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Potions, Plans, and Second Chances	By : strawberryf1re Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 14246 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (characters, settings, etc.) ŠJ.K. Rowling. No profits are made from this work.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Rating: M – inappropriate for readers under the age of 16; contains scenes of explicit sexuality and violence.

Disclaimer: Characters and settings ©J.K. Rowling.

Potions, Plans, and Second Chances

K. Marie

Chapter 4

When they returned to Snape's private room, Hermione eased Snape into a prone position on his bed. Gently, she covered his legs and buttocks with the crisply cleaned sheets, tucking the covers under his hips to ensure they would not shift from their place. The man groaned as he slid his forearms under the pillow, broadening his shoulders for her as she opened his gown, revealing his skeletal back to her.

Lowering his bed below waist-level, Hermione was able to freely access the entire plane of his back without straddling him from above. Drawing the medicine cabinet closer to her, she searched through the pantry for a topical muscle relaxant. She withdrew a long vial of a thick paste; tapping the mouth of the glass against his back, the paste slowly poured onto his skin.

Firmly, Hermione's fingers began kneading the flesh of his back, smoothing the paste over the pale skin. Her fingertips began tingling as the solution permeated her pores, and she suspected the same began happening to Snape as he released a quiet groan. Moving in circles, Hermione sought the tight knots of muscle that contorted his flesh, her strong fingers massaging them free; all the while, Snape's pleasured moans grew louder as the pleasure of her touch increased. At first, he whimpered almost pathetically, the pressure of her hands painful against his back – but as she kneaded the muscles, loosening the knots and soothing the ache, it elicited a more climactic sound from the man below her. She felt her own cheeks flush, the intimacy of the moment not lost on her.

Her touch moved from his back to his shoulders and down the length of his thin limbs to his fingertips. She worked especially on his left shoulder, her nimble fingers working to loosen the tightness that restricted his range of movement with the limb. As her touch smoothed to his upper arm, and then his elbow, the feeling of soft dark hair lining his skin and the faint texture of scars – including the Dark Mark – produced a feeling of intimate familiarity in the Healer.

She rounded the bed, repeating the same luxurious treatment to his other arm. The quiet moans that escaped him never ceased, and from this angle, she could see his face. It was partially concealed by the mess of wet hair, but the subtle furrowing of his brow and tensing of his jaw was evident, and quite descriptive of how much he enjoyed her touch. It almost disturbed her, but she could draw parallels between his expressions and sounds below her while she massaged him, and those made by Ron when they had made love.

What was particularly disturbing to Hermione – and though she had a suspicion of what was to blame for it – was her body's reaction to the groans that escaped the man below her. Catching a glimpse of his face only furthered the response, but listening to his guttural moans elicited an aching in her nether regions. An aching that should never exist in the room of a patient, especially when assisting to alleviate that patient's discomfort.

She smoothed her hands firmly down the plane of his back; she felt his body tense as her fingers brushed against his firm buttocks, a blush rising in her cheeks. As she folded the blanket back to reveal one of his long, lean legs to her, he moved to intercept her – but then thought better of it.

Firmly, her hands kneaded the back of his thigh, the coarse dark hair grating against her soft fingers. His leg recoiled from her touch at first, the fingers of her right hand slipping to his inner thigh while she pressed circles into the sinewy muscle. His jerking movement inspired violent flushing in her cheeks; she thought, for a moment, her fingers brushed against part of him, a part that the most primitive parts of her longed to touch. His pleasured groans rang in her ears, the heat of her face squeezing a thin film of sweat across her brow. This moment, she knew, was far more intimate than what it should have been, and all the while she massaged his legs, she couldn't help the response of her body.

When her hands ached too much to continue, she pulled away. A quiet, disappointed whimper escaped her patient, and he gingerly rolled onto his side. Hermione knew she must have been erubescent; something flickered over Snape's countenance, an emotion she couldn't quite identify before it vanished, and he averted his eyes from her face.

"That was wonderful, Ms. Granger," he said softly, an awkward intonation to his voice. "Thank you."

As he turned onto his back, he still did not look at her, instead focusing his stare somewhere outside the window. His hands quickly gathered fabric around his lower stomach; her suspicion of what she would find there only encouraged her body's inappropriate reaction.

Summoning a cloth – and desperately trying to quell her longing – Hermione wiped her hands clean of the residual paste. Her heart fluttered erratically in her chest and her stomach churned with such vigor she thought she may vomit. Her face was warm, still flushed with color, and as she turned on her heel to vacate the room, she tossed a final glance towards the man in the bed.

"Of course," Hermione replied shortly. "I need to tend to my other patients. I'll be back before lunch."

Hurrying from the room, Hermione pulled the door closed behind her. She pressed her body against the cool surface of the sturdy door, wiping the back of her hand against her brow. Her inappropriate reaction to his own responses disturbed her greatly; she knew it must have been to blame on the fact she was once her professor – and a mysteriously private one at that – and to elicit such sounds from him… and to recognize his expressions as similar to those Ronald had made during very intimate moments…

Shaking her head, Hermione breathed a steady sigh. Her entire disposition – the nervousness and awkward combination of warmth and discomfort – could be easily explained. Severus Snape was a man she had thought to be dead for the past six years, and for him to suddenly appear as her patient – it only made sense that she would be hyper-reactive to his presence. She simply romanticized the man – his lifelong love and dedication to a woman and all of that – and it inspired the inappropriate emotions that overwhelmed her at the simplest of procedures.

Traditionally, when Hermione was acquainted with her patients, she would be forced by law to refer them to another Healer to avoid conflicting interests. With Snape, however, it was different; she wasn't supposed to know the man because she couldn't positively identify him, and she certainly couldn't claim to have been his student in the past. Her reaction to him was simply a conflicted interest. She wished to treat him better and spend more time with him than her other patients because he was a familiar face whom she had not seen in many years.

As though physically accepting that explanation, Hermione nodded curtly.

Yes, that was precisely the situation.

Severus lay back against his pillows. The paste she had applied to his back still tingled the flesh there, permeating deep into his pores and soothing the muscles beneath the skin. The hot shower and her marvelous touch rejuvenated Severus; he had not felt so relaxed in an incredibly long time, and while he knew it wouldn't – and shouldn't – last, he intended to enjoy every last luxurious second of it while it did.

The potions periodical she provided him yesterday laid open in his lap, and he flicked absently through the pages. His breakfast had arrived at some point during the morning, but when, he hadn't any idea; and to be honest, he didn't really care for it that morning anyway. He picked absently at the plain pancake with his fingers, absentmindedly chewing the small bites as his eyes flickered over the pages.

Sometime after she had left, a stick of deodorant manifested on his bedside table, and he gingerly applied it – while her fingers had kneaded much of the tension from his muscles, his left shoulder was still tight and painful to move too much. The fact that he smelled clean of soap and deodorant was a much welcome contrast to the sickly odor that had plagued his body previously. And while they were in the shower, it seemed his bed dressings had changed; his sheets were crisp and smelled of clean cotton, and the fresh softness felt wonderful against his clean skin.

He covered the journal with the morning's newspaper, his fingers flicking through the pages for a headline of interest. As much as he tried, he found focusing on his reading difficult; his thoughts continued to linger on Granger's flustered face as she hurried from the room. While Severus was far from a bashful man, vaguely, he wondered if he had done something that embarrassed her – she could not have possibly known the way his body responded to her touch – or if she simply struggled separating the man she knew as her former professor from the man she was trying to view solely as another patient.

Her assistance in the shower had not been as awkward as he initially suspected; while he was far from comfortable in the situation, her efforts to minimize the discomfiture of the situation certainly yielded her sought results. The circumstances were the most unfortunate, and yet there was a certain understanding between them that neither of them wished the situation to be so dire, but they would make the best of it.

The tally of points he had been toying with in his mind had grown in her favor, certainly. Fate would have it that Hermione Granger would be his Healer; Severus was beginning to understand Fate's effortless capriciousness.

He knew the remainder of his morning – though there wasn't much left to it, truthfully – would be spent in solitude, and he welcomed it. While he found himself appreciating her company (and he reminded himself it was only because it was simply that: company), he also enjoyed the moment of seclusion her duties provided him.

His mind continued to linger on the memory of her luxurious touch, her hands smoothing over every muscle and melting the tension away. He had not expected her to travel below his waist; when her hands brushed against his inner thigh, he thought for sure she would detect what lurked beneath him. But even so, as she manipulated his flesh and kneaded away the tightness, he could not help the orgasmic response she yielded.

It seemed that with every passing moment, more of his thoughts were preoccupied with her presence; the smell of her hair, the curve of her breast, the gentle touch of her fingers. Try as he might to ignore that she was a woman – an attractive and surprisingly desirable one, at that – she persisted.

Smoothing his hand through his hair, he released a heavy sigh. Whether or not his depraved desire for her was to be expected, Severus was still frustrated by it. There were passing moments where he thought she would be safe to divulge to; there were brief instances where he desired to answer her every question. Those moments were fleeting and based in insanity, he knew, because to do so would risk not only his own mission, but her life. He would not allow himself to be to blame for the death of an innocent person. Never again.

His rationality seemed overcome by his desire for a companion; Granger's company had been pleasant when she visited with him. A tiny burst of elation erupted from his heart whenever she entered his room, and while he knew it was foolish to feel such a way over a woman simply handling her responsibilities, he was hard-pressed to disregard it. It was almost reminiscent of the explosion of joy that Severus experienced as a child when Lily answered her door… Paling in comparison, of course, but the parallel was drawn regardless.

Absently turning the page of the newspaper, Severus' eyes blankly wandered over the words. He gleaned nothing from the articles, of course; he was hardly focused on his reading in that moment.

Fleetingly, he wondered what kind of shift she worked; she seemed to be there throughout all hours of the day, but he couldn't imagine she worked through the weekend as well. With a slight burst of panic, Severus realized it was unlikely she would be working during his entire admission. She seemed to be available to him at all hours of the day – and even some during the night – and he knew she couldn't possibly work during the weekends.

And if she didn't, that was one more opportunity to be recognized. Smoothing his hand over the breast pocket of his gown, he felt the small circular outline of the fake Galleon. Sliding his fingers into the pouch, he retrieved the coin and held it in his hand. Granger must have intended for him to utilize his wandless magic to make use of the coin, and she had been clever to do so; focusing on drawing her attention, Severus felt the coin warm in his hand beyond anything his own body heat could produce.

Uncurling his fingers, he stared at the serial number around the edge of the coin. The numbers represented the current time, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Leaning back into the pillows, he slipped the warm coin into his pocket once more. In a matter of moments, there was a quiet knock at the door and then the hinges creaked as they were forced open.

Her panting breaths could be heard from around the curtain before she ever appeared. He smirked despite himself; she must have run to his room, concerned that it was an emergency. His sarcastic sense of humor appreciated her panic, receiving some amusement, but as she emerged from behind the curtain and noticed the smirk he was not quick enough to conceal, her own eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I thought it was an emergency," her voice was cold and curt.

"You were the one who told me to use it if I needed anything," Severus replied, his voice oily, if not slightly raspy still. "And I have a question."

Granger's chest heaved with a large gulp of air, and she was finally able to catch her breath. "Yes?"

"What is today?"

"It's Friday," Granger replied, a hint of agitation lacing her voice. "You couldn't have waited for that?"

"You will forgive me, Ms. Granger. I have no recollection of the days prior to my admittance," Severus replied, his dark gaze flickering over her face.

As he spoke, Granger's countenance softened and she moved toward his bed. Lowering herself into the chair, her eyes glittered with warmth as she watched him.

"You don't remember anything?" Her voice was soft, sensitive. She smoothed her hand over the clean white sheet. "Nothing at all?"

"What I remember last doing is certainly not what brought me here," Severus replied, allowing his eyes to fall to the newspaper in his lap.

Granger chewed her lip pensively as her eyes oscillated over his features. She noticed the barely-touched breakfast plate and a small frown touched her face, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards. After a quiet moment, she returned her attention to the man in the bed.

"Is that why you won't tell me what brought you here? You don't remember?"

"No," Severus growled. "I won't tell you because it is not your concern."

The fury that inflamed her in that moment was almost tangible to Severus; she visibly straightened her body, her shoulders broadening as she fisted her hands against her hips. Her brow furrowed in a scowl, an anger burning in the amber of her eyes. The air surrounding her crackled, as though, even as a twenty-something witch, she had not yet mastered the control of emotional magic. A small smile tugged at his mouth; she reminded him very much of Lily in that moment.

"Severus whatever-the-hell Snape," she said, a cold fury burning in her voice. "As much as you may think otherwise, it is every bit my business. I am your Healer and as such, the cause of your injuries is of great concern to me.

Her hands dropped to her sides and she flounced towards him, her fury infecting even her step. She was inches away from him now, and if she wanted to, she could have grabbed hold of him. From the way her fingers continually curled and uncurled, he suspected she was suppressing the impulse to do so.

"And yet," Severus countered, "I am healing satisfactorily, despite the fact."

"On the contrary!" she cried. With her arms tense at her sides, she breathed in deeply. "Sev – if you do not want to tell me what you were doing that brought you here, that is your decision. But if whoever attacked you had used a poisoned blade, or an unconventional curse… it would assist greatly in treating these stubborn wounds of yours."

"But you will be able to mend the wounds despite your ignorance of their cause, correct?"

Granger did not immediately answer. A small wrinkle pressed deeply into her furrowed brow as she stared at Severus, and he knew she did not want to lie to him – but to be honest would further impede her search for knowledge. Her amber eyes moved over his features and finally came to rest on his own gaze.

Breathing a small, frustrated sigh, she nodded. "Yes. But it may prove more difficult."

Severus' arched an eyebrow, eyeing her with curiosity. "And?"

She had proved to him to be no different than when she was his student; as such, he had no reason to believe she would not appreciate a challenge. Her argument was futile, and because she wasted his time, mentally, he deducted five points.

A small smirk crossed her lips but she turned her head from him in an attempt to conceal it. She rested her hands on her hips once more, catching her bottom lip between her teeth; Severus could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she devised a clever retort. A moment passed in silence, her eyes searching the room as though it would provide her with a witty quip. Finally, she allowed her gaze to meet his once more, and she did nothing to conceal the smile that parted her lips.

"If that's all, I have other patients who need me." Turning on her heel, Granger's robes twirled about her feet dramatically, and while it was nothing as compared to the power conveyed by Severus' own billowing robes, he couldn't help but approve of the subtle statement.

Well played, Ms. Granger. Five points. "Wait."

She paused by the curtain, turning her head just slightly over her shoulder to peer at him from the corner of her eye. The coy smile that played about her lips disclosed to Severus her own private victory. She may have believed he would confess to her everything and he would allow her to continue laboring under the false pretense, if only for a few moments' amusement. Despite wishing to simply enjoy her company as it was, he couldn't help but play into his impulse to manipulate the situation to his own gain – and, of course, that gain was solely entertainment.

The strangest detail, for Severus, was that she seemed to play along. He suspected she knew precisely his motives, and it seemed that for a moment, she may have almost wilted to her anger – and then she composed herself and continued in her role. Perhaps she enjoyed his audacious sarcasm, his outright callousness and undeniable intellect; perhaps she appreciated a patient whose conversation was not as dull as a troll's. Whatever her reasons, it intrigued Severus deeply, and as long as she was his Healer, he may as well take advantage of it.

"Have you considered what you will do when you are not scheduled to work?"

Turning around to face him, she offered him a sincere smile. She smoothed her palm over the back of her neck, squeezing the flesh there gently as she looked at him, her amber eyes warm; her demeanor was a complete contrast to the woman she projected just moments before. However insufferable she may have been in school, she was certainly just as intriguing now. Her fluctuating moods – and surprisingly, it wasn't an irritating vacillation, either – provided an interesting sandbox in which Severus could play. Of course, she would be his Healer, wouldn't she?

"Am I safe to assume you are worried about the safety of your identity this weekend?" she inquired, hugging her arms to her chest.

Severus did not overlook the sudden emphasis the posture placed upon her breasts, and silently, he chastised himself. His depravity and sudden interest in the opposite sex nearly disgusted him; he understood its origin – and because of that, he could nearly forgive it – but he had spent the past seven years – and more! – entirely devoid of feminine affection. It would not do to suddenly succumb to such urges.

Averting his eyes, he focused on her face. There was an odd expression on her face, as though she had immediately regretted her words. He suddenly realized, with some degree of guilt and amusement, that she must have believed his silence was indicative of his response. As though he did not appreciate her gloating – because, anyone could see, she truly had the advantage.

"I have already adopted additional hours this weekend," she replied quietly. "Shall I visit with you for lunch?"

A calm wave of warmth washed over him and he nodded slowly. Suddenly, he realized that whatever it was Granger deserved, it certainly was not his Slytherin tendency for manipulation. Whether or not she had a life outside of the hospital – and she obviously did, considering her engagement to (he assumed) Weasley – she was willing to sacrifice her time to ensure his own safety.

Fate certainly had a curious way of working. While he was lost in his own mind, she had vacated the room, and as the quiet snick of the door brought him to the present, Severus was abandoned to his own thoughts – and the lingering scent of his Healer.

The audacity of the bastard patient in the isolation ward! Hermione couldn't help the smile that threatened to tear her cheeks in two, but simultaneously she was filled with an intense contempt for the undeniably Slytherin man upstairs. She practically skipped down the steps, a small laugh escaping her as she shook her head in disbelief.

She understood his game. His goal was to milk her generosity and compassion for all it was worth, while concurrently sending her on a tumultuous journey of emotions. In the course of thirty minutes, he had inspired such a range of emotions in her – she highly doubted a teaspoon could contain it all!

Pushing open the door to her office, she breathed in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She laid the patient folder on her desk; there was much documentation she still needed to transcribe, and hadn't the opportunity to complete it yet. She was quite fortunate that morning, as Snape was the only patient she was responsible for – while she did not approve of lying to her patients, she felt he needed the gentle reminder that her world did not, in fact, revolve around him. As the former Slytherin Head, certainly he would approve of subtle deception?

A breathy chuckle escaped her as she lowered herself to her desk. The fool scrap that Snape had provided her lay folded atop the base of her desk lamp, and pulling it towards her, she skimmed the titles. Many of the journals he listed she was already subscribed to; the rest could be easily forwarded to the hospital.

She flicked open the folder of patient zero-two-three-dash-ten, inked her quill, and began to record in her tidy script the detail of his injuries, her decided treatment, and his response. Every minute she spent in her office she was tempted to scour the patient file of one "deceased" Severus Snape, but every minute she quelled the impulse. Perhaps when she was not so busy with work, she could afford the moment to research, but until then, it would have to wait.

Though, her restraint did not quell the impulse that urged her to at least allow the file the opportunity to breathe the open air on her desk. With all the grace of a first year student trying to escape the dreaded path of Professor Snape, Hermione pulled open the drawer haphazardly and slapped the file onto the table, as though she knew if she did not do so the file would suffocate in the prison of her desk drawer.

Hermione spent the remainder of her morning that way, hunched over the thin folder of her "unidentified" patient, scrawling in her tidy script. She had been interrupted twice; once by an apprentice searching for Marcus, and once by Marcus… looking for the aforementioned apprentice.

Hermione, though she occasionally wished otherwise, was granted the freedom from overseeing Healers-in-training because her skills were in such demand that she simply could not afford the effort. But she took advantage of the presence of the young witches and wizards milling about the units, occasionally pulling them inside a patient room to observe.

Resigning to the distraction, Hermione allowed her eyes – and interests – to wander to the file of Severus Snape. Flicking open the cover, she met the reproachful gaze of the Potions Master, his lip curling in its disdainful sneer. After allowing herself one guilty glimpse of the file, she returned to documenting the care for the man in the room upstairs.

It must have been nearing noon when Hermione's hunger finally forced her to abandon her task. With her wand, she returned the file to Snape's room, and she was preparing to leave for the cafeteria when an unexpected visitor arrived through her office hearth. His tousled black hair was just as messy as always, the silvery lightning scar decorating his forehead having faded some since the last time she saw him.

"Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hugging him close.

"Oi, Hermione," Harry replied, lacing his arms around her waist. He returned her kiss, pressing his lips sweetly to her forehead. "How've you been?"

"Fantastic," Hermione said, her voice heightened in her excitement. She pulled back from his embrace, holding him at arm's length, her amber eyes searching his face hungrily. "I haven't seen you in… in months!"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Harry groaned, combing his fingers back through his hair, tousling the nest even further. He straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "I got home last night and I wanted to visit before I had to leave again."

"I'm so glad to see you, Harry," Hermione exclaimed, pulling him once more into her arms. The feeling of his lean, muscular form was pleasing beneath her hands; she was vaguely aware of the subconscious comparisons she was drawing between her best friend and the man upstairs. "You're looking well."

Shrugging out of her bearish embrace, Harry offered an awkward chuckle as he smoothed his hands over his dark robes, flattening the wrinkles. When he turned his gaze back to Hermione, he pushed his glasses back onto his nose once more; the frames came to rest in the angry red marks that flanked the bridge of his nose.

"And you," Harry replied.

Hermione, finally able to subdue her urge to fuss over the man in front of her, smoothed her hand over his cheek before dropping her hand to her side. Lowering herself into her chair, Hermione combed her fingers through the loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Harry leaned against the wall across from her, his fingers toying with his wand. She couldn't tear her eyes from his face; it was nearly three months ago he had departed on a mission he couldn't confide in them, and she knew he would be leaving again soon.

"Can you tell me what you were doing for the past few months or—"

"It was unsuccessful, which means no," Harry replied, an apologetic tone in his voice. "Once we've completed the task, I can tell you all about it, but not until then."

"Yes, I understand," Hermione said softly. "I'm just so glad you're home and in one piece."

His eyes scanned the room lazily. Hermione's own gaze was searching him as though drinking in the sight of him; she knew it was a mystery the next time she would get to see him, and she would be damned if she didn't remember the precise angle of his jaw, the fading silver of his scar, the piercing emerald of his eyes.

"What's that?" he was looking at the surface of the desk.

With a graceful harrumph, Harry hoisted himself from his lazy lean against the wall. Hermione turned to follow his gaze. With a sudden wave of nausea she realized his gaze rested on the open folder of Severus – and as she had noted to herself on several occasions, there was no mistaking his distinguished features.

"Is that—" Before Hermione could intervene, Harry had lifted the folder into his hands, his emerald eyes shining in the bright candlelight. "Snape?"

Hermione rose from her chair, reaching her fingers delicately around the file and pulling it from his grasp. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't allow you to—"

"I… I don't care for the information there," he admitted, a dull morose tone leaking into his voice. "But… why?"

Hermione's mind whirled for an excuse. She knew rationally there was no reason she should have searched the archives for the file. Her amber eyes searched the face of the man in the photograph, his fathomless eyes conveying disdain even in the photograph. She could not betray him – she would not betray him.

"I was just curious."

Whether Harry believed her, she could not be sure; despite the fact, he seemed eager to dismiss the discovery. Lowering herself once more into her chair, Hermione clutched the file to her chest, willing her pounding heart to slow.

Finally, it seemed as though he had completely forgotten his peculiar discovery. A hearty sigh heaved Harry's chest and it seemed as though the atmosphere of the small office thickened with a saddened mood. Sensing the sudden change, Hermione leaned towards Harry, her forehead wrinkled in her concern.

"Ginny is worried, Hermione," Harry sighed. "She doesn't like the fact I'm gone more than I'm home. I think… I think she thought that once Voldemort was dead, there would be less fieldwork for Aurors. And it's turned out to be quite different. Between my constantly being gone and their entire family fretting over Ron – I think she's overwhelmed."

Unsheathing her wand, Hermione twirled it in her fingers. She hadn't spoken with Ginny in a little while, but when they had met for lunch the weekend before last, she had verbalized many of the same concerns. She understood Harry's plight and she nodded sympathetically.

"I haven't even stopped by your place, yet," Harry admitted, and the tone of guilt was not overlooked by Hermione. "I… Ron's so different, Hermione. Six years… you'd think something would have changed. He'd improve. Something."

"Yes, I know, Harry," Hermione replied sadly. "All he does lately is watch the telly. I don't know what he hopes to see. I've tried to get him to go see a psychologist, but he doesn't put much faith in Muggle doctors of any sort."

"How are you holding up?"

"It's… it's been hard, Harry. I can't lie," Hermione whispered. There was a vague sting at the backs of her eyes, and she lowered her gaze to her lap. "I do my best, but… it's been hard."

Harry took a step towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Lifting her amber gaze to meet his piercing emerald eyes, she reached her hand to his. Her fingers stroked the back of his hand, and she tipped her forehead against his.

"Hermione, nobody would think less of you if you left," Harry said softly, as though he knew the topic was delicate, and pure volume could shatter it. "You deserve to be happy, even if he can't be."

"I know, Harry," Hermione sighed. "But what am I supposed to do? Kick him out and hope Arthur and Molly welcome him back home?"

"You know they would." Harry straightened up, his eyes searching her tidy office and finally resting on the folder she clutched protectively to her chest.

"It isn't so simple, Harry," Hermione whispered. Tears escaped her welling eyes and glided down her cheeks. "I love him. I just can't handle this anymore. I may as well be living alone."

"He'll come out of it eventually," Harry said, the tone of his voice strange, as though he was trying to convince himself of it as well. "But you have to ask yourself if you're willing to wait around until he does."

"I'm not," Hermione admitted, sourly, allowing her eyes to flicker closed against the tears that threatened. "I'm ready… for something else. Something more."

A tiny sense of disappointment welled within Severus' chest as his lunch appeared beside his bed, and yet he was alone. It was fleeting, of course, and it passed without much second thought, but Severus could not deny its existence; Granger had said she would accompany him for lunch, and she did not make an appearance. While he did not necessarily feel betrayed by her sudden change of heart, the loneliness of his lunch was not lost upon him.

The breeze carried with it the scent of the steak on his plate, and Severus' stomach began to churn. While the hospital's cuisine was far from extravagant, it offered much more for his senses than the sandwiches he had been living off of for the past few months. His estate was rapidly depleting; while he was hardly squandering his wealth, the funds off of which he had been surviving since having "died" were quickly draining. He realized his stay at the hospital would consume a large portion of what remained, and after that – the outlook was rather bleak.

He moved the newspaper in his lap to the bedside table; the article he had been reading discussed speculation about a current Auror mission, but of course, none of the blundering idiots at the Daily Prophet had the slightest inkling as to what they were talking about. While he obviously never collaborated with the Aurors, their missions were much the same – it was really no different than when he was allied with the Order, truly – and Severus came to respect the organization. And unfortunately, as it so often seemed, the Daily Prophet had nothing to say in a positive light, despite the risk the Aurors often took.

Gingerly, he lifted the tray to his lap, a small burst of pain radiating in Severus' left shoulder. Her earlier massage had relieved some of the tension, but the longer he lingered in the bed, the tighter his muscles bound themselves. Even his back began to ache again, and as he rolled his shoulders against the pillows, he felt a dull ache throb all along his spine.

He found himself pondering the whereabouts of his company, but he did not dwell on her absence. She was his Healer and nothing more; it would be absurd to assume she had time to tend to his every whim and satisfy his every need – especially when those needs were purely social. He began to carve apart the slab of steak, his gaze flickering between his plate and the door.

She did finally make an appearance, though Severus had long ago finished his meal. She apologized profusely, hurrying to the medicine cabinet to provide him his usual cocktail of potions. He took the goblet from her hands, lifting it to his lips cautiously. The tremor that had plagued him still existed, but he was becoming much better at managing it.

"Harry stopped by for a visit," she explained, a cautious tone to her voice. "Harry Potter."

"As though you would be referring to any other 'Harry,'" Severus replied coldly.

An icy fury began coursing through Severus' veins as she lingered in the room. He wasn't certain if it was the mention of Potter or the fact he was the reason she did not accompany him for lunch, but Severus was suddenly very irritated with the woman. Jealousy wasn't an accurate word to describe the emotion that washed over him, but it was the first that came to his mind. And the mere idea of Severus coveting her attention – and therefore growing envious and angry when she did not provide it to him (or worse, provided it to another individual, especially after having promised she would spend time with him) – was absurd. He was growing quite weary of the excuse, but he suspected it had everything to do with her compassion and the absence of anything remotely similar in the past seven years.

"If… if you wanted to, he could be trusted. He underst—"

"Absolutely not, Ms. Granger," Severus snarled. "You should know better than to even suggest such a preposterous idea. It is bad enough that you have recognized me. The last thing I need is for an Auror—especially one as incapable of Occlumency as Potter."

"But Sev—"

"There is nothing to discuss, Ms. Granger."

If humans could deflate, she would have. Under his scornful glare, Granger seemed to sink a little, her eyes conveying a sadness that even the most expansive vocabulary would struggle to describe. As she looked at him, she breathed a sorrowful sigh; he suspected she yearned to tell someone, anyone, that Severus Snape was indeed alive and she was caring for him in the hospital – and if there was ever a person to tell, Severus knew it was indeed Harry Potter. But she needed to understand that no one could know; not now, and not for a very long time.

Straightening her shoulders and regaining her professional façade, Granger folded her arms across her chest, though it was not a defensive stance she commanded. It was casual, as though she was hugging herself to keep warm. Her kind amber eyes searched his face, and she tried to force a smile onto her lips, but her cheek only lifted awkwardly.

"I hope your lunch was to your liking. I have submitted the request for the journals you asked for, and they should start arriving by tomorrow morning," she said, matter-of-factly. With a flick of her wand, a short stack of periodicals manifested on his bedside table. "These are from my personal collection, and they are the most recent issue. Many of these were also on the list, but I've included others that I thought you would enjoy."

Severus reached for a couple journals, his eyes scanning the covers with interest. Lifting his gaze to her face, he nodded curtly. "You have my thanks."

"Sev, I am sorry I wasn't able to make it for lunch today," she added, tugging her lower lip in between her teeth. "To be completely honest with you, despite how unnecessarily asinine you can be… I do enjoy your company."

He arched an eyebrow curiously, and a small smile broke out on her face. A small, pleasant laugh escaped her, and she lowered herself into the chair beside his bed. Her fingers reached towards his face and she brushed the hair back from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

"Despite your austere façade, you're not so bad," she admitted, smiling. "Difficult. Acerbic, perhaps. But now that I'm no longer your student—"

"How sentimental, Ms. Granger," Severus interjected. The playful banter they exchanged was amusing, he had to admit – and despite the fact she was actually being kind, her sentimentality was unnecessary and borderline nauseating.

Casting him a long-suffering roll of her eyes, Granger stood from the chair, resting her hands on her hips. "Is there anything else I can get for you now, or have you enough to keep you occupied for the time being?"

"I have a question," Severus replied, plastering the most disinterested expression onto his face he could muster. He allowed his eyes to fall to the journals in his lap and he flicked one of them open. His eyes began scanning the page as he awaited her response, though he was not actually reading the words.

"Yes?" There was no hint of irritation in her voice at his melodramatic pause; she openly conveyed it, so much to the point that she ought to have added a small 'tut' of disapproval.

He eyed her furtively. "Are you going to be responsible for all of your regular duties tomorrow or—"

"You're wondering if you'll be cursed to endure my company the entire day?" she laughed with a small shake of her head. "My patient load is entirely dependent on how clumsy people are that day. I can't say for sure if I will have to care for anyone but you – but I do have other work I need to finish. So, rest assured; I will not be pestering you all day long."

"I see," Severus replied. Feigning disinterest, he returned his attention to the magazine in his hands. "Very well."

For a moment longer, Granger lingered in the room. He had not yet become habituated to the pleasing smell that she bore, and as he breathed the air, he caught the faint hint of her shampoo and the perfume she used. As strange as it seemed to him, he associated the smell of her with comfort, with warmth. At times, especially when she had helped him bathe, and then kneaded the knots from his back – he wondered if he had been wrong about her. He had found her presence so grating as her professor; but as her patient, it was something else entirely. But then, it may have been the subtle distinction that was to blame.

Understanding her excusal, Granger took a step back toward the door. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Enjoy your reading."

With a gruff grunt in reply, Severus nestled further into his pillows. As she left, he heard the soft whisper of her robes and the quiet click of her heels indicating her departure.

When Hermione returned to his room that late afternoon, Snape was sleeping. As soon as she opened the door to his room, beyond the quiet creak of the old hinges there was a faint, nearly silent snoring. A small smile danced about her lips as she quietly closed the door behind her, her cautious step almost silent as she rounded the privacy curtain.

Snape was resting against his pile of pillows, his head lolled to the side. His left arm lay beside him in the bed, his right arm resting across his lap. The light, starchy blankets were pulled up to his waist, and every now and again, his foot would twitch suddenly, shuddering the entire length of the covers. A journal lay open across his chest, though the cover was wrinkled and torn. The shadows that circled his eyes were lightening with every passing day, and she could swear he was starting to put on some weight. Though he was still very thin, the sickly pallid color of his skin was somehow darker – she couldn't explain it.

She opened the drawer to the medicine cabinet, carefully rummaging through the various vials and jars. She withdrew the familiar vial, the darkly colored liquid within sloshing against the walls of the ampoule. Conjuring a goblet, she poured the solution into the cup and examined it over the lip. She turned to him, simply studying him for a moment; he seemed strangely peaceful as he rested. To keep from upsetting his calm – and violating the trust he was just beginning to place in her – she would not inform him of the near-slip of his identity. What he did not know could not harm him any, and surely a Slytherin such as he would approve of deception by omission?

Coming to his bedside, she rested her hand against his cheek, smoothing her soft thumb over the rough growth of facial hair. It was barely apparent, but she could feel it; she wondered if it was an artifact of being as old as he was that he grew such a beard so quickly – Ron certainly didn't. He turned his head into her, leaning into the gentle touch. His eyes were oscillating rapidly beneath his eyelids, as though he were reading from the delicate skin.

"Sev," Hermione whispered, leaning close to him. "Sev, wake up."

She had to shake him gently to finally wake him. With her hand resting on his shoulder, she gave him a gingerly nudge; slowly, he lifted his eyelids, his dark eyes flickering over her features. He murmured something indecipherable, lifting his hands to his eyes and massaging the sleep away. His eyelids were still drooping as he looked at her, but he was conscious, and that was all she needed.

"I want to check your heart again," Hermione said quietly. She lifted the goblet in her hand just slightly, as though to prove it.

Turning from her, Snape breathed a heavy sigh. He shifted his legs beneath the covers, the creases in his forehead deepening as he furrowed his brow. The urinal was placed in a drawer in his bedside table and he reached for it; Hermione intercepted him, drawing the receptacle from the drawer. Snape cleared his throat as she handed it to him, and with a slight smile and a playful 'tut,' Hermione disappeared behind the curtain.

A moment later, once the groans and sighs expressed by the patient passed, Hermione returned to his bedside. He replaced the urinal on the bedside table, and with a quick tap of her wand it vanished. Eyeing him as she, once again, retrieved the goblet, she released a thoughtful hum.

"I should show you how to dispose of these," she commented absently.

With a subtle shrug of her shoulders, Hermione gestured to the goblet again. Snape eyed it wearily, the shadows darkening his fathomless eyes – and suddenly, he looked as unwell as he had a day previous. Frowning, Hermione turned it over to him; she knew his grave anticipation of the effects of the potion yielded his sudden ill appearance, but it was disconcerting, nonetheless.

He studied it like a Potions Master would: first, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it; then, with a small flick of his wrist, he swirled the goblet, his eyes tracing the tiny flecks of silver and black that littered the solution. In one quick motion, he brought the goblet to his lips and choked back the potion, his face twisting into an awful grimace as the sticky substance slid down his throat.

"I recall this being the more unpleasant aspect," Snape growled as he set the goblet down on the table.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Yes, it most certainly is."

They simply considered each other in silence for a moment before Snape lowered himself back into his pillows. With her hands raised in the air, she began reciting the familiar, pretty incantation – and for a moment, Snape looked as though he relaxed, but it was fleeting. The excruciating wave of pain washed over him; his innards felt as though they were being torn from him and for a moment, he thought for sure he was suffering a heart attack.

With her hands lowering closer to his body, the pain dissipated and he was overwhelmed with a comforting warmth. His body began to arch into the air, blood pumping vigorously to every part of his body. When she released him from the spell, he returned to the bed, his body having responded much the same as the first time she used that charm. Bunching the blankets over his groin, he turned to look at her, but she was not meeting his gaze.

With her wand, Hermione formed a very deliberate shape in the air above Snape. He watched her closely, and from the furrowed brow that wrinkled his features, it was obvious he was nearly as concerned as she. Glancing to him, she tried to smile; he did not return the gesture. When he followed her gaze, he noticed what she was studying: above him, suddenly, manifested a whitish silhouette, lying supine just as he was. The abdomen of the figure was littered with tiny glowing red spots, and it was upon these she was fixated.

"Normally, I don't offer my patients the opportunity to see what it is I create when I use that spell," Hermione admitted, glancing to him. "If I hadn't wanted you to, you wouldn't see it either. It's completely up to my discretion."

Snape lifted his chin just slightly in recognition of her statement, his eyes moving over the shimmering white form that floated above him. Hermione allowed her gaze to fall back upon it as well, and she leaned on the bed, her wand held to the figure.

"Do you see these here?" she asked, pointing her wand at the glowing crimson spots. "These indicate injury. The pink ones" – and she gestured appropriately – "are healing. There are these lavender-colored ones" – and again, she directed with her wand – "represent the wounds that have healed. And the bright, blood-colored marks" – as she moved her wand to the chest of the white figure, Snape visibly sunk into the bed – "represent unhealing wounds."

With a quick wave of her hand, the image faded into white smoke, lifting to the ceiling and disappearing from sight. Hermione lowered herself into the chair, resting her elbows against her knees. The slackened posture was very unlike her, but Snape said nothing about it, if he even noticed it.

After a sharp sigh, Hermione shook her head. She leaned back in the chair, combing the tip of her wand through her hair. "There is good news. The good news is that the potion I administered designed to dissolve the bone shards that were lodged in your organs was successful. The shards have completely dissolved, and your body will utilize the fresh cells to repair some of the damage."

"I presume there is bad news, as well," Snape said, his voice icy.

"Yes," Hermione said softly, chewing her lip as she looked at him. "The bad news is that the damage – to your heart especially, but there appears to be some wounding to your lungs as well – has not healed. It is more severe than I anticipated."

Turning her gaze to her lap, Hermione released a soft, saddened sigh. Her eyes searched the lime-green of her robes as she twisted her wand in her fingers. Snape's gaze abandoned her face and fixated on the ceiling, his hands rolling the hem of his blankets into a tight coil.

"I can, of course, repair the damage," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "But I'm afraid I was not expecting this. When I said you may be walking in a day – I was mistaken."

"I assure you, Ms. Granger; broken promises are the least of my worries," Snape growled, turning an eye on her.

Hermione could not stop the quiet laugh that escaped her at his blatant sarcasm. Shaking her head, Hermione tucked her wand into her robes. She reached to his chest, her fingers gently manipulating the coin in his pocket.

"Now that I know you know how to use this," she said, crassly. "I am going to begin brewing the potions I need to get you better. If you need anything—"

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Snape replied coldly, turning from her to the window.

Combing her fingers through his hair, Hermione dragged her nails gently along his scalp. His eyes flickered closed at the contact; the feeling of her fingers moving against his skull was soothing.

"I will get you better, Sev," Hermione's voice was warm, yet firm, as though it was fact. "I will get you better, so you can return to whatever noble mission you're on."

A small smirk tugged the corner of his mouth as she spoke. "I have no doubt, Ms. Granger."

When she vacated his room, Severus was left staring blankly at the ceiling of his room, his eyes tracing the shadows that clung to the corners. Though he had managed to conceal it from her, Granger's news that he would not be walking in the immediate future was disappointing. He was growing incredibly weary of the four walls of his room, and despite his view to the outside… he still felt like a caged animal.

He knew Granger was doing her best to accommodate him; that much was glaringly obvious, especially when one considered she had transferred him to a floor that was mostly unused and loaned him the most recent issues of periodicals she subscribed to. And lest he forget, she was sacrificing her weekend to ensure the security of his identity.

Pulling one of the journals from the bedside table, Severus opened it in his lap. He had absolutely no interest in reading but with few other options to pass the time – he could resort to what he often did as a teenager, but the thought made him feel foolish and then what if Granger walked in? He could imagine the expression on her face as she registered the sound of his hand stroking his length and he couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped him in response. He imagined she would abandon his room in a hurry, only to curl up on the floor of her office and weep. Professor Severus Snape, feared Slytherin Head and despised Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, wanking? If the entire world had not been turned over when she discovered he was not, in fact, deceased, then the sight of him masturbating surely would defy all rationality she possessed.

A goblet of icy water manifested on his bedside table and Severus reached for it, drinking appreciatively. He really ached for whisky, but he hardly believed Granger would provide him such a favor. He thought he recalled a comment that his liver was damaged, but he couldn't be sure – but if it were the case, she would certainly oppose his having any alcohol at all for a long while. He tried to recall the image of the smoky silhouette she summoned, but he could not accurately place the glowing stars that indicated injury.

The longer he sat in the cursed hospital bed, the more restless he became. The aroma of the outdoors that wafted into his room through his open window only exacerbated his discontent, but he dreaded breathing in the stale air of the hospital. He knew it wasn't just the fact he was closed off from the world – he had been living that way for a very long time and he had grown accustomed to the agonizing silence – but that he was completely inactive. Surely such a thing would drive anyone to madness.

When Granger returned, he would demand to be released from the room for at least an hour. He could utilize one of the many disillusionment charms, and a wheelchair would be required – but he had to escape the four walls he had been forced to stare at for the past – three? four? – days. She would not be able to provide a reason to forbid it; he would defy her if necessary. If he could.

Pulling his long fingers through his hair, he briefly recalled the feeling of her small hands stroking his scalp. She had such a wonderful way of handling him; she was gentle, yet firm – comforting, yet strong. The touch of her fingers over his back and arms and legs seemed to linger as he recalled the massage that morning; it was as though his muscles maintained a memory of their own, and they could imitate the feeling of her strong fingers kneading them. He released a quiet groan; Weasley was a lucky man indeed if that was the kind of treatment she offered him.

For a moment, Severus considered actually allowing his depraved mind to manifest and dominate – simply for something to pass the time, of course. Granger was not an unattractive woman; that was for certain. Her robes hugged her small form quite pleasingly, and while it was certainly modest attire, it hardly left much to the imagination. Severus was a man, before all else; he could appreciate an attractive female, if only to entertain himself for a little while. He had not known the touch of a woman in a very, very long time, and it was rational to reason that was the purpose behind his persistent perversion.

Glimpsing towards the door, Severus locked it with a silent command. The quiet click soothed his fleeting anxiety, and as he replaced the magazine on the stack, he burrowed into the pillows behind him. His hand led a path of its own accord beneath the sheets, lifting the thin gown that covered his frail body. He allowed his eyes to flicker closed as his fingers wrapped around the limp shaft of his manhood, and gently, he began to squeeze.

As he laid there, his hand tightening around the slowly hardening length, the aroma of Granger's body surrounded him as though she were in the room with him. He could not explain the emotions inspired by the scent of her perfume, the smell of her shampoo – and he especially did not understand the pleasant way his body reacted to her sweat – but in that moment, he did not need a rationale. He simply existed with the memory, accepting it as truth.

As the scent of her sweat began overwhelming his senses, he could picture her body leaning over him, the modest exposure of her breasts peeking out just subtly above the neckline of her robes. In his mind, he lifted his hand – no longer skeletal, but strong and firm as it had been in the past – to her bosom, his fingers gently stroking her through the thin fabric of her gown. She lowered herself to the bed, allowing him to reach the neckline of her robe, tugging it down over her shoulders and revealing the dainty straps of her brassiere.

In his mind, she tilted her head back, exposing her tender throat to him. His hand roamed to her chin, his rough, calloused fingers smoothing over the soft flesh. His fingers slid to the fine chain around her neck, curling his fingers around it and lifting it from her. He imagined the pendant to be some form of a Healer insignia and he tore the chain from her neck, discarding it to the side. He did not need to remember, in that moment, he was in her professional care – he just needed her body. He just needed to feel her body. He didn't care who she was, what she was; his primal needs dominated.

She allowed him to pull the neckline of her robes further down her body, exposing the delicate fabric of the brassiere that contained her breasts. In his mind, she reached to her back, unfastening the hooks that secured the article to her chest. It fell away effortlessly; her pink nipples hardened as they were exposed to the cool air of the room.

Severus' hand pumped vigorously at his hardened length, soft groans escaping him as his mind whirled with his perverse imagination. He leaned forward, drawing one of the hardened peaks of her breasts into his mouth. She tasted of salt, of soap – the smell of her filled him with an intense sense of longing, and he imagined the sound of her panting breaths and lustful moans as he suckled her breast in his mouth.

As he stroked his manhood, she slipped her robes over her hips and they fell with a quiet whisper to the floor. Her knickers matched her brassiere, and with his fingers curled around the hem, he slipped them over her hips as well. She stood nude before him, her amber eyes burning with desire as she studied his long form; when her eyes finally met his length, she released a quiet gasp. Severus slid his fingers between her slender legs, stroking the wetness of her folds.

In his mind, she climbed above him, her thighs straddling his hips. She began to rock into him, her wetness sliding along his shaft in an excruciating pleasure. Severus gasped, his hand tightening around his throbbing organ; he imagined the feeling of her wet, hot folds, slowly devouring him, pulling him inside of her. He imagined her pulsing walls as she rose above him, surrounding him, sliding along him…

As he neared his climax, his grip tightened further around his length, the stroking becoming more violent and vigorous with every jerk. When he released, his seed spilled onto his stomach but he didn't care; the explosive feeling shook his entire body, his limbs shuddering in pleasure and a long, lustful groan escaping him. Granger's naked form disappeared and his fingers were sticky. He pumped his length slowly, deliberately, squeezing the last droplets of his seed from it, the salty liquid dripping onto his hands. He searched for the seemingly ever-present water basin, but it was nowhere in sight – but to no concern, he was a wizard.

He summoned the washcloth he suspected to be present in the bathroom. Using the water from his goblet, icy though it was, he dampened the rag and began wiping off his lower stomach and then cleaned his hands. The climax relieved more than just the boredom that overwhelmed him; the tension in his body was lessened, and though it may have been fleeting he took advantage of his new found freedom. Raising his arms in the air above him, he lavished the feeling of muscles stretching. His left shoulder even seemed looser somehow, and the feeling of the elongated muscle challenged the orgasm he just achieved.

Adjusting his patient robe and the blankets to conceal him appropriately, Severus closed his eyes. He breathed in the aroma of the room – a combination of the outside's floral charm, the salty scent of his ejaculate, and, amazingly enough, the lingering smell of Granger's sweat and perfume. The corners of his mouth tugged into a subtle smile; while he doubted she would actually accommodate his carnal needs, she certainly could provide the inspiration for him to do so himself.

Suddenly overcome with the desire for sleep, Severus granted himself the small favor. Discarding the cloth to the floor, he turned onto his side; he realized with some disinterest that he had been spending more of his time sleeping than doing much else as of late. While he suspected it had everything to do with his body's need for rejuvenation from so much healing…

"Are you sure your parents won't mind if I'm in your room?" Severus asked cautiously.

They had just returned home from playing in the sweltering summer heat on the playground. They were quickly outgrowing the slides and swings, but Lily insisted to return to the place where they first met. After fixing Severus a drink of lemonade, she led him to her room, where they stood outside the door. Severus' heart was racing in his chest as he looked at the door that closed off her room.

Lily's hand rested on the doorknob, her piercing green eyes scanning Severus' face. She bore a quiet smile, and with a shake of her head, she relieved his fears.

"They love you, Sev. They'd probably rejoice that it was you in my room and not one of the other boys at Hogwarts."

A faint flush settled into Severus' cheeks as she spoke and he nodded slowly. "As long as you don't think your dad will—"

"Oh, Sev," Lily laughed, twisting the handle and pushing open the door. "Dad likes you especially. You're smart, you're respectful… for the most part."

Her emphasis on the word was purely indicative of his treatment of her sister. Petunia and Severus did not get along at all, and often times Severus would spit very cruel things at her – but she was able to return such insults. Lily hated bearing witness to their rows, but she hardly interrupted. Petunia had not been very nice to her younger sister since she was admitted to Hogwarts, and there was a certain level of animosity growing between them. Lily had verbalized her sadness over their growing distance, but Severus didn't really understand it.

As the door revealed its contents, Lily took a step inside. Severus followed closely behind, his dark eyes searching the large room – well, he thought of it as large, but it was probably only because his bedroom was very, very small. The floor was carpeted with a soft white fabric, the walls a fading yellow color. Lily's bed was shoved into a corner by the window that overlooked the street and she lowered herself onto it.

"I want to repaint it," Lily said shyly, her emerald eyes following Severus gaze as he looked around. "It's been this color since I was little."

Severus didn't respond; he noticed the mirror above her dresser. His reflection glared back at him, and he suddenly felt revoltingly misplaced in the bright room. His sun-kissed skin – still pale compared to Lily's – and dark hair contrasted violently with the cheerful room. He tore his eyes from his reflection, only to notice the small frame that surrounded an animated photograph of Lily and… himself.

Lily noticed his gaze fall on the photograph and her face flushed. Severus lifted it into his hands, an impossibly broad grin spreading over his features as he watched the two teenagers wave up at him. They were in their third year at Hogwarts and it was nearing the end of term. He set the frame back onto her dresser.

"Is… is it okay if I sit beside you?" Severus asked, his voice meek as his dark gaze flickered over her bed.

"Of course, Sev," Lily replied, a small giggle escaping her.

Severus lowered himself beside her on the bed, and Lily draped her arm across his shoulder. "Are you ever going to invite me into your house, Sev?"

A choking feeling settled in his throat and Severus shook his head. Clearing his throat, he peered at her from the corner of his eye. "I like coming to your house."

"I know, but I'd love to see your room," Lily replied, drawing her arm from his shoulders to rest it in his lap, her fingers toying with his. She rested her head on his shoulder. "It's only fair. I want to know everything about you!"

He buried his face in her hair, drinking in the scent of the floral shampoo she used. The smell of her sweat lingered between them; shyly, Severus only hoped that he smelled as pleasant to her as she did to him. Quietly, he placed a subtle kiss there, so soft that she didn't notice – and he turned his head to watch her fingers.

"Are your parents still fighting, Severus?" Lily asked softly, her gentle fingers stroking the inside of his left forearm.

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

Lily's touch abandoned his forearm and instead she laced her fingers in his. Her other hand came around to stroke the smooth skin of his cheek, and Severus leaned into the touch. He knew she was feeling for the healing cut on his cheekbone, and as her fingers found it, she smoothed the soft pads over it delicately.

"Has he hit you again?"

"Not since I threatened to curse him," Severus replied sourly.

"I wish I could keep you here."

"Me too."

When Hermione returned to Snape's room in a few hours, she was surprised to find the door locked. As she wielded her wand, the lock quietly turned, granting her access. Curiously, she turned the doorknob, the creaky shriek of the hinges announcing her entrance.

He was leaning against the pillows, reading from one of the journals she had provided him. Some owls had arrived while she was in the apothecary, delivering a few more issues of the magazines he requested, and she had them tucked beneath her arm. In her pocket quietly tink-ed the vials she had brought, and as she rounded the curtain, the saturnine man cast her an acknowledging glance before returning to his reading. On the floor before the table was a dry cloth, and with a curious expression, she waved her wand; it vanished from sight, and when Hermione returned her attention to Snape, the corner of his mouth was twitching.

Pulling the volumes out from under her arm, she placed them on the stack beside his bed. Then, she shoved her hand into her pocket and removed the two vials, tapping them with her wand to return them to their normal size. Snape eyed them wearily, and finally, he lowered the journal to his lap.

"Can I get you anything before I administer these?" Hermione asked him, lowering herself into the chair beside him.

"I want to go for a walk."

"I told you—"

"You have a wheelchair, don't you?" he replied acidly.

"Well, yes, but—"

"And you have a wand, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"And you are familiar with disillusionment charms, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"I fail to see any reason why you should protest, then."

For a moment, Hermione simply sat before him, blinking. She had not been expecting such an adamant request, though she could completely understand his desire. Setting the vials on the bedside table, she rose from the chair and nodded slowly.

"Only if I can accompany you," she bartered.

"I will tolerate your company for the sake of escaping the maddening confines of this bloody room," he snarled, though it seemed fairly harmless; she thought she detected a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Very well," Hermione said coolly, turning on her heel. "I'll get the wheelchair."
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Potions, Plans, and Second Chances