Bad Dreams

Bad Dreams

Hermione's dry eyes scanned her Arithmancy text for what seemed like the hundredth time. Nothing she had read had made its way to her mind, and she had exhausted both her mental and physical reserves. Her head nodded forward.

Someone cackled maniacally in her ear.

"Let's see how muddy her blood really is..."

Her head snapped back, and she opened her eyes, her heart pounding violently in her chest. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, thankful to find herself in St. Mungo's tea room surrounded by other people.

She took a sip of tea and winced. Cold. She tapped the paper cup with her wand and muttered a warming spell. She drank deeply, savoring the bitter, tannin aftertaste.

A voice from behind her made her jump. "I hoped I would find you here."

Hermione blotted spilled tea from the front of her robes as she spun around. "Oh, Maire. Hi." She smiled wearily at the Healer.

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder why Maire had sought her out. "Is Professor Snape all right?" she asked in alarm.

Maire smiled. "He's quite well. I believe he's putting Healer Millar through her paces right about now."

Hermione raised one brow questioningly. "Is he giving her a hard time?"

Maire laughed mischievously. "No harder than she deserves. I believe he took exception to her use of the term 'lambykins'."

Hermione laughed out loud. "She called Professor Snape 'lambykins'? I'm sure he just loved that."

"As I said, he seemed to take exception to it." Maire's eyes twinkled merrily.

"Oh, well, at least he's getting back to himself," Hermione giggled.

"It would seem so. At least, he's out of the proverbial woods." The Healer frowned thoughtfully. "He still faces some daunting struggles. I'm not sure just how much of his memory he has regained."

Hermione sighed and looked down. Snape had never been her favorite professor, just as she had never been his favorite pupil. Nevertheless, a part of her wished fervently that she could see him once more as the towering menace he had been. She found it difficult to reconcile that image with the vulnerable, friendless patient that lay in his bed now.

"Were you aware that he has been receiving owls for the last week?" Maire asked.

Hermione looked up alertly and narrowed her eyes. "What kind of owls?" she asked suspiciously.

"Why don't you come and see after visiting hours," Maire said significantly and walked away.

Hermione trembled with exhaustion and anxiety as she gathered her books from the table. She reduced all of them and placed them in a tiny handbag, then walked pensively down the corridor toward Snape's ward. She tried to imagine just who would owl the professor. Each successive conjecture was more disquieting the last.

When she pulled the privacy curtain aside, she was surprised to see Professor Snape sitting upright and staring sullenly into space. "Good evening," she offered in what she hoped was a balance between false cheer and raw nervousness.

Snape slowly turned his head toward her, and she was immediately pierced by the censure she saw within his eyes. "You weren't here when I woke up," he growled reproachfully.

Hermione looked down guiltily. "I'm really sorry. I just had to get something to eat and get some studying done. Are you all right?"

"The last Healer they sent was a dunderhead."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and grinned knowingly. "There now, lambykins, don't call the nice Healer a dunderhead."

Snape shot her a dangerous look. His lips disappeared into a thin line, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione fought the urge to laugh. For an instant, he looked like a petulant child.

She immediately felt ashamed. The professor's tenuous health had forced him into a position of defenselessness. Of course, he would find it offensive to be patronized.

She hesitantly walked to his bedside. "May I sit?" she murmured softly.

He grunted and nodded perfunctorily. Obviously, he was still irritated over her absence earlier. She opened her mouth to apologize, but stared dumbly instead when she noticed the tiny smile that twisted his thin lips and the faint blush that had mounted his cheeks. For a moment, he seemed almost... timid. Shy. She blinked, and the image was gone; she wondered if she had imagined it.

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, wishing that her chair had not been removed. She couldn't imagine that the Potions master enjoyed such familiarity, especially after his reaction to Healer Millar.

"Are your hands hurting again?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

"Did they give you the Limber-Up Potion?"

He nodded and held out his right hand, opening it slowly and closing it again.

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad. I tried to keep them from getting too stiff when you were sleeping..."

She broke off sharply when she noticed him peering fixedly at her. His black eyes shimmered inscrutably, and she resisted the urge to squirm. She held his gaze quietly and uncomfortably.

After many long moments, he shifted. "You..." he began. She cringed involuntarily. She did not want to make assumptions about the source of Snape's discomfiture, although she could guess.

"The snake... I should have died... You," he rasped, and Hermione knew he was trying to summon the right words, words that would make sense without leaving him bare.

The professor blinked several times and looked at his hands before turning his face once again to Hermione's. He hesitated before he finally managed to whisper, "Why didn't I die?"

Hermione knew that he had wrenched the words out with great effort. Heaviness settled over her, and she slumped, unable to look at him. She twisted her hands in her lap.

They sat in silent contemplation. She understood that the simplicity of his question..."Why didn't I die?"...belied the complexity of the answers he sought.

Finally, she lifted her eyes to his. She said the only words she could think to say.

"I didn't want you to die."

A tumult of emotion passed over Snape's face as they regarded each other. Hermione's eyes began to sting. She bowed her head quickly and pressed her tongue to her palate, attempting to stem the tears.

"I owe you," Snape said softly.

Hermione winced at the bitterness that colored his words. Impulsively, she took his hand in her own. "You owe me nothing," she said lowly.

Snape looked off distantly, his features contorted by emotions Hermione could not fathom. After many long moments, he closed his fingers over hers. Hands entwined, they sat wordlessly.

*****

Hermione startled when the curtains rustled. "Visiting hours are over now, Miss Granger," Maire said quietly.

Hermione sniffed and wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She cautiously removed her hand from Snape's, then pulled his covers up over his sleeping form. She turned hesitantly to face Maire, feeling as if she had been caught behaving inappropriately.

Maire looked down at her knowingly. "There's nothing unseemly about comforting those who need it, Miss Granger," she said softly, "nor is there anything wrong with taking comfort."

Hermione shook off the flurry of emotions that alighted upon her. "So," she said wearily, "about these owls..."

*****

Hermione panted as she tried to match Maire's seemingly leisurely pace. She was almost forced to run to keep up with the older woman. They descended several flights of stairs before Maire finally stopped in a dark, chilly room that Hermione guessed to be the basement. She blinked and tried to adjust to the dim light.

Glancing around, she noticed several packages and letters piled up along the walls. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as a moldy odor wound itself around her.

"Which ones belong to Professor Snape?" she asked.

Maire smiled ruefully. "All of them. Judging by the look on your face, you've smelled the flowers."

Hermione's eyes bugged. "Flowers?" she asked incredulously. "Someone sent him flowers?"

"Many someones, it seems. Here." Maire motioned towards the opposite wall.

Hermione gasped. There, ranged against the walls, were piles and piles of flowers. A few red, long-stem roses peeked from the piles, but the majority were lilies. Hermione shook her head in disbelief as she mentally catalogued the species: Lilies of the Valley; Stargazer Lilies; Tiger Lilies; Calla Lilies.

She grimaced as she imagined Snape's look of horrified surprise. She absent-mindedly took a bundle of Stargazers in her hand and almost dropped them in astonishment when the petals fluttered and began a chorus; "Roses are red, violets are blue, to Lily Potter you always were true," the lilies chanted in girlish singsong.

Hermione dropped the flowers disgustedly. If Snape hated receiving flowers...as he undoubtedly would...he would despise this.

She crinkled her nose contemptuously. "Are all the bouquets charmed to spout doggerel the moment they are touched?" she asked.

"No, thankfully," Maire replied. One corner of her mouth twitched upward. "They are not all charmed, although the most thoughtful admirers did place Ever-Fresh Charms on their bouquets. Regrettably, many lacked such foresight." She picked up a wilting bouquet of Calla lilies and vanished them. "The caretakers have already vanished scores of dead flowers. Of course, the ones that are dead when they arrive are disposed of immediately."

"People have sent him dead flowers, then," Hermione said flatly, and she turned away from the offensive floral heap. "What sort of letters has he received?"

"Here." Maire thrust a haphazard pile of letters into Hermione's arm. Hermione Summoned an empty crate and sat down, laying the bundle of mail at her feet. She gingerly picked up the first one and eyed it warily. Her palms itched as she recalled the Bubotuber pus-infused missive she had received in her school days.

"All incoming mail is screened. Any letters appearing to contain dangerous substances are sent directly to the Ministry of Magic," Maire remarked, as if she had intuited Hermione's concern. "As to their language... well, that's a different story. We don't screen for written vitriol."

Hermione tore the envelope open and read to herself: "Dear Severis Snape."

"Someone's already misspelled his name," she murmured, barely suppressing a grin as she continued.

"You are truly a hero to wizards everywhere. Thank Merlin that Harry Potter had you to watch his back! I know I'm not Lily, but I could be your rose if you just gave me a chance..."

Hermione vanished the letter. "Oh, yes, because inept metaphors are the way to a man's heart," she snorted. She picked up another.

"To Severus Snape, St. Mungo's, Critical Care Ward" the envelope read. She ripped open one end with her nail.

"I don't care what anybody says about you," she read angrily. "You are a TRAITER to the wizarding world, and somebody should hunt down a hungry dementer and feed it what's left of your sole."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered derisively, "I'm sure he would enjoy knowing that his enemies spell no better than his fans."

She picked up another and read in horrified silence:

"Severus Snape, you are an evil man. No matter what else you have done, it is your fault that Harry Potter was left an orphan. In my opinion, the only good thing Voldemort ever did was setting that snake on you. Whoever bothered to save your sorry life should be packed off to Azkaban."

Hermione shivered. She thought of the man sleeping upstairs, of all he had seen and suffered. His youthful mistakes had doomed him to a life of loneliness before the war. Now, despite the fact that he had ensured Harry's triumph over Voldemort...at great cost to himself...he remained an object of scorn.

She skimmed quickly through the pile and organized them haphazardly, struck by the disparity of the sentiments they communicated. To her left side, a stack of letters proclaimed the undying love of their senders; an inordinate number of these contained marriage proposals. An equally large bundle to her right comprised diatribes against a man who had played his role as a Death Eater too well for his own good; a fair number of those contained actual threats. Clearly, Severus Snape had engendered strong, if wildly divergent, emotions amongst Britain's witches and wizards.

Hermione sighed as she gathered the few letters that expressed simple gratitude. She shrunk the bundle and placed them alongside her books in her small purse, then did the same with the bundle of threats. She waved her wand and vanished the love letters.

"You don't intend to save those?" asked Maire, raising one eyebrow.

"I've no doubt that Professor Snape will find them more disturbing than the death threats," Hermione answered. "I wouldn't save the spiteful ones, but I want the Aurors to take a look at them."

Maire looked around. "Mr. Snape's been quite the celebrity since the article in the Prophet a week ago."

Hermione whipped around sharply and faced Maire. "What article?" she demanded.

Maire reached into her robes and produced a small piece of parchment. With a wave of her wand, the parchment grew into a full-size Daily Prophet, which she held out to Hermione.

Hermione snatched it away and gasped as she read the headline that stretched above Severus Snape's sneering visage: Double Agent Fights for Life.

She scanned the article perfunctorily, her mind whirring as she caught odd phrases:

"... remains under the shadow of Albus Dumbledore's death, although Potter has alleged that Dumbledore arranged his killing with Snape beforehand..."

"... reliability of Potter's statement has not been questioned or validated..."

Further down, a smaller headline announced: Faithful Childhood Love Inspires Life of Intrigue, Sacrifice. Lily Potter, arrayed for her wedding, waved from a small photo, and a teenaged Snape sulked from another. Hermione's stomach turned as she read the article:

Severus Snape, former Headmaster of Hogwarts and quite possibly the most enigmatic figure in the war against Voldemort, was apparently in love with hero Harry Potter's mother, the Muggle-born Lily Potter (nee Evans). In his final encounter with the Dark Lord, Harry Potter tearfully recounted how Snape had been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for years. It was then that the young fighter told the enraged Voldemort the story of the romance that led one of the dark wizard's most trusted Death Eaters to spy for Albus Dumbledore.

One of Snape's close friends confirmed, "Oh, yes, he was quite taken with her. Went to pieces when she died, he did. That was when he swore upon his life to bring down Voldemort or die trying."

"What a bunch of rubbish," Hermione scoffed. "Harry wasn't tearful... and it wasn't a romance. And I'm sure Professor Snape would be quite interested to know who this 'close friend' of his is. Nothing but rot."

Maire nodded towards the paper. "There's a bit about you on page three."

Hermione's eyes grew large with disbelief. She flipped angrily to page three. Her own image blinked and looked up wearily from a photo taken just after the final battle. Above the picture were the words, Hermione Granger, War Heroine, Hovers Anxiously at Spy's Bedside.

"I can't believe this!" she screeched indignantly. She began to read out loud. "'Hermione Granger has maintained a near-constant vigil at Severus Snape's side since he was almost killed in the final battle. She has faithfully overseen her fellow veteran's care at every turn, inviting speculation as to the motivation for her devotion...' Of all the crazy innuendos... 'Raises the delicate subject of malfeasance on Snape's part, as he taught Miss Granger for years...' What in Merlin's name... bugger!" she sputtered.

Horror-stricken, she looked up at Maire. "When did this come out?"

"Last week," the witch replied seriously. She fixed a penetrating gaze upon the young girl. "Am I correct in assuming that you did not grant any interviews?"

"Absolutely not! Professor Snape is an extremely private man, and he deserves to have his privacy respected!" Hermione cried. "He'll find all of this speculation about his life humiliating and intrusive. Not to mention the fact that his security has been compromised...he's received death threats, for Merlin's sake! How did this happen?"

Maire's brow furrowed, and she folded her hands in thought. "I confess that I'd hoped you had been interviewed," she said. "St. Mungo's has never released information about Mr. Snape to the press. We were unaware that anyone but you and Mr. Potter knew he was here. This likely means that one of St. Mungo's employees has breached Mr. Snape's confidentiality." She exhaled slowly. "I find that idea quite upsetting."

"So do I." Hermione shook her head in bewilderment. She looked at the byline under the article on page three. "Rita Skeeter!" she fumed. "I should have known!"

She shook with anger. "Look out for beetles in the hospital, Maire," she ground out.

"Beetles?"

"Yes, beetles. Particularly beetles with odd, green markings around their eyes."

She forgot her exhaustion as she bounded furiously up the stairs, leaving a baffled Maire in her wake.

*****

Hermione was breathless by the time she reached the hospital's main level. The Welcome Witch called out to her, but in her indignation she neither heard nor answered. She made her way to the door with angry, powerful strides.

Someone grabbed her arm from behind and effectively arrested her progress. She whipped around furiously, wand in hand, and found herself face to face with Ron.

She shrieked in shock. "Ron! It's you!"

Ron observed her with an odd mixture of surprise and admiration. "Oi, Hermione, don't hex me."

"Then don't sneak up behind me, you git!" she huffed irritably.

Ron laughed. "Sneaking up on you, eh? That's what you call it when you run right past me? The Welcome Witch and I were both yelling at you to stop, but you were hell-bent for the door."

"I had other things on my mind," she shot back. "Besides, I wasn't expecting you."

Ron grinned. "Sorry, but I wanted to walk you home this evening. Oh, yeah, I wanted to give you these, too." He produced a handsome bouquet of roses from behind his back.

She gaped in amazement. "Well, I... uh... Wow! They're really beautiful, Ron!" she stuttered. She took the bouquet and smiled.

Ron's cheeks flushed. "I'm really proud of you, y'know. How you're taking care of Snape and everything. I don't tell you enough, but you're bloody amazing."

Hermione's mouth hung open as she looked up at Ron. She felt that she was seeing him properly for the first time. The feckless youth she had met years ago on the Hogwarts Express had somehow, before her very eyes, grown into a sincere and considerate man. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and pecked him shyly on the lips.

Ron beamed when she laced her arm through his. "Let's go," she said brightly, pushing back the anxiety that simmered constantly within her.

"Gladly," he said warmly. Arm in arm, they stepped into the bustling, twilit street.

Author's Notes

Angel Mischa has been a thorough and thoughtful beta, and I am extremely grateful for all her help. I am likewise indebted to all who have taken time to read and review my story, as well as those who have added "Anthem" to their favorites. Thanks so much. It means a lot!