Intermission

An inarticulate roar and the resounding crash that followed startled Hermione into consciousness. Wearily blinking her eyes in a vain attempt to make sense of her surroundings, she had only a moment's respite before another howl of pain assaulted her ears. She struggled to sit up, but a firm hand held her still. Slowly, her vision began to focus.

"R...Remus?" she asked, her voice sounding hoarse and broken to her ears.

"Hermione, love, shhhh. Lie back down." He turned his head away from her and whispered, "She's awake," to the room at large.

A room that looked eerily familiar, though her exhausted brain could not quite begin to place the names of the people and objects that crowded her view. In fact, their mere presence was quickly becoming overwhelming.

"'Mione! Merlin, you gave us a scare..." Ron's recognizable voice chimed.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" This was, unmistakably, Harry.

"Give her room to breathe, you two, gods!" Classic Ginny.

"Alright, loves, she's awake. Let's give her a bit to collect herself. C'mon, let's grab some lunch, yeah?" Hermione smiled as Tonks' unique blend of insight and authority infused the air as she ushered the muttering group out the door, leaving the young witch alone with a very relieved and also concerned Remus.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, searching her expression for any visible signs of pain.

"Where?" It was all she could get out. Her mind seemed to decide it would not supply the rest of the sentence.

"The hospital wing," came his calm answer.

"Professor?" She felt silly being reduced to one-word questions.

"He's here too."

"Alright?"

"Don't worry about that, Hermione. What matters is that you've returned to us. I'm more concerned at this moment for your welfare."

She swallowed thickly. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask, to explain, to understand. And yet... and yet, a feeling of intense apathy washed over her.

Another spectacular crash invaded her thoughts, and she visibly jumped. Remus' head whipped around at the noise with a strange expression plastered over his face.

"Alright over there, Poppy?" he called out tentatively. There was no answer. "Minerva?" he asked a bit more loudly.

"We're fine, Remus, we're fine," came the exasperated, curt tone of the Headmistress from a distance away.

"What?" Hermione asked Remus, again only able to verbalize the first word of her question.

The wizard turned back to her and belatedly feigned a small smile. "Nothing to worry about. Are you hungry?"

Confused at the rapid change of conversation, Hermione shook her head vigorously. The thought of food made her stomach turn. The thought of withstanding the pitying look that appeared on her former professor's face any longer also made her feel decidedly queasy. She turned away, intent on investigating her surroundings further.

She was in a partitioned area of the Infirmary, a curtain enclosing a small space that included herself, her bed, a cluttered nightstand, a comfortable-looking armchair, and Remus. It was sparse, it was clean, it was cold, it was sterile. Vases full of flowers charmed to last an indefinite amount of time littered the top of the nightstand, crowding her personal space. They let out a cloying perfume that tickled and teased her sinuses.

Stacks of books and newspapers were piled haphazardly next to the armchair, along with a few extra blankets and pillows strewn about. Hermione glanced up at Remus, her eyes full of fear. "H...how long?" There. She had graduated to two words. Her small feeling of victory was fleeting, however, as she witnessed a wince appear on the older wizard's face, darkening his expression. "Remus?" she queried again when he was not forthcoming with an answer.

He seemed to have found the crisp sheets of her bed suddenly very interesting as he mumbled, "Two weeks."

Her sharp intake of breath caused him to meet her eyes once again. "Two weeks?" she asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, Hermione..."

"And him?" There was no question whom "him" referred to.

"Not quite awake yet. But," he quickly added upon seeing the sudden crestfallen expression she adopted, "don't worry about him, Hermione. Let's focus on your recovery right now..."

"That noise?"

"Well, he's showing definite signs of life," quipped Remus weakly. Another incomprehensible roar and the shattering of one of the nearby vases seemed to accentuate his point.

She watched with a certain lack of concern as the vase's water swelled silently across the tabletop before being spelled away by Remus. The displaced flowers met the same fate. "He's doing that?" she asked. Up to three words. Her progress seemed to go unnoticed by the wizard, however.

"Hopefully not intentionally."

"Non-verbally?" What a stupid question, she berated herself.

"And wandlessly, unconsciously."

She made a non-committal noise at that, followed by a rather large yawn. She felt a complete absence of fear that Snape's subconscious magical ability might affect her in any way, and it worried her slightly. Shouldn't she be afraid? Shouldn't there be more safety measures in place? Magical boundaries of some sort?

She suddenly realized that she didn't care. That she almost welcomed the danger. Would she feel any different if she was in pain? Would she feel less detached? Would she feel anything at all? She wondered if there were a way she could subtly provoke him to attack her, but quickly dismissed the idea at the thought that he would, almost certainly, be blamed, unconscious or not. Would she feel guilty? No, she shook her head, best to not test that theory.

"Take this," Remus lifted a chilled potion to her lips, "and try to sleep. I'll see if we can't manage to keep the noise down a bit."

The last words that left her lips before she succumbed to sleep were, "Don't silence him. I need to hear."

***

Hushed voices were penetrating her deep slumber, and she ineffectively tried to swat them away. Instead of drowning into the background, however, they seemed to grow louder and clearer. Hermione amused herself by attempting to place the voices. There were three, all adults, one male and two female. She allowed the last remnants of sleep to escape her as she began to focus on their conversation, slyly keeping the outward appearance of unconsciousness.

"How is she?" asked a brusque female voice that Hermione immediately recognized as belonging to Minerva McGonagall.

"Taking well to the treatments," replied the second female voice, one familiar to Hermione from her years as a student that seemed to attract trouble wherever she went. Madam Pomfrey.

"How long has she been sleeping, Remus?" asked the Headmistress.

A low voice answered tiredly from her immediate right, "For nearly twelve hours now. Him?"

"We've finally managed to sedate him, thank Merlin," Poppy responded in an exhausted, clipped tone. "I heard you speaking with her earlier. I'm sorry I wasn't able to assist you. She didn't, by chance, mention what happened?"

"No, and I didn't think it wise to press the issue. She had no idea where she was."

Silence blanketed the room for several minutes. Hermione was about to make a display of waking when suddenly Minerva spoke. "Run by me again what Mrs. Malfoy said?"

"She told me that she happened upon Severus and Hermione in the corridor in front of his office, that he was vomiting excessively and that Ms. Granger had collapsed quite suddenly. By the time I reached them, they were both unconscious and unresponsive," replied the Healer.

"What do you think, Remus?" asked the Headmistress.

"I don't know, Minerva. You said something about them having a heated disagreement not too long before this incident?"

"One you knew all too well about, young man."

"I had no idea the extent..."

"Well, while that explains his bruises, it doesn't quite explain the situation at hand, does it, dears?" interrupted Poppy in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.

Hermione nearly groaned aloud. How could I have been so insensitive? So violent? So hurtful?

"Do you think he...that it to say, they, might have attacked each other?" asked Remus suddenly, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts.

"No, I don't think so. I gave them both quite a stern warning, and I don't think either of them truly intended to hurt the other in the earlier incident. I doubt they would suddenly dissolve into a duel..." began McGonagall.

"I don't mean to insinuate..." the wizard quickly amended.

"Remus, I agree with Minerva. I don't think either would set out to do the other harm, especially this grave."

"Of course, not intentionally. I was merely wondering aloud if he might have let his temper get the best of him..."

"Let's not point the finger of blame, shall we? It doesn't matter who did what, just the what is all I'm concerned about," said Poppy.

"Remus, if you don't mind, would you watch over Severus? I'll take over for you with Hermione."

"Of course, Headmistress," replied Remus diffidently. Hermione heard him shuffle away. A tension dissolved in the air that she had not noticed had been there before. A few moments of uneasy silence ticked by.

"Hermione, dear, I know you're awake," whispered Minerva into the young witch's ear, startling the girl into opening her eyes. The Headmistress and the Healer both stared at her expectantly.

"He didn't do anything." It was all she could think to say. She heard Minerva mumble something under her breath and felt a prick of familiar magic on her skin.

"Silencing charm," the Headmistress explained off-handedly in answer to Hermione's confused expression. "What happened, Hermione? Do you remember?"

The young witch was silent, trying to gather the proper words in order to explain her theory. Poppy, however, had misunderstood her lack of response to mean that Hermione was unwilling to clarify. "Miss Granger," the Healer said in an affronted tone, "it is imperative that we know exactly what happened..."

"I know!" Hermione shot back petulantly. "I'm trying to figure out how to explain it. I think... Can Legilimency be performed without intent?" The last sentence was directed at Minerva.

"It has happened before, yes," answered the Headmistress.

"I think it happened in this case. I was trying to apologize for, well, for everything, but he was, and rightly so, still angry, and I might have pressed it, my apology, you see... Well, whatever the case, we were arguing, and then we were just glaring at each other, and I just, I fell in."

"'Fell in?'" asked Poppy in a somewhat softer tone.

"Into, into his memories. I didn't mean to. Merlin, I didn't mean to! The last thing I wanted to do was invade his privacy again..."

"'Again?'" prompted Minerva, but Hermione ignored her, not feeling that it was the right time to disclose the information she gained from the stolen shoebox. If there was ever a right time, that was.

"Well, the memories, they, they..." Hermione stopped short suddenly; the flashbacks of those visions was sending both her mind and the contents of her stomach reeling.

Correctly interpreting Hermione's instant sickly pallor, Poppy quickly conjured a sick bucket just as the young witch emptied her belly of whatever nourishment it had found within the bottomless vials of medicinal potions from the past several hours.

"I see," stated Minerva as soon as Hermione had ceased retching. She gently laid her hand upon the young witch's shoulder as the girl's body began to tremble with silent sobs. The Headmistress exchanged a knowing look with the Healer.

"Hermione, why don't you take a sip of this now," Poppy fed her a vial of foul-smelling potion, "and we'll let you rest. If you need anything at all, call out, dear."

The young witch settled back into her pillows and closed her heavy eyelids without protest, feeling emotionally and physically drained from the entire ordeal.

***

Days and nights slipped quietly away without the young witch's notice as she collected a small library of her own within the tiny space allotted to her in the infirmary. The books splayed across her bed were an assortment of Muggle psychology books as well as printed works that delved into the art of Legilimency and Occlumency; books that Remus and Tonks had tirelessly gathered for her during her continued imprisonment.

Hermione's third week of being sequestered in Madam Pomfrey's care was coming to a close with the fourth week dawning on the horizon. Yet still, Severus Snape had not regained consciousness. Still, the young witch drowned in a sea of guilt, fear, and a strange sense of apathy. Her books did nothing to settle her mind or to pique her interest as they once would have done. They seemed now to be merely an exercise in keeping desperation and boredom at bay. With a weak sigh, she trudged on through a paragraph outlining the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in the Muggle text Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, more commonly referred to as the "DSM–IV."

"Wotcher, Hermione!" called out a female voice suddenly. Startled, Hermione shrieked and dropped the heavy manual instantly. "Oh, didn't mean to scare you! I keep forgetting. Sorry, love," whispered the owner of the high-pitched voice, one Nymphadora Tonks.

"It's fine, Tonks. It's fine," sighed the younger witch. "You're here early, I think." Hermione blinked and looked around for the clock. The ancient timepiece mounted on the wall clearly stated it was one o'clock p.m. "I guess not. Lunch with Remus again?" She was not fooled by Tonks' sudden interest in her husband's eating habits; the older witch had taken it upon herself to make sure that Hermione was not without company for more than a few hours at most. A plan that reeked of Tonks', Remus', Minerva's, Harry's, Ginny's, and Madam Pomfrey's combined plotting.

"Yep, we had steak and kidney pie. Again." The older witch comically rolled her eyes.

Hermione nodded meekly and rescued the thick text from its fallen position.

"Hermione," Tonks began, her tone at once soothing and serious, "you still aren't eating very much. Do you want me to fetch something more, uhm, tasty than that?" She pointed at a discarded lunch tray adorned with an untouched Shepherd's Pie, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

"No, I'm okay."

"You sure? It's no problem. Want me to grab you a bite of Muggle food?"

"No, but thanks. I just want to rest a bit more. I'll probably be hungry when I wake up," Hermione lied. She knew by the sharp glance of the older witch that Tonks didn't buy it. Hermione added a faint smile belatedly. Tonks snorted in disbelief.

"All right, then, let me at least help you get all these books off the bed. It makes me feel better that you're reading again, though, mind you. You seemed so lost earlier this week..." And as Tonks continued what passed as her daily motivational speech, Hermione easily tuned it out in favor of snuggling into the warm blankets. She was asleep before the Metamorphmagus could finish her thought.

*

A strange sound, so soft it was nearly whispered, woke Hermione with a start. Lying still, she waited and listened for it to repeat. The Hospital Wing was doused in inky darkness, all the inhabitants sleeping it seemed, save for her. Silver shafts of moonlight pierced the blackness every few feet, illuminating patches of her room. The cold seeping through the stone was effectively halted by the Warming Charm cast on the patients' blankets, and it gave Hermione a feeling of security in the midst of such a brisk night.

Just as she began to drift off into another dreamless slumber, the odd noise tickled her eardrum once more, and she was once again awake and highly alert. She strained to hear as it sounded again, her brain quickly cataloguing the various possible sources. When it breached her auditory senses once more, she felt sure that she could label it as a yelp of distress, or pain.

And it came from... the adjoining room.

Hermione uncurled herself from her tense, prostrate position and gingerly stepped out of her bed, keeping her ears trained to the repetitive cry as she followed. It was low, so muted, that during the breaks of silence in between, she questioned whether she had heard anything at all. But then it would break through, so hoarse and pleading, a whimper almost, that it pushed all thoughts of imagination and dismissal out of her head.

Slowly, cautiously, she advanced. Pulling back the curtains that separated the patients' beds from one another, separated her from him, separated her from all the injured students – she located the origin of the haunting noise.

A pale, rogue moonbeam sliced through the opening of the curtains and landed on the deathly-pale face of her former professor. His eyes were closed, his black eyelashes a stark contrast against his chalky complexion. His face was gaunt, far thinner than she had ever remembered seeing before. He trembled uncontrollably, and his sweat-soaked, jet hair clung to his face. He thrashed slightly as another aching yelp escaped his parted lips.

Hermione cast a quick glance of appraisal around his room, looking for something, anything, that might alleviate his near-silent agony.

It was bare. No books, no flowers, no empty glasses left behind by visitors, no cards, nothing but a solitary chair protruding from the darkness. A glint of reflecting light that hovered underneath the spartan piece of furniture blinked out of existence as Hermione stepped near. Her heart burned with raw anger at his neglect. A feeling that suddenly banished her suffocating, week-long indifference.

She finally felt.

Quickly drawing the chair to his bedside, she sat before him with a mixture of gratitude and fear. Tenderly, she reached out with her small fingers and brushed the hair off his face.

Encouraged by his sudden silence, she hurried back to her room, only to return seconds later with her wand. Once again taking her seat, she began to quietly talk in calm, comforting tones as she transfigured a nearby quill into a washcloth. Using a modified Aguamenti charm, she wet the rag with cool water.

As she placed the cloth on his forehead and gently wiped his brow, his head turned slightly into her touch. With an aching heart, Hermione continued her ministrations, only staggering back to her own bed when the break of dawn approached and exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Following the young witch's exit, an oddly-marked feline slunk out from the shrinking shadows and repositioned herself at the foot of the wizard's bed, her body relaxed and fluid as she stalked her perimeter in silent sentinel, a pensive expression dancing in her eyes.

Author's Note – Thousands of thank-yous to my extraordinary beta, Angel Mischa, and the invaluable advice from both Amsev and Irishredlass.

And, okay, so I said in the last A/N that shit would hit the fan in this chapter. Apparently not. I guess the characters needed a tender moment before launching into another heated exchange. To which I say, "Bah."

And, yes, I did some research, and the DSM-IV is actually used in the UK psychological field as a reference tool, and is highly respected, from what I've read. If you have evidence to the contrary, please let me know!

Up Next... The sleeping serpent awakens. That sounds really ominous, doesn't it?