Nettie

Chapter Five: NETTIE

I have always been a hopeless romantic. I hate to admit it, but it's true. I suppose that's why Professor Snape interested me so much. Don't get me wrong – I'm not in love with the man. Quite honestly, I don't believe I've ever met a more sarcastic, condescending, antisocial bastard in my whole life.

He wouldn't be proper for me at all. But... there was something about him when he visited Miss Granger that was just - right is the only word that comes to mind. Don't look so shocked. It's not as if I was spying on him during his visits or anything. Far from it, actually. As soon as Professor Snape showed up, I generally skedaddled.

However, over the course of so many months, you do inadvertently walk in on things, or past slightly open doorways and hear things that perhaps you shouldn't.

Take, for example, the way he talks to her. With everyone else he's cold and sarcastic. The man has a tongue that could deflate a zeppelin. Poppy tells me he's that way with everyone and not to take offense when he sharpens it on me, so I try not to. She seems to be somewhat fond of him, despite his lack of manners. I told her as much the last time we discussed him, and you know what she said to me?

'Of course I like him dear, as much as one can like a man like him. I like him in spite of himself, and I daresay that's the best kind of liking there is. I've patched him often enough over the years to know that he bleeds red just like the rest of us. He doesn't scare me anymore – much.'

I liked him too, I admit. He was a fascinating dichotomy of a man – so harsh and sarcastic with everyone he met – yet so gentle and devoted to her. He was the perfect tragic hero, dark and tortured, yet underneath it all longing for companionship, just like the rest of us. At least, I liked to view him this way. Poppy would tell me I was reading too many Muggle books if I ever told her this, of course. I do like my Bronte and Austen!

Anyway, on the occasions when I've happened by Miss Granger's room when he's visiting, he is always talking to her. His voice, when he's not using it like some weapon, is actually quite lovely. It's all deep and smooth, almost velvety, like a lion's purr. He'll tell her stories about this or that, or mention something he's read that she would have enjoyed. Once I even over heard him reading to her from a book - nothing poetic or flowery, just some vague theorem on the properties of salt taken direct from the runes of Sodom and Gomorrah versus salt from Atlanta. But his voice had been so melodious and gentle it made me catch my breath.

I often wondered about him – and her – and them. Why did he continue to visit her every day? After all, according to Poppy, he and Miss Granger had been far from friendly before and during the war, yet he showed her a gentle devotion unmatched by even her closest friends.

I'm not saying no one else ever visited her, mind you. Harry Potter popped in every once in a long while. I've seen him more than three times since that first day – once on her birthday, once at Christmas and once in the early spring – but he was always clearly uncomfortable to be there and never stayed long.

Molly Weasley has been by a few times as well. There was a woman hard to miss, let me tell you. She always brings fresh nightgowns for Miss Granger with her name neatly written on the back labels. Each visit she goes to sit by her bedside wringing her hanky, and like clockwork she always ends up crying within five minutes. At Christmas, she brought a large handmade dressing gown for Miss Granger in the ugliest burnt orange I had ever seen, with an even uglier row of banana yellow H's adorning the trim which she insisted I put it on Miss Granger right away.

I've always felt a little sad for Miss Granger after Mr. Potter and Mrs. Weasley would visit her – not that they weren't perfectly lovely people, but they didn't talk to her the way Professor Snape did. Visiting her made them sad and when they left there always seemed to be a dismal pall in the room. Their visits seemed too forced, like something done out of obligation instead of desire.

With Professor Snape, it was completely different. He visited her because he wanted to, I was sure of it. You could tell the minute he stepped into her room and looked at her – the tension would just melt off his frame. He enjoyed being with her, I could see no other explanation for why he'd come every day. That's what I imagined.

And there's my second fault. On top of being a hopeless romantic, I also have a vivid imagination. I find myself creating little scenarios in my head about people who interest me and Professor Snape was one of those people. How could he not be? The man was an enigma wrapped in mystery. It seemed to me that no one really knew him, not even my sister, though she's mentioned on more than one occasion that Headmaster Dumbledore seems to understand Snape well enough. Somehow, knowing this makes the rumors of his omnipotence all the more believable.

So when Poppy had first learned from me that he was still visiting Miss Granger every day, she had been beyond surprised.

'But what does he do?' she had asked. 'Why is he visiting her?'

I was sure I didn't know, but I imagined it was because he cared for her. Perhaps he had admired her from afar during her school years, all too aware of the taboo of a relationship between a teacher and a student, preventing him from telling her his true feelings. Then, when she had sacrificed herself to save him, he had realized he would never have the chance to tell her how he felt - so, heart broken, had vowed to visit her every day as a show of his loyalty.

Don't snort! It's far-fetched, I know. If I ever said anything like that to Poppy she would have laughed in my face. But I enjoyed weaving my little stories and it didn't seem to hurt anyone. What could be more tragic and romantic than a man like Snape loving the girl who had saved him? Especially when said girl was still alive in body, but not really living.

If I was to be perfectly frank, it seemed to me his was a heart with no companion and a soul without a home.

I became so used to seeing him every day that when he didn't show up it caught me totally by surprise. He always arrived, like clockwork, at 6:45 pm and visited until 8:15 pm. Always. But last Monday, he hadn't.

Miss Granger had been ready, as usual. I always propped her up with pillows before he arrived – made her look more human and less corpse-like, if you know what I mean. I made sure that her eyes were well moisturized so I wouldn't have to put drops in them while he was here, and that her hair was loose and freshly combed.

As it was a Monday, she even had a fresh nightgown on – a beautiful kelly green cotton which was very flattering to her coloring. It was amazing how healthy she looked, actually, considering she had been in a coma for so long.

Imagine my surprise, then, when he didn't show up. I reasoned with myself that he was just held up - after all, he hadn't missed a visit in over 18 months. But his tea remained untouched and had grown quite cold by the time I finally removed it from the side table.

"I guess he's not coming tonight, dear," I murmured to Miss Granger as I prepared her for sleep, removing the pillows and gently lowering her to a more comfortable position for resting, "I hope nothing's happened to him."

I could have flooed Poppy of course. As a matter of fact it took almost all my will power not to do so, but I didn't want to invade his privacy in that way. More than like, he was fine and had just decided not to come tonight, for one reason or the other. I tried to imagine what could possibly keep him from Miss Granger's side after his previous dedication, but everything I came up with seemed too mundane.

I knew he wouldn't stay away just because he had papers to mark – he had shown up here before with work. I didn't think he would just suddenly decide to take a break, as he had never seemed inclined to do so in the past. I tried not to think the worst; that perhaps something had happened to the man to keep him away, but I quickly put that thought from my mind.

It wasn't until the next day, when I finally had a chance to read the Daily Prophet, that I learned about the accident. Running right beside the article on the explosion was a particularly unflattering picture of the man, glowering down his nose at whoever had been brave enough to snap his photo.

I told Miss Granger all about it later that day when I was changing her bedding. 'It seems your Professor Snape is a hero again, dear! According to the paper, he saved a young boy at Hogwarts from certain death when a cauldron exploded in potions class. Both of them are in the infirmary and I imagine Poppy's been patching them up quite nicely!'

Later that evening, when I flooed my sister to inquire after Professor Snape's health, she had laughed. 'I had to give him a double dose of sleeping potion to keep him in his bed, dratted man. Even after all these years he refuses to believe that I do know what I'm doing. How's Hermione, by the way?'

I sighed, 'Same as always. I'm glad Professor Snape wasn't seriously injured.'

Poppy laughed again, 'Oh, he was. Him and Dennis Creevey both. Any longer breathing in those fumes and there wouldn't have been enough lung in either of them to grow anything back. I'm afraid poor Dennis caught the worst of it, but still... I don't expect that Severus will be visiting there any time soon.'

'Please send him my regards, Poppy, and best wishes to a speedy recovery. I'm sure Miss Granger won't even notice he's gone.'

My sister grinned mischievously at that, 'I'll be sure to tell him exactly that, Nettie!'

It was a long week without his visits. I hadn't realized how much I counted on them to break up the routine of my day. Normally, when he came, I would take a small spot of tea myself in the staff lounge before getting caught up on paperwork or other small duties I had neglected during the day. With him not visiting Miss Granger, I found myself oddly reluctant to leave her room. Poor girl truly was all alone now, even if only for a while, and I felt sorry for her.

Perhaps it was only because I had begun to spend more time sitting with her, but during that week I began to notice something strange. The third day of Snape's absence while I was working the snarls out of Hermione's curls, I found myself remarking that her hair was feeling unusually dry and brittle. As it normally felt like living silk ribbons, the change had been somewhat disturbing. I decided to wash her hair again, this time using extra moisturizer, to see if it'd fix the problem. While it was drying I took an added measure and charmed the room to hold a little more humidity than was usually standard. It quickly became apparent that neither seemed to be helping.

This morning I had to clean the brush of her broken hair. I also noticed several strands on her pillow case and sheets. Her hair had never broken off before – not since Professor Snape had grown it back his first visit. When I took a moment to study the strands, I noticed that they were dull of color, as if someone had leeched all the little golden and nutmeg highlights out of them.

It was Friday, and I decided that Miss Granger would get a bath that afternoon, a proper bath with water and scented lotion afterwards, and an application of that infernal muggle spray Mr. Potter had left for her so long ago. Despite how irritating looking after that mass of hair could sometimes be, I admit I had come to admire it. I hated to think that her enforced coma could finally be catching up with her, that something had the power to actually damage the hair Professor Snape had so carefully restored to her.

I was just in the process of carefully rinsing the soap out of her hair when, to my surprise, Professor Snape swooped into the room with a little less grace than usual. As it was the middle of the afternoon I had not been expecting him, so Hermione was still wet and wrapped in a loose sheet. I was entirely forgotten as he gaped at Miss Granger for a full 30 seconds before turning his back quickly to look at the wall.

I wanted to laugh, really I did. Having not seen him for so long I was happier with his presence than annoyed for the way he gawked at my patient. The poor man was probably blushing like a school boy.

"Professor Snape, I wasn't expecting you today," I said, forcing the cheeky smile out of my voice. I finished rinsing Miss Granger's hair of soap and began to towel it dry. "Poppy's let you out, has she? How are you feeling?"

I could tell from the stiff line of his profile that he was scowling, "I'm breathing, thank you. Are you almost finished?"

"Just give me a moment, I need to get her into a nightgown. I find that a nice bath with water does so much more for her than charming her clean. Her hair always looks particularly lovely after a good washing."

Snape, back still turned and arms crossed tightly against his chest, snorted. "Indeed."

I quickly removed the sheet that had been carefully tucked under her arms and slid her gown over her head, muttering a modified drying spell over her skin. The spray Mr. Potter had left smelled heavenly, like freesia and jasmine. I could see Professor Snape inhale the scent lightly, his shoulders loosening a fraction as the warm steam from the bath wafted around his head.

"There we go, all done." He turned about then and I smiled professionally, my eyes clinically taking in his appearance. He looked terrible. His skin was pale, more so than usual, with dark circles hanging like half moons under his eyes. He had lost some weight in the week since he'd last visited and the gauntness of his face made his nose even more prominent than usual. I could tell he was still in pain because he stood with his shoulders hunched inward, like someone had punched him in the chest. And, even though I knew from Poppy that he had been on forced rest from his classes, he looked like he hadn't slept since I last saw him. The man was a wreck.

"Can I get you some tea? Is there anything you need?" I tried not to let my concern for him show, knowing he would hate it, but he scowled at me anyway.

"What I need, Madame Pomfrey, is to be left alone."

I decided to follow his wishes and quickly left Miss Granger's room. As I departed and turned to close the door, I saw him slump wearily into his customary seat beside her bed.

When I returned 40 minutes later, I had a fresh pot of tea with me and some lovely butter cookies I had found in the lounge area. If there was ever a man in need of a hot drink and something to eat, it was the man I had left sitting in Miss Granger's room. I just hoped he wouldn't be too upset at my invasion – I was bearing gifts after all.

I knocked softly on the door with my elbow before pushing it open with my foot, "Professor Snape?"

He lay slumped over in his chair, his head resting on the mattress by Miss Granger's arm. His lank hair had fallen over the side of his face, some of the longer strands lying across Miss Granger's stomach.

"Professor Snape? Are you alright?" I asked worriedly, putting down the tray to lightly shake his shoulder.

The man blinked awake sleepily, before suddenly jerking upright and glaring at me, even as he turned a startling shade of white.

"You look paler than normal, Professor Snape. Does Poppy know you're here? I bet she doesn't. I daresay it looks as though you need a few good hours of sleep."

Snape glared at me, his normal color quickly returning to his face. "Poppy and her wishes are no concern of mine. I am an adult and can go where I wish, despite what you may have heard from her."

I tutted under my breath and his eyes narrowed even further. "Don't you dare presume to begin lecturing me, woman. I need neither you nor Poppy nattering over me like a pack of overbearing hens!"

"What you need, Professor, is a lot more sleep than you've been getting since the accident," I reasoned sensibly. I had no idea he could be so vile simply from being awoken too soon. "I'm telling you this as a medi-witch and also, hopefully, as a friend. Poppy's advice is no differ-"

"Your sister, Madame Pomfrey, is an interfering old bat," he interrupted in a cold, ferocious voice, standing up to his full height to look down his nose at me. "I had hoped her inherent nosiness and proclivity to gossip was a trait not shared by the rest of your family. It appears I was wrong. Rest assured, I am perfectly aware when I have overstayed my welcome."

He shoved past me and made for the door, but his step was clumsy and he had to hold onto the door frame to keep himself from running into it. I was torn quite severely at that moment between wanting to help him and the desire to keep my head attached to my neck. "But when will you return?" I dared to ask, too surprised to say anything else.

"I will not be," he snarled, and then with a swoosh of his cape, he was gone.