Chapter 4: Fever
Hermione's return to consciousness was slow and confusing. In one sense, she felt as if she was waking up as she did every morning from a night of sleep. In another sense, waking up seemed awfully more difficult than usual. Her eyelids felt heavy, her throat felt tight, and she wasn't sure she could move a single part of her body.
A cool hand was laid on her forehead and she breathed a sigh of relief. It felt so good. She didn't realize how hot she was until then. She made a small sound of distress when the hand pulled away then sighed again when the backs of cool fingers touched her cheek. She leaned into them and was dismayed when they pulled away as well. A moment later, a cool cloth was placed on her forehead and she would have succumbed to the darkness again if the person with her hadn't started shaking her shoulder and ordering her to wake up.
Her eyes still didn't want to open and she groaned, trying to move any part of her body. Finally, her annoyance with being shaken by the shoulder gave her the strength to fling an arm in that direction, though 'fling' was a rather generous term for what amounted to a deadweight arm bumping into the person at her bedside. The shaking stopped and Hermione sighed in relief. Then fingers started insistently patting her cheek.
That's it, she thought, seriously annoyed. Her groan was louder and more pronounced this time as she tried to turn her head to the side, away from those obnoxious fingers, but they were relentless. The voice ordering her to wake up began to sound a little louder and clearer through the fog of her fatigue and she began to make out more words.
"-ake up, Granger! For Merlin's sake! You're not an invalid!" Hermione's brow furrowed. That voice sounded familiar, but she was having trouble placing it.
The patting on her cheek stopped and she felt hot breath against her ear and then, "Fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your cheek!" Her eyes shot open.
Hermione gasped and tried to sit up, but her body didn't cooperate and she ended up nearly rolling off the side of her bed by accident. Luckily, Professor Snape caught her and shoved her back to the center of the bed.
"Finally!" he grumped. "I was this close to dumping a cauldron full of Wiggenweld Potion over you." He pinched his fingers together to show her just how close he was.
"D'you have Wigg'n'ld with you?" she slurred.
"No," he smirked. "But if I did, I might have done it."
Hermione stared at him, confused, slightly amused, a little grateful and quite shocked he was tending to her, but mostly confused. "Wuz goin' on?" she asked, frowning at her difficulty speaking.
Snape brought a water glass to her lips and slid a hand behind her head, lifting her up a little so she could drink. She smiled gratefully when she finished and waited for him to answer.
He laced his fingers in his lap and scowled. "You were bitten by a doxy, which I am sure you have come to realize is highly venomous." He arched an eyebrow and Hermione nodded. "You are quite lucky, Miss Granger, that I happened to come by. I nearly didn't come, you know. And when I arrived, your cat was most distressed and led me to what was very nearly your corpse." Hermione grimaced. "Oh yes," he continued, "You were in a bad state. Now, you had the right idea. Points ought to be given where they are due. You discovered the creature that bit you and looked up the potion to counteract its venom. I presume, at this point, that you realized you did not have the required ingredients and began cross-referencing for substitutions?"
Hermione nodded and croaked, "Yes, but –"
"But you, Miss Granger, are merely a student with only four years of potions training under your belt and do not have the knowledge nor the expertise required to make use of what you had. Which is why you are fortunate, indeed, that a potions master found you. Because I was able to create an entirely new potion using the materials from your kit and the flowers in your room that succeeded in pulling you from the brink of death."
Hermione's eyes were wide as she stared at her potions professor in awe. "That's amazing, sir!" she whispered, her voice beginning to return to her. "You invented a new potion to save my life?! Thank you!"
Though he had been wearing an expression of smug superiority during his monologue, Hermione was amused to notice a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as she expressed her gratitude.
"Yes, well," he muttered. "Now to business." He unrolled a scroll and flattened it against a book in his lap. Picking up a quill he had evidently lain on her nightstand at some point, he dipped it in a jar of ink and poised the nub over the parchment. He looked up at her and said, "Describe the symptoms you experienced as you succumbed to the venom."
Hermione recounted her symptoms and then, when asked (demanded), described her symptoms upon waking, explaining how difficult it was to return to consciousness.
"Hmm," Snape hummed thoughtfully, tapping his quill against his lips. At some point during the interrogation, he had placed his feet on the sideboard of her bed, his knees raising the book and parchment up, as he hunched even lower over it, lost in the academia of the event. When his hair slid forward, he absently tucked one side behind an ear as he wrote furiously on the parchment. Hermione watched quietly, fascinated by this side of her usually angry professor. She watched as he referenced ingredients he had listed above, tapping his quill against a word at the top of the parchment, pausing to think for a moment, then scribbling at the bottom of the parchment. He repeated this procedure several times until he appeared satisfied. Finally, he closed his eyes, bowing his head over the parchment and furrowed his brow. Hermione recognized the state of deep thought he had slipped into, having gone into it several times herself, though it was often interrupted at school by well-meaning friends and classmates who assumed she was either unwell or falling asleep. It never failed to irritate her when she would be suddenly yanked from such a state, so she endeavored to remain absolutely quiet and observe Snape as he worked through his thoughts.
Finally, his eyes snapped open and, with a wry smile, he wrote "Ledaeum Tutum" at the top of the page. He flicked his eyes toward her and, noticing she had cocked her head to the side to read his scrawl upside down, he turned it around so she could see the title more clearly.
Hermione bit her lip and furrowed her brow, concentrating, trying to translate the title. "Tutum means safe, right?" She asked. Snape nodded. However, for the life of her, she was unable to translate the first word. Snape smirked at her confusion and rolled up the parchment, stuffing it in his robes as he stood. "I give up," she said. "What does it mean?"
Snape looked haughtily down his nose at her. "Now, now. Why should I just give you the answer when you can research it yourself?" Hermione huffed in annoyance but couldn't help feeling a little excitement about something new to research. She blinked in confusion as he reached toward her face, then understood as he removed a damp cloth from her forehead. She hadn't even noticed it was still there.
"Thank you, sir, for taking care of me," she said, shyly.
Snape harrumphed. "About that," he said. "Do you know where Black went? He was supposed to be here."
Hermione shrugged. "No, sir. He told me he had an errand to run and left." A familiar scowl settled over his face, one that Hermione saw frequently directed toward Harry and she winced as she added, "I confess, he seemed to suddenly have an errand after I pointed out a comment in one of the Muggle newspapers about supposed gang activity moving into Surrey. I rather suspect he may have…gone to check on Harry." His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white.
"How long ago did he leave?" he whispered dangerously, nostrils flaring.
"T-two days ago, s-sir. Or is it three now? It was two when I got bit…" Hermione shrank in on herself as Snape's face turned purple, a vein stood out on his forehead, and a pulse of magic rattled the lamps in her room.
"I'm sorry, sir!" she wailed pitifully, clutching her blankets closely.
His gaze, which had been unfixed and over her head, snapped to her and he bit out, "You are not responsible for Black." He whirled away from her and stormed toward the door, pausing before he exited. Without turning to face her, he said quietly, "He was meant to be responsible for you." He pulled the door closed behind him with a snap before she could respond. She heard his footsteps stomping away and a brief shrieking of Mrs. Black's portrait before it was cut off suddenly.
Hermione stared at the door, curiously, trying to reconcile the Professor Snape she knew from Hogwarts with the wizard she just interacted with. There had been once or twice over the years that he had taken on the mantle of Protector where she and her friends were concerned. So she supposed this hadn't really been that far out of the realm of possibility. And, she surmised, the lack of Harry and Ron (though especially Harry) may have played a part in Snape being rather agreeable, if a little arrogant. Though, she had to admit, he had solid reason to be arrogant. She was blown away that he had invented a potion to save her life and – not only that! – but using whatever happened to be at hand! The man was brilliant, no doubt about it. Hogwarts was definitely lucky to have him…except he seemed to loathe teaching…so why was he there?
The pieces slid into place as Hermione mused over his work for the Order of the Phoenix as far as she was able to tell. "Of course," she murmured to herself. He was a spy for Dumbledore among the Death Eaters. But You-Know-Who surely knew that he worked at Hogwarts, so he would likely be using Snape to spy on Dumbledore. He's a double agent, she thought, awed and a little frightened. But which side is he truly on? And that, she suspected, was probably the reason why he was a professor at Hogwarts – so Dumbledore could keep him close, either to keep an eye on him, or to keep him safe if things with the Death Eaters didn't work out. After all, Hogwarts was generally the safest place in the wizarding world. "Which is really saying something, Crookshanks, considering all the shenanigans that have gone on at the school." Crookshanks, who had overtaken Snape's chair, opened one eye and twitched an ear in acknowledgement to her non-sequitur.
Hermione still felt overly warm, though not quite as feverish as when she had first wakened. More than anything, she wanted to change out of her robes so, with that in mind, she levered herself up. She had to pause for a moment to let the dizziness pass before she crawled forward to the foot of her bed. She flopped down in exhaustion and rested a few minutes then reached down and fumbled with her trunk, opening it awkwardly from above and behind. She leaned a little further over it, careful not to fall head-first to the floor, and rummaged around in the trunk until she snagged an oversized shirt and a pair of gym shorts. Foregoing her earlier concession to Kreacher's sensibilities by wearing wizarding robes in the Black home, Hermione opted for comfort. She was tired of sweating. Every movement she made took an age and she had to take frequent breaks, once even while she had her robes pulled halfway over her head, during which time she mentally begged Snape not to come check on her.
Finally, she had wrestled herself into the shorts and shirt and she flopped back on the bed, spread-eagle, thanking Merlin and all the gods that she felt more comfortable. Her robes, she tossed haphazardly over the end of her bed and they caught on her open trunk lid where they dangled messily. She couldn't be bothered to fix it, though. Exhausted, she fell asleep spread out like a starfish on top of the covers, which is how Snape found her later.
She woke to a sharp, "Granger!" Jolting awake, Hermione flailed in surprise only to be met with the amused, though slightly embarrassed smirk of Professor Snape. He leaned forward and placed his palm on her forehead. He still felt ridiculously cool to the touch and Hermione idly wondered if he had been living in the dungeons for too long.
"Hmm, still feverish," he said. Oh. Well, that explained why his hand felt so cool, she supposed. He rested the backs of his fingers against her cheek to double-check. Once again, when he withdrew his hand, Hermione felt the loss. It had felt so good against her flushed skin.
"Do you feel up to eating?" he asked.
Hermione pondered that, taking stock of her body. Her stomach felt empty, but she felt slightly nauseated. Likely the nausea was due to hunger, though. "I think so," she replied, uncertainly.
Silently, he extended his hand, helping her to sit up, then he used the gemino charm to duplicate her pillows until there were enough to prop her up.
"Thank you, sir!" she said, brightly.
He merely nodded in response and handed her a plate of bland but substantial food. Balancing the plate on her lap, Hermione ate slowly and cautiously, making sure she wasn't going to throw everything up again. As she ate, she thought about the potion Snape had invented and tried to work out the translation for Ledaeum. Snape ate quietly, sitting in the chair next to her bed, lost in his own thoughts.
"Could I go down to the library?" she blurted out, suddenly.
Snape blinked. "No. Not tonight, anyway." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Is there something in particular you are looking for?"
"A Latin dictionary."
Snape's lips quirked up into a small, knowing smile. "I'll see what I can find," he said, turning back to his meal. Hermione narrowed her own eyes. That was too easy. She suddenly doubted she would find what she was looking for in the dictionary.
When they finished eating, Snape helped her stand and escorted her, wobbly-kneed as she was, to the facilities. When she finished, he escorted her back to her bed where she flopped gratefully, feeling as if she had just run a marathon. Sweat was rolling down her neck and back. Once again, he checked her fever by sliding a cool hand over her forehead and the backs of his fingers over her cheek. She noticed his lips tightened in…irritation? Concern? She wasn't quite sure. He opened the window in the room, warding it to keep all but the air out and Hermione felt a cool breeze blow into the room.
"Oh, that's heavenly!" she sighed.
Snape glided out of the room then returned a few minutes later, extending a Latin dictionary. "Good luck," he smirked before retreating from her room again and closing her door behind him. She heard the click of her lock engage and sensed a ward go up over her door. He must be making sure Kreacher can't get in, she mused, curiously.
Rolling onto her side, Hermione flipped through the Latin dictionary and was frustrated, though not terribly surprised, to find absolutely no reference to Ledaeum. "Hmmm, if it's not a Latin word…" Could it be a word in another language? Odd to combine two languages that way, though. It certainly sounded Latin. Perhaps it referred to a place? Her stomach cramped and Hermione winced, setting the dictionary on her nightstand. Tomorrow, she decided, she would see about getting down to the library and researching ancient Roman geography. For now, she resolved to go to sleep and hope she felt better when she woke up.