that much," he growled. "Will you give me the details any time this century!"
"In a Muggle village, in Birmingham," Albus told him gravely. "The Death Eaters burned the entire village down, and left the Dark Mark swirling in the sky."
"Casualties?" Severus asked tersely.
"The Muggle authorities are looking into it," Albus elaborated. "We don't know for sure but more than sixty people are burned alive, and numerous are taken to the hospitals. Our Ministry officials are currently handling the situation and casting the Memory Modifications wherever needed." It would make the headlines the next day, he was certain.
A significant attack where he was neither involved nor informed of, by the Dark Lord. Thus, they could do absolutely nothing while innocent Muggles burned in their houses.
Neither spoke the obvious while both the wizards contemplated over the same.
"Do you think it could be because of your supposed lack of care with Miss Granger's accident?" Albus asked.
"I cannot say for certain," he muttered. The Dark Lord was indeed displeased with him. The punishment that he bestowed upon Severus that fateful night when he bore the unfortunate news of Granger's 'accident' was only a way to vent his anger.
It meant that he was losing trust in the Dark Lord's eyes. Severus would have to come up with a plan to earn the dark wizard's favours again. Even if it meant that Severus would have to lick the bastard's boots, and reduce himself to worse than a house-elf.
"We need a plan, Albus," he stated.
"Do you have anything in mind, my boy?" Albus asked somewhat forlornly. He looked weary and old suddenly, reminding Severus even more how soon the Order would be losing their venerable leader.
"I need to bear information to him," he said. "We need to feign a scene, a treat for him to strike, based on what I provide him with."
"That is a very parlous plan, Severus," Albus objected.
"Help me recall what will befall us if I lose my ranks?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Catastrophe," Albus said with a resigned sigh.
"Indeed." Severus agreed.
UUUUUUU
Hermione was feeling fresh after an actual bath. Since the day she had woken up, and presumably when she was in a coma, Karly was instructed to help Hermione with performing her morning ablutions with spells. Although clean, they left Hermione wishing to take an actual bath.
But now that she was allowed out of bed, Karly had helped her to the bath and left to give Hermione privacy. She had taken about an hour in the warm, foamy water, only coming out when Karly was becoming hysterical with worry.
Now that she sat on her bed again, with the tray of food hovering over her lap, Hermione was smiling to herself. She had missed the dainty fragrance of sandalwood in her hair from the Muggle shampoo that she preferred. Her hair was still wet but she was enjoying her curls as they clung to her neck, even though she knew they must be going wild, uncombed as they were—a girl's guilty-pleasure.
Hermione was also promoted from boiled and bland food to only bland food. Her soup was prepared with small chunks of chicken in the mix. A mild fruit-pudding was resting on the tray, calling for Hermione's attention after she finished the soup. A large glass of milk Hermione left for the last.
She didn't expect to have company when she ate, so when someone called from outside the curtains, she was taken by surprise.
"Hermione?" It was Ron. A small smile made its way to her lips. Since their altercation, Ron had not shown up. Hermione, though annoyed, still missed her friend. No, she told herself, pretend to be angry. She stifled the smile quickly—Ron needed to realise that he could not take liberties to comment on people's physical appearance and get away with it.
"Come in," she called, keeping her spoon down.
Her red-head friend stepped in with some expected hesitance. Ron, when having realised his fault, acted in a certain way and Hermione was privy to his exact manners.
"Hey," he said awkwardly.
She made sure to give him a pointed look, although she also knew that she would not be able to hold it for long.
"Can I...sit?"
She gestured to the stool that was kept beneath her bed. Ron dragged the stool out and sat carefully atop rather than plonking on it, another sign of his guilt.
"H-How're you?"
"Fine," she answered in a monosyllable.
"Er... You got your Chair?" He was looking at the Charmed-Chair that was parked beside the armchair that Professor Snape always chose.
"Yes," she picked up her spoon again, and resumed eating her soup.
"You able to er...move it well?" He asked in order to drive the conversation further.
"Yes." Hermione was trying not to enjoy putting Ron through it.
"Good," he mumbled. "It'll be...really great to...have you back in class, you know."
Hermione deliberately shrugged, her eyes on her food.
Ron huffed a sigh. "Hermione, look...I know I had been a royal prat that day..."
"Yes, you have been," she said bluntly.
"Yeah, I know..." He mumbled. "Look, I was...I don't know what the hell I was blabbering about that day."
"You sounded quite confined to me," she contributed.
"No... Hermione, I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" He said lowering his voice as he always did when apologising. "Whatever I said 'bout your...scars and Harry... I was just being a git, I guess."
"You guess?" She finally looked at him, raising her brows in challenge.
"I know, I was being a git," he amended. "I didn't mean any of that, I swear. It all came out wrong."
"Then you should have thought before speaking," She said simply, keeping her tone firm.
"I get it now," he said softly. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to say that you are not beautiful or anything. You are! It just..." He was struggling for the right words. "I couldn't see you like this... You keep us intact, then seeing you like this... It's..."
Hermione sighed. "Ron," she said, "Look up." He raised his head up. "I am fine," she enunciated. "Yes, I will take time to be back to normal, but I'm not...broken."
"That was not I was implying-"
"Ron, whatever happened-" She willed her guilt to be quelled for the time being, "-was a huge jolt to me. But I'm glad to be alive, at least."
"So am I," he raised his hand to place it on her knee, then thought better of it.
"Ron," she said, "These scars, that Chair—they're all a part of me now, for however long it takes me to recover. If I can accept it, the others should, too. These things does not make me a different person."
"I do accept it, Hermione," he said solemnly. "But I just want to see you get better is all."
"I will, in time," she said in a way that she thought was reassuring.
Ron was concerned... He loved her, it must have been hard for him to see her in her state. Hermione never looked at it from his vantage point. For somebody like Ron who was not good with expressing what he felt, his words must have fooled him when he delivered them.
He meant well. That was just how he was...
"Did you have dinner?" She asked.
"Nope," he shrugged. "This was the only time I could come to see you. I have Quidditch practises after this..."
Hermione noticed Ron's gaze lingering on the small bowl of pudding on her tray. She chuckled lightly.
"Take!" She handed the bowl to him. Ron's eyes practically lit up. Hermione gave him a spoon, "Do practise manners."
He grinned widely and Hermione chucked again, looking fondly at her friend as he ate.
"You wan'?" He asked with his mouth full.
Ron could never change. "Ronald, your table manners can rival that of a barbarian's!"
He shrugged and kept eating.
She had missed it, so very much, she said to herself, throwing the serviette at her red-head friend who was currently hogging the pudding in strides.
UUUUUU
Going to the Hospital Wing on Friday evening, Severus was more than glad to have chosen to venture out well after curfew, as a strong muscle spasm hit him.
He curses under his breath and trotted to a side in the corridor leading to the Infirmary. Severus looked down the dimly-lit corridor to check if Granger's little friends were lurking about. He neither saw nor heard anything out of ordinary. He leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth.
Severus clutched his torso with both arms tightly in a vain effort to quell the pain that was unashamedly racking his body. There was no chair or bench in sight for him to sit. He doubled over in pain.
A buzzing started in his ears and waves of cold sweat submerged him. Severus slumped down and knelt on the mercilessly hard and freezing stone floor. The spasm was intensified by the effects the most recent bout of Cruciatus had left him with, the last he had gone before the megalomaniac of a dark wizard to inform him about Granger's 'accident'.
With no audience to witness his moment of infirmity, Severus let a keening groan escape his lips and squeezed his eyes shut in pain. He was in a dire need to take his potion, but he could not risk summoning a delicate vial from his Lab in his quarters.
Why the hell are you not carrying it on your bloody person, you idiot!
He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Slow and- Fuck! Breathing would not help! He needed his potion. Severus clenched his hands tightly into fists as excruciating pain racked his body.
Timmer! The house-elf! He could call his house-elf! Timmer could get the potion to him, just like he had brought Granger's jam jar on his order, at the beginning of the term.
He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. Why didn't I think of it before! Is your mind spasming, too, you idiot!
Another series of spasms rippled through his body and Severus tried to subdue the pain, wrapping his arms around himself firmly in another futile attempt.
He needed to summon the house-elf before he collapsed on the sidewalk of a solitary corridor!
But before he could call the said house-elf, a different elf appeared before him with the customary pop.
"Potions Master, Professor Snape, Sir!" The elf's squealed resounded against the buzzing in Severus' ears. He recognised the elf as the one who was assigned to Granger, and cursed under his breath, again.
He attempted to regain some composure and dared to sit up, only to be toppled over again.
"Master Snape!" The elf practically cried. The last thing Severus needed was a group of gawking students or nosy colleagues to spectate his current plight. Merlin forbid, if that meddlesome Medi-witch, Poppy, found him like that, he would be a resident in her godforsaken Hospital Wing for weeks!
When the spasm abated for a blissful moment, with a promise to return in a couple of minutes, Severus finally mustered enough will to sit up and ran his hand over his sweat-dripping, clammy face.
He looked up at the horrified house-elf. A sudden wave of incensed annoyance overpowered him at the glaring evidence of pathos written on the elf's face. "What!" He barked.
The elf in question squeaked and jumped back. "M-Master..."
"What do you want!" He bit out, despising himself for panting as he spoke.
"Master," the house-elf quickly held out her hand that was clutching a poton vial—a Pain Reliever, Severus recognised it in a moment. "Miss tells Karly to gives this to Master..."
Granger! He found himself fuming. Of course, the girl could tell when he was fighting an affliction! How could he have forgotten about it! The bond left no sense of privacy to prevail between them.
How dare the officious girl meddle where her nose does not belong!
Another spasm threatened to assault him. The Pain Reliever was not the Anti-spasmodic that he took, but it would provide him enough time to call Timmer and ask for a vial from his Lab.
Severus held out his hand, then instantly regretting the sudden movement. "Give!" He barked. The house-elf immediately complied and dropped the vial in his hand.
"Go away!" He ordered harshly, fighting the agony. The house-elf popped away without another word, leaving him relatively peaceful.
Severus quickly uncorked the vial with shaking hands. He downed the contents in a single go. He heaved a deep sigh and settled against the wall, waiting for the current spasm to subside enough to call Timmer with some semblance of his usual composure.
But the pain could not abate his growing anger towards Granger. How dare she sent the elf to him with a Pain Reliever! It was not her place! Did she think he needed her unsolicited assistance? He was well-capable of looking after his own needs.
He did not need pity from that chit of an officious girl! He absolutely abhorred being fussed over or being pitied! Just having the knowledge of his personal scourge did not grant her permission to take liberties with him!
When the pain had mostly subsided, leaving him trembling but composed, Severus attempted to climb to his feet slowly. He supported himself with one hand on the wall, wincing at the residue of pain.
"Timmer!" He called. The house-elf appeared immediately.
"Master calls Timmer?"
"Timmer," he said in his most forbidding of tones to cover his lack in appearance, "Go to my Private Lab and bring the potion with blue liquid, stored in the uppermost shelf on the right. Quick!"
The elf popped away after bobbing his head once.
Severus left his Lab in shambles after the potion he was preparing for Albus had failed. Instead of attaining a pearly white, it attained a dull grey, taunting Severus on his sudden incompetence!
As anger had surged through his veins, the Potions Master vanished the potion that was the bane of his existence currently and tossed the cauldron to the floor in the heat of his fury. His behaviour, he admitted, was rather childish, but with everything weighing on his mind, was acceptable to him.
Albus had still to come up with a plausible plan to trick the Dark Lord and for Severus to crawl back into his favours. They could not let such atrocities taking place without any knowledge from within.
Severus did not have to wait long before Timmer reappeared with the required vial. Severus took it from the small elf and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
As the potion travelled down his throat, Severus sighed in relief. It was a very efficient brew, one that Severus had prepared for himself by making changes in the recipe of the usual Anti-spasmodic. He always kept that and the Pain Reliever for his headache in store, since re-joining the Dark Lord's ranks.
His headache! Yes! Granger had once given him a Muggle Aspirin for his headache back at Spinner's End when he was out of Pain Reliever. He had accepted the proffered medicine from her without another thought. That must have provided her with the false notion that he needed her help. Severus should have quelled that pathetic notion right away!
Granger had absolutely no right to meddle in his personal affairs—just like he did not have such a right over her. He would be sure to instil that bit of sense in her.
UUUUUUU
Hermione had been making her notes from her Defence textbook of the classes that she had missed, because Harry never bothered to make notes in that particular class and Ron never bothered to make notes in any class. It was when she was going through her writing that it came to her knowledge, like it had so many times before, Professor Snape was suffering from another muscle spasm. Headaches and spasms were a commonplace with the Professor, she had learnt in the previous months.
She thought to ask him many a times why it was that he suffered so frequently with such violent bouts, but asking him such a personal question always made her feel like she was crossing a boundary. So she never touched the subject with him.
Usually, his spasms subsided in a couple minutes from starting, she always got the knowledge when they begun and when they abated, disturbing though it was. Headaches, however, took longer to be subsided. She often wondered if he was even being properly treated for the ailment.
But now that she sat reading over her notes, Hermione found herself apprehensive. It had been more than five minutes and the spasm was still tormenting his body. Why was he not taking whatever potion he took for it?
She bit her lip. Was he out of that potion like he had ran out of potion for his headache once, in the summer? But the spasm was more viscous than a simple headache. Was he summoned? But she had not known of any burning in his forearm, as she usually got to know of...
Hermione doubted he would see Madam Pomfrey if he really was out of potions to treat himself. He might not have gotten time to brew any for himself as he was brewing so many doses for her.
Hermione glanced at the various vials kept on top of her bedside cabinet. It was also around the time he came to see her, everyday, so perhaps he was somewhere on the way? Karly might be able to find him.
"Karly?"
"Yes, Miss?" Karly, who was sitting on her usual place in the corner, jumped to attention.
"Karly, can you go and give this vial to Professor Snape?" She picked a glass vial from the cabinet and handed it to her.
"Yes, Miss!" She grinned, taking the vial with great care from Hermione. When she disappeared, Hermione sat in concentration to the trail in her mind that gave her updates about his current health.
It was after five minutes that his spasms subsided completely. She sighed in relief. It had been a long and tormenting assault. By the considerably little knowledge she had of Healing, Hermione could tell that whatever ailment the Professor was suffering from was more serious than he was treating it as. she made a mental note to read more about muscle spasms and nerve damage. It was certainly not healthy.
With that, she went back to her notes. Her classmates were probably very much advanced on casting Non-verbals by now. As she would get her wand back, she had to begin practising the spells. They were not only significant for her NEWTs, but also a strong defence in the war. If the enemy was not even aware of the curse that hit him, he could not cast a counter-curse. Not every wizard could cast Non-verbals smoothly, though. If the people directly related to the war were smooth enough, it would give them an upper-hand. But along with that, they also needed to be aware of the Non-verbals cast on them in order to protect themselves.
With her Chair, she doubted she would have much success at defending herself. But she could, at the very least, attain a grip at Non-verbals and could later train herself with the other aspects, when she would be on her feet.
The Infirmary door swung open with more force than required. The squeak of the rusting hinges grabbed Hermione's attention. She could see Professor Snape taking brisk steps towards her, from the slit in the curtains.
"Miss Granger?" He called from outside, as he always did. His voice was dry today, she noted. Perhaps, due to the pain he was in, but would show no signs of, now.
"Professor," she responded.
He stepped in. One look at him and Hermione knew he was seething with anger. His lips were pursed in a thin line, and eyes narrowed and piercing. The way he billowed his cloak as he walked made him look every bit like the man he had seen in class for the last five years. There was no hint of the man who came to see and talk to her everyday, though. At that realisation, Hermione suddenly felt...bereft? Of what? A fragile truce that they had established? Or perhaps only she had established while he remained impassive.
"Miss Granger," Hermione suppressed her urge to flinch at his severe tone, "What, may I ask, gave you the impression that you are in a position to intermeddle in my affairs!"
"Sorry, Sir?" She found herself at a loss to what he was implying.
"Oh, yes, that you should be," he spat in disdain.
"Sir, what-," she began, only to be silenced by his raised palm.
"You, Miss Granger, would do better to keep in mind that you are, in no way, to interfere where you do not belong, in regards to me," he said harshly.
"Professor," she frowned, "What are you talking about? I'm not-"
"What possessed you to send that damn potion to me, girl!" He demanded.
Oh, it's about the potion. His harsh use of 'girl' saddened her for some reason. "Sir, you were in need of it-"
"Who do you think, girl, you are to decide what I am in need of?" He said in a dangerously low voice, his black eyes glaring into hers.
"Sir, you do know I get to... I get the knowledge of it," she said, keeping her voice levelled. Hermione could still not understand what there was to be so furious about.
"And having the mere knowledge gives you the right to pry into matters that do not concern you?" He said bitterly.
"Pry- Sir, your spasms usually subside in a couple of minutes, but today, they did not," she attempted at explaining. "I assumed you had ran out of potion, so I asked Karly to-"
"You assumed." He put emphasis on the word.
"I was only trying to help," she did not know what else to say. There was nothing for him to accuse her of.
"How dare you even think that your assistance would be required by me!" He spat. "You better not forget your place-"
"Excuse me?" In that instant, Malfoy's words reverberated in Hermione's ears, words so similar to what the Professor was uttering. "My place?" It was her turn to spit the words out. "Maybe you can tell me what my place is."
"Do not try to digress from the point," he bit out. "What right do you think you have to-"
"To what? Be humane to someone?" She folded her arms to her chest.
"Your pity has no place here," he said from between clenched teeth.
"What? Pity?" Hermione huffed. "It was a simple thing to do. You are brewing for me on a regular basis. I thought you didn't have time to brew your own potion, so I sent Karly with a vial. What's wrong with that?"
"Your presumptions and pathetically vain efforts at expressing gratitude are not welcome!" Now, Hermione felt that he was going around in circles, without an actual point to make.
Maybe he was enraged by something else entirely, and was displacing his anger on her for an absolutely decent act. That was plausible.
He had been nothing but kind to her in the past days, especially the day before when Hermione had blabbered about how she felt. It would only be the right thing to provide an ear to him—if he liked. She would not force him and accelerate his anger.
So, she unfolded her arms and sat back. "I'm sorry if you got that impression, Sir." She said in a plain, yet respectful, voice, looking at him expectantly. That voice and casual demeanour usually worked with Ron and Harry when they were keeping within themselves something they actually wanted to expel but couldn't.
She gestured towards the armchair. "Please, have a seat, Sir."
That seemed to have an impact on him. The Professor looked to have taken aback momentarily at her nonchalance and lack of mutual anger.
"Miss Granger, did you hear a word of what I said!" He bit out exasperatedly.
"Yes, Sir, I did," she said simply. "You didn't need my help. I should not have sent you the potion."
She could see a nerve on his temple pulsing with anger. "What are you playing at, girl!"
"You are angry, Sir, but not at me—or at least, not only at me," she stated boldly. When he opened his mouth to say something, she added, "It is not a presumption."
Hermione was seldom shy of saying what she believed in. That boldness—or audaciousness as some assumed, she thought, was the reason why the Sorting Hat had put her not in Ravenclaw but in Gryffindor.
But apparently, the Professor was not expecting that kind of response from her. Hermione had to bite her inner cheek to keep from chuckling at his look of speechlessness, a look she had never seen him donning.
"I will not be spoken to like that!" He stated when there was no other objection he could raise.
"Like what, Sir?" Hermione asked. "I'm only stating the truth. Correct me, if I'm wrong." For a moment, she thought that the bond would take his words as an order and punish her. But the bond did not react, perhaps because her tone had held no disdain to which he could be truly offended.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek!" He growled.
"Sorry, Sir."
Hermione could forever take pride over leaving Professor Severus Snape at such a dire loss of words. Now, she could tell, he was angry over the fact that she was neither giving him any reason nor reciprocating his anger.
When none of them spoke for some time, Hermione broke the silence. "Thank you for the diary, Professor. I think writing might actually help me."
His eyes glanced at the diary in question kept on the bedside cabinet. He folded his arms to his chest and grunted something indecipherable in response.
What else could she say to initiate a conversation? Getting the Professor to start talking was an arduous task, indeed. She doubted he would ever be as open to her as she had been to him the day before.
"Did you see my Chair, Professor?" She gestured towards her Charmed-chair. "It is very well-functioning. So much better than a Muggle wheelchair. Professor Flitwick has even put an Anti-tampering spell on it."
Finally, he moved towards the Chair to examine it more closely. Hermione mentally congratulated herself on the little success to drive Severus Snape out of his shell.
"It is accommodating to your needs, I take it then," he said, studying it.
"Yes," she said with a small smile. "I spent one hour on it today to get the hang of the control system. Considering what a poor flyer I am, one hour was relatively less time for me to adjust myself to the magic."
UUUUUUU
Granger gestured towards the armchair. "Please, have a seat, Sir."
That was not the reaction Severus was expecting from the girl. Only a moment ago, she was reciprocating his anger. What happened all of a sudden!
How dare she apologise to him! He was certain she was taunting him! Though that thought did not come with as much as fervour as it should have.
"Miss Granger, did you hear a word of what I said!" Severus bit out exasperatedly.
"Yes, Sir, I did," the girl said simply. "You didn't need my help. I should not have sent you the potion."
Severus clenched his jaws shut. "What are you playing at, girl!"
"You are angry, Sir, but not at me—or at least, not only at me," Granger stated without a hint of hesitation. Then even had the effrontery to add, "It is not a presumption."
Not for thr first time, Severus found himself feeling affronted—the girl was not even intimidated by him! She even had the temerity not only to state her observation but also to try and abate his anger!
"I will not be spoken to like that!" He announced.
"Like what, Sir?" Granger asked. "I'm only stating the truth. Correct me, if I'm wrong."
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek!" He growled. How dare she-
"Sorry, Sir."
What!
Insolence he could handle but- What was he supposed to react to her attempts at placating him! People either mutually responded to his bait or simply cowed into being obliging. But Granger did none.
The silence weighed heavily on Severus. He could not come up with a valid response. The girl was not threatened by him, to his extreme chagrin. He could not vent his anger on her because apparently, she did not send the Pain Reliever out of pity, but common sense, assuming that he might not have had the time to brew for himself among the chaos.
"Thank you for the diary, Professor. I think writing might actually help me."
He glanced at the diary in question kept on the bedside cabinet. Severus folded his arms to his chest. There was a reason he had sent the diary while she slept and not handed it himself—because he did not want to discuss his act any further.
"Did you see my Chair, Professor?" Granger gestured towards her Charmed-Chair. "It is very well-functioning. So much better than a Muggle wheelchair. Professor Flitwick has even put an Anti-tampering spell on it."
Finally, something for him to do and quell the awkwardness hanging in the air.
He decided to examine the Chair more closely. It had a fair amount of well-placed Charms working into the mechanisms. The girl would even be able to attend the Defence lessons without hindrance. Of course, she would have to grow better reflexes until she did not get back on her feet. But that was no reason for her to skip any lessons or for Severus to be any lenient towards her.
He surmised he should contribute a word or two from his side. "It is accommodating to your needs, I take it then." He did not look at Granger, suddenly feeling quite fazed for his earlier burst of fury. He seldom felt abashed over his overreactions to people. Today, he was.
But Severus would embrace death before admitting to his lapse of judgment there.
"Yes," she said, sounding too cheery for someone having been a target of his anger only a few minutes ago. "I spent one hour on it today to get the hang of the control system. Considering what a poor flyer I am, one hour was relatively less time for me to adjust myself to the magic."
Well, he hadn't seen the girl on a broom ever, unlike her little, menacing friends.
Severus decided to finally sit. There was a good part of thirty minutes still left before he could make his exit. He never felt embarrassed even after realising that his fury was without a reason. But after Granger's straightforwardness, he did find himself rather discomfited.
Of course, he had laden the brunt of his pent up annoyances on her. But Severus often did that—mostly on his students. Nobody had had the gall to raise an objection, nobody but the insufferably bold Granger menace!
But a fact to which Severus would give his admittance was that he had a tenfold preference to the audacious Granger over the contrite Granger.
"There has been an attack," Severus found himself saying to a very attentive listener. "An activity to which I was not made privy..."
When he would ask himself the next day why he thought that opening up to the Granger girl would be the wisest course of action, he wouldn't have an answer, save for the lingering feeling of having a weight released by talking. And in a more logical frame of mind, he would just tell himself that it was imperative for Granger to know about the Death Eater activities taking place.
UUUUUUU
Hermione could not say what astounded her more—the attack on the Muggle village or Professor Snape's willingness to share information with her. But as he spoke, Hermione knew better than to interrupt him. She was listening to him with absolute attention.
As he described the attack, though his expression gave away nothing—now she recognised his erected Shields to be accommodating him—she could hear a note of remorse in his voice.
The attack, especially, had hit too close to home, having been im a Muggle village. She was dreading to read the Prophet the next morning. The Professor had not gone into details about the casualties. He had deliberately skipped that part, she could tell.
Although the way he narrated the events, he made a pretence of apprising her of the news for official purposes, she could read between the lines. He was not cognizant to the attack, thus he could not stop the attack. For that, he felt responsible. His narration was also an attempt to vent—in a non-aggressive manner now.
He also gave her a brief about a plan they would come up with in order to convince Voldemort of his fidelity to him. But the plan was still to be outlined.
"But when that information fails, what will you tell him?" She asked.
"We will plan in such a way that the Death Eaters will be under the impression that they did cause enough damage, and failed due to the expected meddling of the Order," he gave a vague answer due to the lack of an actual plan. "The Headmaster will arrange an Order meeting before the plan is executed."
"When?" She asked.
"I do not know yet," the Professor said. "But I do believe you will be a part of the meeting, as well. You will be sworn in."
"I am glad that they are letting me join while I'm still at Hogwarts."
"That is hardly a factor. The Headmaster believes that you can make contributions," he said levelly. Hermione would not only make contributions but also learn. The war had taken too much from her. She would do all in her power and beyond for the victory to come their way.
While in their conversation, none of them heard the hinges of the door creaking.
"Severus, is that you?"
"For Merlin's sake!" Professor Snape muttered at Madam Pomfrey's voice. He quickly got to his feet. Hermione's hand flew to cover her gaping mouth.
Madam Pomfrey came into their view, and opened the already partially opened curtain. The Medi-witch was wearing her sleep robe over a nightgown, looking somewhat worn.
"Severus," she sounded floored, "What are you doing here at this hour?"
It was then that Hermione realised it had been well over thirty minutes, more than an hour, in fact.
"Poppy," Professor Snape sounded his usual self, no trace of panic that Hermione was sure would be evident on her face. She quickly erected her Occlumency Shields to school her features. "I was summoned." The man was confident and convincing with his words and tone.
"Oh," Madam Pomfrey gasped. "Are you alright? Why didn't you call me? And," She glanced at Hermione, "What are you doing here?"
"It was a minor affliction," the Professor said silkily. "As it was quite late and Miss Granger was awake when I came, I decided to test her Healing abilities, of which you have such high praises."
"Well..." The lady looked conflicted. Hermione doubted she believed the story. "Miss Granger is still amateur at Healing, granted competent, yes. But, Severus, you should have called me."
"I did not feel the need to," he said smoothly. "Only a few gashes were adorning my face, of which you can see no sign now."
The Medi-witch stepped closer to examine the Professor's face. "Which spell did you use, Miss Granger?" She asked, still studying the man's face closely.
"The usual...Episkey Advanta," she quickly replied. She said as little as possible for the speaking would give the act away that was so delicately being carved by the Professor.
"Excellent job," the lady gave Hermione a somewhat strained smile. "And for the scars? They have absolutely disappeared."
"The Vaniscas Charm," she answered.
"Good choice," the lady commented, though she was eyeing the pair with suspicion. "Severus, I didn't expect you to trust my trainee with your injuries, though."
"I...insisted!" Hermione offered.
The Medi-witch turned to her. Hermione could feel Professor Snape's gaze on her. "You told that...I might have to attend to Professor Snape, when I started... I wanted to...be of assistance, Madam."
"You should be resting, Miss Granger," the Medi-witch stated. "And the last time I checked, you didn't have your wand."
"I have her wand," he responded, taking the sleek wood out of his sleeve.
"And you happen to just carry it around?" Madam Pomfrey asked in something akin to accusation.
"The safest place for a wand is in a wizard's sleeve, won't you agree, Poppy?" He said casually.
"The safest place for a wand is in its owner's sleeve," the Medi-witch. "Why do you still have it?"
"I did not get a chance to return Miss Granger her wand earlier," he said simply. "Now, if you are satisfied with your inquisition, Madam, I would like to take my leave."
The lady did not make a comment on the 'inquisition' part. Though, she held out her hand, "Miss Granger's wand?"
"Of course." He kept Hermione's wand on the Medi-witch's open palm. Madam Pomfrey handed the wand to Hermione, but from behind the Medi-witch, the Professor had his brow raised in warning.
"Where is your house-elf, Miss Granger?" The lady suddenly asked.
Oh, dang!
"She was supposed to stay with you," she continued. "Where did she go on her own?"
"I sent her away!" Hermione quickly said, hearing the annoyance in Madam Pomfrey's voice regarding Karly. But as she did, she realised her blunder. Professor Snape was gazing at her sharply, most probably conveying what an absolute dunderhead she was.
"You sent the house-elf away?" There was nothing but suspicion in the Medi-witch's tone. "May I ask, why?"
"I send her to eat...every night," she brusquely conjured a convincing lie. "She needs to eat, too, after all. She'll return shortly."
The Professor gave a derisive snort and the lady turned to him. "Perhaps, we should be grateful the school hasn't lost a house-elf to Miss Granger's pathetically puerile ideologies, at this rate."
"Come now, Severus," that seemed to have partially distracted the Medi-witch's focus. "Karly!"
Karly appeared immediately. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey, Mistress?"
"You will stay here with Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. Hermione felt guilty as Karly nodded with wide, terrified eyes.
Immediately after, the Professor excused himself with a terse word.
Madam Pomfrey gave a hard, long look to Hermione, as if assessing her. Meanwhile, the younger witch squirmed. But without another comment upon any of that, she left, only with an order for Hermione to rest.
Hermione had her wand in possession for the first time after her fall. Professor Snape did not let her have it without his supervision. She was twirling it in her fingers.
She was sure that Madam Pomfrey did not entirely trust their story. It was, after all, very ill-conceived to begin with. Moreover, the other two terms of the bond were not satisfied. They had been so engrossed in their conversation that Hermione did not get the chance to spell the items clean.
She cast a Tempus. It was quarter to twelve. She had only fifteen minutes to fulfil the terms.
As if on cue, a house-elf popped before her, calling both Hermione and Karly to attention. "Master Snape says Timmer to give these to Miss." He handed Hermione the usual handkerchief and photo frame.
Without wasting time, Hermione spelled them clean. The last thing she needed was the bond to torment her. The elf also gave Hermione a folded parchment. She opened it to find a note in the familiar spidery handwriting.
Miss Granger,
Kindly, send back your wand along with the house-elf. I hope you realise that the matter is non-negotiable.
-S.S.
Hermione shook her head at the formal wording. She summoned a Muggle pen from her satchel and turned the parchment over.
Sir, do you think Madam Pomfrey actually believed us? I'll be here for two more days, how will you manage to visit me? Why do you think Madam Pomfrey came all of a sudden when she never did earlier?
She folded the parchment back and handed it to Timmer along with her wand and other two items. "Timmer, please, ask Professor Snape to read it."
"Yes, Miss," the elf bobbed his head and disappeared.
She could understand what it might have seemed like to the Medi-witch. Hermione was not daft. She also knew that the Professor would currently be in the light of suspicion.
Timmer reappeared with the parchment. He had scribbled a reply below Hermione's note—or Hermione's list of questions.
Miss Granger, obviously, Madam Pomfrey believes our story not in the least. It was a rather dismal attempt on our part. As for my visits, that you can leave to me. Contrary to popular beliefs, I am not omniscient, I do not know why she decided to come to the Infirmary today. As fascinating as this little game is, I am not treating my house-elf as an owl, any longer. Good night, Miss Granger.
Hermione chuckled at the absurdity of the situation—she was passing notes to Professor Snape! If Harry and Ron ever heard of it...
"Thank you, Timmer," she dismissed the house-elf politely.
Hermione tucked the parchment in her diary and kept the pen away, too. Two more days and she could finally leave the four walls of the Hospital Wing! Now with Madam Pomfrey's suspicions, it had become even more important that she met with the Professor outside, where nobody could discover them.
A/N: A bit of adolescent-drama here, yes. That was on purpose. I don't want to imply that just because Snape's a grown man, Hermione will, too, suddenly start acting like him. She is confused, as are most of the people at that age. Weren't we? (At least, I was.)
Another important thing, I was asked by a very kind reader, Anon, if the diary that Snape had given Hermione was a two-way journal. No, it's a simple diary. I don't think Severus, of all people, would want to disrespect her privacy in that way.
Also, a hearty thank you to all readers and especially my reviewers! You guys make me want to take out time to update. To all those who have wished me luck for my new job, thank you so much (God knows I need all the luck right now).
Please leave a comment, it makes me smile! :)
Next up: More bonding time and AN UNEXPECTED PROBLEM. After all, till when could their reality remain hidden to the world?