Chapter 6

Late January saw a thaw in London and Hermione giving up in disgust on the theory that Nagini's venom had affected Severus' magic.

Severus' magic.

He's Severus to me, now, Hermione thought as she stirred her coffee and stared out the window of her kitchen onto the back paved area that called itself, rather grandiosely, a patio. How odd is that?

Sighing slightly and wincing at the terrible taste of coffee gone cold, Hermione rose from the table.

"Ouch! Bugger!" Her foot had fallen asleep. Hopping about her kitchen, she tried to work feeling back into the appendage and limped into her sitting room, piled high with books.

Not a venomous side effect, she thought, wriggling her toes in an effort to make the tingling stop. I wonder if it was atrophy?

And then it hit her like a Stunner. If one didn't use one's magic, just as she hadn't used her foot when she had been sitting on it, what would happen?

How long had Severus been unconscious? How long had it been before Neville found him? How long had Mrs Longbottom had him in her care? Was the atrophying of magic something that could be reversed? Was there such a thing as magio-therapy?

The questions piled up like the books in her sitting room, and only Severus Snape himself could answer them. To think was to act. Hermione didn't even bother to grab her coat.

The rain was falling steadily by the time Hermione Apparated into Long Higgleton. Armed with purpose and a bottle of wine she had nicked from her father, she marched up to Snape's door and knocked firmly.

"How long were you unconscious before Neville found you?" she asked as he jerked the door open.

"Hello, Miss Granger; go away, Miss Granger," Snape growled, moving to slam the door.

"Wait! I just have some questions."

"I have no answers for you."

"Let me in; it's freezing out here."

"No."

"Please?" Hermione shoved her foot in the doorway as Snape swung the door. "Ouch!"

Snape sighed heavily.

"Bloody Gryffindor," he muttered. "You'd camp outside my door, wouldn't you?"

"It's a possibility," Hermione admitted.

Snape stared at her for a long moment.

"Come in," he finally said. "Mrs Griffiths, up the street, will have noticed you by this point. The old bat's a bloody menace."

Hermione smiled smugly and brushed past him into the house.

The sitting room was, as Hermione remembered, cozy. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a fire crackled in the small stone fireplace. An open laptop sat upon a table in the corner, and a stereo was playing music that Hermione did not recognize. What shocked her the most, however, aside from the lack of creepy things in jars and the hominess of the room, were two black cats curled up before the fire. One of them looked up and yawned.

"His name is David," said Snape intercepting her stare. "He and his brother Jonathan were sleeping under my back stoop. I brought them in and fed them and they have made themselves at home. Something I do not recommend you do, Miss Granger."

"David and Jonathan?"

"Have you not read the Old Testament?"

"Yes, but . . ." Hermione trailed off as Snape folded his arms across and stared at her.

"Now," he said, "ask your questions and leave."

Hermione gulped and sat gingerly on the sofa she had woken on the first time she'd been in Snape's cottage.

"I do not recall giving you leave to sit," Snape snapped.

Hermione glared and said, "First, I think I might have a theory as to why you've lost your magic."

"And what makes you think I am interested? What has happened has happened. It is what it is."

"Because I think there's a chance you could still have your magic."

Snape began to pace.

"Don't you think that Augusta and I tried everything?" he asked. "Dark books you aren't even aware of, potions, spells, incantations! Nothing could counteract the effects of the venom."

"But maybe it wasn't the venom!" Hermione cried. "Maybe you and Mrs Longbottom were wrong!"

"Foolishness."

"Wait." Hermione leapt from the sofa and planted herself in front of him. Briefly she caught the scent of his shaving soap, books, and wood smoke.

Come off it, Granger, focus.

"Can you feel me?" she asked.

"What?"

"You can tell when I'm here, can't you? You can feel my magic."

Snape's lips tightened.

"Yes," he said after a pause, "I can feel your magic washing over me whenever you get too close."

"It sends chills up your spine, doesn't it?"

"How do you know?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"It's part of my theory. I think your magic somehow became atrophied. Because you were unconscious without help for so long, and then in a coma for . . . how long were you unconscious?"

"I first awoke in September. But I did not move until October."

"That would have done it!" Hermione resisted the urge to crow. "But you can still feel this, right?"

She raised her wand and stoked the fire with it.

Snape's eyes fluttered closed.

"Yes," he murmured, holding his hand above the wand tip as if to feel heat from it.

"And you can feel this." Hermione whispered, "Nox" and sent the room into darkness, lit only by the fire.

"Gods," Snape gasped, his eyes snapping open and his hands moving to cup her jaw. "Miss Granger, how did you know . . .?"

"I'm a Muggle-born," Hermione breathed. "I remember what it felt like the first time I performed magic, like there was a welling up within me, a tingling, a heat deep within my body. And then we went to Diagon Alley for the first time, and I almost fainted, it was so intense."

Her heart was pounding as she felt the warmth of his hands upon her face. His breath smelled of wine, and his eyes glittered in the firelight.

She did not want it to end.

"Lumos," she finally whispered, and the lamps in the room sprung back to life.

Snape released her and strode to the fire, poking at it to stir it up.

"But I don't know how to bring it back," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Miss Granger . . . Hermione," Snape replied, not looking up from the fire. "I have a life here. It is not much of a life, but it is comfortable. If I were to regain my magic . . . it would not be . . . without cost. I would have to return to your world . . . it would be . . . difficult."

Hermione thought for a moment.

"Perhaps . . . perhaps I could find a solution and then we could see," she ventured. "I'm still under my oath not to reveal your existence, but if you wished to regain your abilities, and if you could, I could . . . well . . . perhaps keep your secret?"

Snape straightened.

"Perhaps that would be acceptable," he finally said.

Relief washed over Hermione.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

A corner of his mouth twitched.

"Call me Severus."

Encouraged by Severus', oh, yes, he is decidedly Severus, tacit approval, Hermione fell to work with a will. No library was safe from her research, and no stone was left unturned.

The librarian at St. Mungo's Medical Library was particularly harassed.

Harry and Ginny attempted to fix her up with various Quidditch players (Ginny) and Aurors and Aurors-in-training (Harry), but Hermione remained adamant. Draco and Blaise attempted to get her drunk so she could shag Ernie Macmillan, but to no avail.

"You're turning into a spinster," Draco accused her one night in the Cat with No Tails (the Leaky being closed for refurbishment).

"It's easier this way," Hermione had replied, poking through the Butterbeer nut bowl.

"Easier why?"

"Because I don't have to worry about some bloke right now. I'm busy."

Draco rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. Hermione grinned and delved back into her book.

And then on February 13th, at eleven fifty-four in the evening, Hermione found the solution.

It was so obvious, so easy, that she laughed out loud, thinking of how Severus would react.

And then she scowled out loud, thinking of how Severus would react.

AN: Not mine, no money; and thanks and praise to Subversa for making this readable English and Lulabelle72 for the prompting. They're simply fabulous!