NETTIE

Chapter Nine: NETTIE

I will never forget, as long as I live, the day Professor Snape returned to Miss Granger. The image of the man, half mad with worry, his eyes bleak with an overwhelming fear, was burned in my mind's eye as clearly as a photograph.

It had been two weeks and a day since he had been here last; since he had vowed not to return. Those two weeks had not been kind to him. I was used to seeing him a certain way, all buttoned up and overly formal in his frock coat and robes – not in shirt sleeves, unbuttoned at the cuffs and throat. He smelled stale, like stagnant air, with a strong over tone of whiskey. His hair, which was normally neat – if not bordering on clean – was even greasier than normal and in disarray around his face. He looked as if he hadn't bathed in days. For a man I had always seen as overly fastidious and imposing, his appearance was shocking.

I tried not to let that shock show on my face when he finally managed to tear his gaze away from Miss Granger's still form.

'Why is she laying on her side?' he had demanded, 'Why are her arms and legs curled like that?' His voice was hoarse, as if he had to force it from his throat.

'It happens when patients have been in prolonged comas for too long,' I replied gently, 'The tendons lose their elasticity and shrink.'

'She's lost so much weight. She looks like a single touch could break her. What happened?' The tightness in his voice had increased, rasping from his throat. He stepped towards her, reaching out a hand that was visibly shaking to touch her. His despair was palpable. At that moment I think I began to understand him, just a little. I had to fight back the urge to step forward and hug him, as one would hug a small child, wishing to protect him from all the hurts the world could send one's way.

'I don't know,' I replied softly, instead, 'She started going downhill after your last visit. There's nothing more I can do for her.'

In all my years as a medi-witch, I have seen more than my fair share of people fall apart when facing the death of someone they care for. Husbands and wives collapsing in despair as their spouse died in their arms, parents keening with unbearable grief as a beloved child would succumb to the various injuries and illnesses that seemed to plague the young; it was always hard to watch. But this... well, if ever I had imagined that he might possibly love the girl, his reaction left no doubt in my mind now. He was breaking apart in front of my very eyes, his grief and his guilt was unmistakable and overwhelming. I could hear his heart shattering from ten feet away.

'I can't accept that,' he murmured. 'Dear Gods above...'

And then he was sinking to his knees at the side of her bed, hands trembling over her shoulders, gazing into those empty, disconcerting eyes of hers. His voice was on the verge of cracking as he spoke, 'Miss... Miss Granger... Hermione?'

I didn't know what to do for him. I didn't know how to assuage the waves of grief I felt emanating from him, and wondered vaguely how he would survive her loss. There was no doubt in my mind that Miss Granger was dying, you see. No doubt at all.

I stood, transfixed, as a man I had always heard to be cold; a man described as ruthless, heartless, dark – a man who had flayed me with his sharp tongue on many occasions, broke down at the bedside of a girl half his age.

'No,' his voice was low and pleading, the agony in that one word more eloquent than a thousand novels. 'No!'

His long slender hands, first one than the other, slid through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he leaned forward, supporting his upper body against the edge of the bed. His forehead pressed against her own, his breath fanning a few of the brittle tendrils of hair that crossed her cheek.

I wasn't exactly sure what he was doing at first. My desires were torn, professionalism urging that I offer this man his privacy, even though I was obligated to keep a vigil on the situation. But in the end, I could only continue to watch, ensnared, as the tangible presence of magic filled the room and centered on the man and my patient.

Several pieces fell into place then: snippets of information I had learned from Poppy, Snape's rigid gaze pinned on Miss Granger, and the prickle of magic across the back of my neck. He was attempting to use legilimency on her, searching her mind with his own for some hint that she was there. I bit my lip at the futility of it all. It would not work.

Poppy had told me that Dumbledore had already tried, on several occasions, to locate Miss Granger this way. They hadn't sent her to St. Mungo's until he had admitted there was nothing there to find, and that they could do no more for her. She told me it had almost broken the older man to do this. Hermione Granger had been a particular favorite of his.

I wanted to go to Professor Snape and offer him what comfort I could, but I held back. His past rebukes had taught me to be wary, the way one is wary of a stray and hurting animal. I had learned from prior experience that all attempts at consolation and friendship with this man would be spurned. I didn't know how to help him.

I noticed after an indeterminable period of time that his breathing had slowed, becoming less harsh. His face was still tight with desolation but a strange sense of calm seemed to settle over him as he held her in his strangely intimate embrace. 'I'm here, Hermione. I'm here.'

And then – silence. The oddest silence you have ever heard, if you know what I mean. It seemed like I could hear his heart beating from where I stood, a steady thrum, thrum, thrum that slowed in its racing and gentled. After a while, I heard an echoing beat, and realized it was coming from Miss Granger. I stood transfixed as her breathing seemed to match his, her chest rising and falling as his did, her heart beat which had been so reedy and weak coming to the fore, gently answering his own.

His lips were moving but no words came out that I could hear. He had somehow leaned forward onto her bed, his upper body supported by hers. His hands were still tangled in her hair, his forehead still pressed tightly to hers, his mouth inches from her own. His breath seemed to almost have substance – it was like I could see it, sliding past his lips and into her mouth, before she returned it to him. They were breathing in tandem.

I gaped at the strangely intimate vision before me, unable to move or blink, entranced by this display as Professor Snape tried to will the life back into her fragile body. If I hadn't seen it happen before my very eyes, I would never have believed it. It was magic in its purest form.

Forgive me for being caught unawares then, when I heard a voice cry out in anger and dismay, 'What is he doing to her?' Harry Potter barged into the room and viciously yanked Professor Snape away from Miss Granger, pulling him off the bed and spinning him around before punching him as hard as he could right in the face.

Professor Snape fell unceremoniously to the floor the minute Potter let him go, sinking to his hands and knees, head bowed. When he finally raised it, his eyes burned with cold anger and were locked on the younger man. 'You stupid boy!' he snarled, 'You fucking idiot! I could kill you! Do you know what you just did?' His voice became more and more ferocious as he slowly rose to his feet, ignoring the blood dripping from his nose as he advanced towards the younger man. 'I was talking to Hermione! I had just convinced her I was really there when YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM HER!'

Mr. Potter didn't even flinch, his face stony and cold as he reached for his wand. Albus Dumbledore, who had entered the room without my notice as well, quickly stepped forward, 'Stop this right now, the both of you!'

Professor Snape snarled at the older man, but stopped his unfriendly advance towards the boy. Mr. Potter smirked at the man, before turning to face Dumbledore. 'I told you he was up to something. He's not helping her, he's molesting her!'

The stupid boy. I stepped forward, suddenly angry on Professor Snape's behalf, 'Mr. Potter, I doubt he was molesting her, as you put it, with me right in the room.'

The Professor and Potter jumped at the sound of my voice, but Dumbledore simply inclined his head towards me and nodded, 'Nettie, how good to see you again.'

I nodded my head back, but continued pinning Mr. Potter with a stern, rebuking gaze. Really, the young man had no sense at all. I already knew that he and Professor Snape weren't friends, but still – he had eyes. All he needed to do was look at Miss Granger to know that Professor Snape hadn't hurt her in any way. In fact, he appeared to have helped her.

'Look at Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. Just look at her! Look at her hair, look at her skin! Does she look as sick to you as she did this morning? Does she? It's not because of me that she looks any better; I can assure you of that. It's Professor Snape here – he's done something to her!'

Even as I spoke, she continued to improve. Her body was still curled in on itself, but her hair had regained its suppleness while we were speaking, the brown returning to the chocolate sheen I remembered so well. Her skin had lost its grayness and was quickly returning to its normal pale and honey tones. I was sure that, given enough time, her limbs would soon regain their normal tone and litheness. Hermione Granger was no longer dying.

I can't say who was more surprised at this revelation, Mr. Potter or Professor Snape. While the younger man gaped at his friend, Snape seemed to collapse in on himself. The shakiness I had noticed when he first arrived returned and he allowed himself to sink into the chair beside her bed.

'Hermione,' he breathed, reaching towards her.

'Don't touch her, you sodding bastard.' Potter practically sneered as he quickly approached her other side. 'What's going on?'

'That's what I'd like to know,' Dumbledore interjected mildly. 'You said you were – talking – to her, Severus?'

'Yes,' Professor Snape stated flatly, 'I was talking to her. She's there, Albus – she's been there the whole time and we never knew it. Whatever the curse was, it's trapped her in her mind.'

'And you used legilimency to find her?' Dumbledore was stroking a hand through his long beard and alternately tapping his lips thoughtfully, 'Interesting.'

'He's lying,' Potter stated flatly. 'He has to be. You tried legilimency on her, Professor Dumbledore, several times! If you couldn't find her how could he?'

'I am not lying.' The full force of Snape's glare was riveted on the boy. 'She's there.'

'I've seen you use legilimency before, Snape,' Mr. Potter hissed his name, mockingly. 'As a matter of fact, I seem to recall you using legilimency on me before, and you didn't need to be lying on top of me in order for it to work.'

Professor Snape paled, but still managed a snide, 'Jealous, Potter?'

I tried not to laugh. Really, the man could be terribly funny in a deliciously sarcastic way. Mr. Potter stiffened slightly but didn't reply. Instead, he turned towards Dumbledore. 'Professor Dumbledore, you don't believe him do you?'

The older man stepped forward, glancing at the stiff posture of Professor Snape before turning his head to Mr. Potter and speaking gently. 'He's not lying, Harry.'

'But that's impossible! It'd mean she's been in there, trapped... with...that's...'

'Horrifying,' Albus supplied sadly, and moved closer to Mr. Potter to lay a wrinkled hand on the boy's shaking shoulder, 'Severus, do you think she'd respond to me if I tried to talk to her myself?'

Professor Snape sat in stony silence for a long moment. I noticed that his hand was sitting on the bedcovers in front of Hermione's limp fingers, as if restraining himself from touching them with Harry and Albus in the room. 'I don't know,' he admitted finally. 'She mentioned that when you tried before, she could hear you and see you, but you couldn't do the same. She said it was like being trapped behind a mirror.'

'That's convenient,' snorted Potter.

Professor Snape ignored him, 'Unfortunately, Miss Granger's mind has deteriorated somewhat since your last attempt. When I spoke to her, she was under the impression that I was a 'manifestation of her subconscious'. It wasn't until Potter yanked me away that she began to believe I might really be there and not some construct in her made-up world. She has taken the first steps towards insanity, Albus. The majority of time I was there she thought she was dreaming.'

Potter scowled again, 'Nightmare, more like.'

I wanted to smack the boy in the back of the head. I knew he was the savior of the Wizarding world, but honestly! Was I ever that young?

'Harry,' Dumbledore stated mildly, 'You're not helping matters here. Severus, are you sure it wasn't just you imaging her?'

Professor Snape looked affronted at the older man's words, 'Surely, Albus, you don't think I made this up?'

'No, not intentionally, of course. But you have been under a great deal of stress lately, and I know how much Hermione and her condition have been plaguing you. It's only natural that you want her to be there.'

'I am not crazy,' Snape hissed. 'She's there. Try to talk to her. Even if she doesn't respond, tell her something that she can relay to me when I go in and find her again. That should satisfy your doubts.'

'It's not that I doubt you, Severus,' Albus began, but Professor Snape cut him off, his voice suddenly tired.

'I know, Albus. Just do it.'

Dumbledore and Snape traded places at the edge of Miss Granger's bed. The elder wizard leaned over her slightly and looked deeply into her eyes. He didn't touch her.

'That's how you do legilimency,' Potter whispered sarcastically at Snape after a few moments, 'No hands.'

'Shut up, Potter,' Snape growled back, 'before I decide to rip your tongue out.'

It must have been a good ten minutes before Albus straightened and sighed, 'I sense nothing.'

Mr. Potter straightened up, gloating, 'I knew he was lying!'

I sighed. You'd think the boy would realize he had nothing to gloat about. If Miss Granger truly wasn't there, she was more than likely lost and would never recover. Professor Snape snapped that exact sentiment at him as he quickly moved to take Dumbledore's place.

I watched, transfixed, as he seemed to fall into her empty gaze once again. As before, the two started noticeably breathing in tandem, and Professor Snape reached out a hand to tenderly brush some hair from her forehead. It was obvious, to me at least, that he was talking to her. A slight smile slid across his features, softening their harshness. His hand slid down to her shoulder, and when he broke her gaze and stood up, he didn't remove it.

'Hermione would like me to relay that you're a great bloody prat, Potter, and that if you can't control your temper to get the hell out of her room.'

I huffed at that, not quite a laugh, but all three men turned to look at me. Only Professor Snape seemed to share my amusement.

'You would say that,' Potter replied. 'What did she say about Albus?'

Professor Snape turned his head slowly to look at the older man. 'She knew you were there, Albus, but you could not hear her. She says thanks, but no thank you to the lemon drop you offered. She also thinks the reason I'm the only one that can talk to her has to do with our proximity when Malfoy's curse hit. She blocked the majority of it, but some of it trickled around her and dusted me.'

Dumbledore smiled slightly at this, 'Ahh...she always was quite intelligent.' His eyes sparkled in sudden amusement, 'I can tell that she also gave you the rest of my message.'

Professor Snape shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to Miss Granger before coming to rest on the bed. 'Yes, you interfering old sot,' but his voice held no malice.

Potter stood there, dumbfounded. 'Snape is right? She's actually there?'

'He did give me the gist of what I said to her,' Dumbledore agreed. 'I tried to tempt her out into the open by offering her a lemon drop.'

'She hates lemon drops,' Mr. Potter stated, his voice shaking. 'She's really there. Bloody hell.'

'Bloody hell is right, Potter,' Professor Snape snapped, though he seemed to have relaxed somewhat, his words devoid of their usual sting. 'I want to take her back to Hogwarts.'

'What?' I could see Potter didn't like the idea to much. 'What do you mean take her back to Hogwarts... with you?'

'It will be easier for everyone concerned if she is somewhere close by. Exiling her from familiar faces just because she cannot communicate with anyone else is a cruelty even I am not capable of, Potter.' Snape sneered at the reddening boy. 'She's still in there, and now she may be able to help me come up with a cure. She's the brightest witch I have ever taught and I need her nearby so we can work on this together.'

'Yes, she must come back to Hogwarts,' Dumbledore agreed, 'but she cannot stay in the infirmary. Poppy has too much work as it is and she cannot look after Miss Granger on top of that. You cannot be with her 24 hours a day either, Severus, so we must find an alternative.'

'I'll come,' I offered suddenly. 'I can take a leave of absence from St. Mungo's. I'm already familiar with her case and her needs, and after so long I'd like to be able to say I had a hand in her recuperation.'

In reality, I couldn't bear the thought of the rest of this drama playing out where I couldn't see it. I had come to care for the girl and, oddly enough, for Professor Snape. I wanted to see if their story would have the happy ending I so desired for them.

'But where will she stay?' Potter interjected, frowning at Professor Snape.

Dumbledore looked at the younger man reassuringly, 'There are extra rooms in the dungeons, near Severus' quarters. We can prepare a suite there for her and Madame Pomfrey. Are you sure you can do this, Nettie?'

I smiled at the older man, 'I'm sure, Sir. I have time coming to me anyway. When do you want to transfer her?'

'As soon as can be arranged,' he replied, moving towards the open door. 'I can stay and sign the paperwork right now, as a matter of fact. How soon can you leave?'

'As soon as she's been released,' I responded, before I turned and smiled at Professor Snape and Miss Granger. 'Did you hear that, Miss Granger?' I asked cheerfully, 'Professor Snape is taking you home!'