Freak Accidents

Chapter 3

Freak Accidents

In which unbelievably coincidental things occur, and Hermione more than repays Snape for taking all his money.

"Ta-da!"

Snape was annoyed. This state of being was nothing new, but for once it wasn't due to lack of sleep. Indeed, he couldn't remember having a better night's sleep in his life. And he hadn't even made it to the actual bed.

No, he had known it was going to be a bad day the instant he had roused himself from the couch, feeling refreshed and well-rested. His eyes had beheld a beautiful young woman deeply asleep in a nearby bed, a riot of curls covering nearly the entire pillow. His first instinct had been to walk over and tuck the blanket more snugly around her body. He was actually standing over her, his arm outstretched, when his brain caught up to his actions. Feeling as if he'd been hit with a Bludger, he stumbled back and nearly fell against the armoire.

Of course, the noise had woken her. His eyes fixed upon her for a few eternal seconds at the sight of her slow awakening. Her limbs stirred as her cheeks flushed with life. And then she had opened her eyes and seen him.

The look on her face!

It didn't bear thinking about. He had snapped sharply, perhaps cruelly, at her to get dressed and ready for their drive.

It was better that way, to have her frightened and out of her sight. Better not to look at her for too long and be forced to justify the thoughts prancing merrily through his head.

But Granger being Granger, she didn't stay anxious for long. His plans to duck quickly into the driver's seat of the Jaguar and not look at Granger for the rest of the journey were interrupted as she thrust something large and black right underneath his nose.

"Ta-da! This is for you, Professor."

It was a large and black article of clothing. She held it by the shoulders and the bottom half dropped far past her feet. He picked it up, telling himself he was preventing the cloth from getting dirty.

His fingers nearly let go in surprise as they touched the fabric. It had the texture of cashmere and silk, although it felt sturdier than both. He could tell the garment was a set of robes. More precisely, a set of ridiculously expensive robes.

He forced his voice to remain impassive. "To what do I owe this honor? Surely you have better things to be doing with your winnings than buying me clothes."

She rolled her eyes. "Fear not, Professor, this is more out of penance than generosity. You see, there was this incident in my first year involving your robes..."

"Merlin's balls, that was you?"

The chit had the nerve to laugh at him. The corners of her pert, serious mouth crinkled in mirth. Ridiculous, you do not think she looks beautiful, he told himself. She looks... Now he really had to force his eyes away. He focused on the fine robes. This was certainly several pay grades above the garment she had scorched many years ago.

He ran his hand over the smooth fabric, admiring the look and feel of the garment. The girl had good taste. He looked up at her. Her eyes were riveted upon him, anxious for his verdict. He cursed silently and lowered his gaze.

There had never been any other choice. He removed his trench coat and settled the robes around his shoulders, hooking the fastenings together. It was even more comfortable than it looked. Unexpectedly, Snape also felt his confidence increase. It had been more taxing than he had expected to dress and live as a Muggle even for a short time. The trench coat had felt like he was donning an ill-fitted costume.

"I thank you, Miss Granger."

The sun was surely less dazzling than her smile.

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It was Hermione's turn to be annoyed. Snape had honestly seemed to like her gift. Why then had he been as silent and aloof as a statue in the hours since they had left Las Vegas? Her few attempts at conversation had been met with a blank stare.

She knew he couldn't be unhappy with the gift. She had seen him mindlessly stroking his collar when he thought she wasn't looking.

It shouldn't have bothered her. A silent, impassive Snape had been normal for all the years she had known him. However, she remembered how he had come alive at the poker table; she remembered him conversing ardently with her and even making jokes. There were hours left in their drive, and she wanted that Snape back.

Besides, she was dying to discuss with him the theories that had been burning in her mind ever since drawing hand after amazing hand at the poker table. She waited until they were driving on a wide two-lane highway that stretched straight for as far as the eye could see.

"Professor, I would like to ask a question."

"Such a surprise," he responded, unmoving.

"I'm asking your permission, sir."

He turned to look at her then, eyebrows raised. Obviously he had not expected her to remember his question ban from yesterday. "Speak," he grunted.

"I was wondering if you knew why all of these coincidences have happened to us over the past twenty-four hours? Last night at the card table..."

He scoffed, still making an admirable effort to concentrate only on the road. "Beginner's luck, Miss Granger."

"I'm not a beginner, not really. I played with friends during my summers, and I even taught Harry and Ron. I can't imagine why I did; I always lost, always."

"Then your time had come."

"Professor, remember my last hand. I exchanged four cards and came away with a four of a kind. Do you know what those four cards were that I threw away? They were already a four of a kind. The dealer handed me another four identical cards, all in a row. What do you think that means?"

"I think it means you are the most foolish player in the history of gambling."

"We started driving from Tennessee in the morning, and we were in Nevada by the evening. Twelve hours of driving. Do you know how far away those states are? It should have taken us more than a day."

"I'm a fast driver."

"The costume shop tailor guessed exactly how tall you were and the correct cut for the robes without me giving any specifications. And you can't say I was requesting a normal order."

"These robes came from a Muggle costume shop?"

"Your outrage would be more effective if you weren't so obviously pleased."

"Foolish and impertinent, too. Are you asking if we are performing magic unconsciously?" At her nod, he gave up any pretense of concentrating on the road with a great sigh. "That could be the case. Magic requires intent, and there is certainly enough desire between both of us to reach our destination to magically shorten our journey. And at the costume shop, you must have desired to get your money's worth."

"And the poker game, Professor? You must have wanted to win as much as I did."

"I was the better player. Don't take this the wrong way, Miss Granger, but..."

"I suck at poker."

He was definitely stifling a smile. "Your skills leave much to be desired. The outcome that resulted was the one requiring the greatest amount of magic. I believe that the wards in this country preventing our ability to perform spells have resulted in an enormous buildup of magical energy. And it has to release in order to prevent itself from becoming unstable, much like air leaking from an overinflated balloon. There seems to be no pattern to how it releases. I have been wishing that we would happen upon a wizarding community for hours, but it has not happened. I wouldn't be surprised if some freak accident were to occur in the near future."

Hermione looked out the window and went white. "You really have unfortunate timing, sir."

They were driving along the Continental Divide Highway, on a fault line in the earth, and on either side of the two-lane road was a 500-foot drop into nothingness.

Hermione covered her eyes. It was going to be a long drive.

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He needn't have spoken so soon; their freak accident waited until that evening to happen. The sun had set upon a landscape of rain-slicked concrete and sagebrush. They were at a filling station, replenishing the hungry Jaguar's tank, when he heard the sound.

A low, quivering whistle floated through the darkness beyond the brightly lit filling station. Snape stayed perfectly still, betraying no reaction as his heart began to race. He had heard that sound many times before.

Death Eaters used it to locate others at unfamiliar meeting points.

The whistle sounded again. The pump recoiled in his hand as the tank reached capacity. He replaced the pump carefully, checking that Hermione was still in the passenger seat, engrossed in one of her books. All he had to do was get in, lock the doors and then...

A hand landed heavily on the side of the car, blocking his path.

"It's not nice to ignore a person, Snape."

Slowly, maintaining an air of nonchalance, he turned to look into a truly wretched face. The man was dressed in rags, and his face was pockmarked and ravaged with spell damage. Snape drew his brows together in an expression of confusion. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person," he said.

Scar-face laughed with a throat that sounded full of sand. "I don't think so. 'Course, I don't expect you to know me. The Dark Lord never did reveal the full number of his supporters. Quite clever of him. But all of us knew you, the right-hand man, the traitor. Isn't this an amazing coincidence, Jim?"

A hand seized his arm and a new voice growled out, "Just look at him flapping around in those robes of his. Still the great black bat, even in the Muggle world. The nerve of him."

He remained very still, calculating his options. He had fought greater odds than this, against more formidable foes. But never without magic, never with his wand feeling like an impotent deadweight in his robes.

Bloody hell, why did I wish so hard to encounter other wizards?

"Let's take a walk, Snape," Jim said. "Very quietly, and maybe the girl won't notice."

His plans for escape ground to a halt. Hermione. Still engrossed in that wretched book. Still unaware. Still safe. Snape took a walk.

They walked him out beyond the lights of the filling station, towards the mouth of a dark alley. There a third man waited; he was extremely large and heavyset. This wasn't going to end well at all. They stepped into the darkness of the alley.

They pulled his robes half-off his body as they rooted around in the pockets. The packets of tea and headache pills went on the ground. Scar-face sneered at the sewing kit, but tucked it into one of his pockets.

"Not a single penny," Jim hissed in frustration. "Where is all your money?"

Wouldn't you like to know. He smirked. "This place doesn't seem the most desirable hideout for the Dark Lord's chosen ones," Snape remarked. "What did you do to get exiled to this shithole?"

"Emergency Portkeys don't leave you with much choice, Snape," said Jim. "But I've got to admit, things were pretty boring before we stumbled across you."

"Shut up," said Scar-face. He had found the crowbar and was turning it over in his hands, testing its weight.

"He's driving an awfully nice car," the hulking third man said.

"Well, bring it here then." Scar-face tossed him the keys he had taken from Snape's pockets.

"I'm surprised you can tell a luxury Muggle vehicle from your own arse," Snape sneered.

Scar-face swung the crowbar. Snape fell to his knees, wheezing through a broken rib.

"I wasn't referring to you," he said when he could speak again, spitting blood from between his teeth.

He heard the third man turn away from the mouth of the alley. Away from Hermione in the vehicle. Thank Merlin.

"Still so clever, Snape," said the third man. "No wonder the Dark Lord didn't kill you years ago, when you deserved it." He smashed his fist into Snape's face. He was still holding the keys.

Well, Snape thought as he curled into a fetal position and choked back his scream, I'll have a scar to match my other cheek now. The asymmetry was really becoming bothersome.

He heard a car door slam from far away. No, Hermione. Just this once, don't be a Gryffindor. He heard racing footsteps coming closer. Stay in the car, please. Please. He heard a horrified gasp that quickly turned into the sounds of a struggle.

Several pairs of booted feet slammed into his body. Severus felt more of his ribs crack.

"Stop it!"

He looked up and saw Hermione wrapped in a bear hug from behind by the gigantic man. He thought he saw tears winking on her cheeks, but his vision was hazy.

"Not my husband, you bastards!"

Severus froze. So did the other men. His befuddled mind was still processing her last statement when Hermione wrapped her left hand around her right fist and drove her elbow like a sledgehammer into her distracted captor's solar plexus. The man went down, wheezing.

Determined not to be outdone, Severus tried to twist his way out of kicking range, but something seemed to be wrong with his left arm. He barely managed to move an inch. However, Scar-face and Jim chose that moment to abandon him and go after Hermione, who was suddenly the more threatening foe.

Granger was faster, however, and sidestepped them, leaving the two men grasping at thin air. She seized Snape underneath his shoulders and attempted to drag him to his feet. He groaned and lifted by about two inches. Granger made a sound of frustration and tried to lift him again. It felt like an ant attempting to move a mountain.

Severus heard a shout and saw two pairs of arms reaching for Granger. Just as he resigned himself to a certain poor ending, Hermione flung her arms around his neck and drew him close. Her bushy hair filled his mouth, and he nearly choked before an unbelievable pressure suddenly squeezed him from all sides.

Before he could chastise her properly for attempting to Apparate without a wand, the pressure immediately flattened him again. The squeezing sensation hiccuped three more times, like a flagging motor, as they spun through nothingness again and again. Severus felt his ears pop and was certain that his head would split down the middle.

Then they spun fully into existence in a brightly lit area. He felt as if he were flying upwards and was mildly surprised when his body instead slammed down onto hard concrete.

"Let's see them follow us now. That... that was a lot harder than I thought it was... oooh, my head. Did you know you have really nice cheekbones, Professor?"

Hermione Granger slurred her words and suddenly broke into a fit of giggles. She still had her arms around him, and he could feel her shuddering from little waves of energy arcing off her body. Some of them leapt into him, others skittered into the concrete beneath them. One of the energy bolts zapped him in the chest, and he felt his ribs shift as they knit themselves together.

He put her down gently and shed the new robes from his body. Wrapping Hermione in her gift to him, he lifted her in his arms, careful not to touch her skin.

Severus recognized magic "leakage" when he saw it. It was a common side effect when one attempted to perform wandless magic beyond their abilities, but he had never seen it happening so quickly and unchecked. Then again, no one had ever successfully performed multiple Side-Along Apparations without a wand.

Spitting out a few of her curls that had again found their way into his mouth, he got to his feet so fast that his vision swam. Something made a grinding sound in his left forearm, and Severus nearly went to his knees from the pain. He looked around them. The sky was still dark, but there was an enormous source of bright light right in front of him. He saw the neon cross atop a building. The color was wrong, a bright blood red rather than the familiar green, but he stumbled towards it. Hermione moaned in his arms, this time in pain.

He felt a small breeze as the automatic doors whooshed open before him. He staggered into a noisy scene that fell silent as all eyes turned to them.

"Help."

Maybe he unconsciously put a bit of magic into his command. Five figures dressed in pale blue immediately surrounded them. Two pairs of arms relieved him of Granger, and he nearly fell forward as her weight was gone. An arm encased in a blue sleeve was pulling at him, encouraging him to remove his shirt so they could look at his forearm. They said it was broken.

"Her. Take care of her. Her name is Hermione, and she needs a Calming Dr... a sedative immediately or she will die." She would lose her magic, but it was the same thing.

He stumbled towards the figures in blue holding Hermione. It was more essential than life that they take care of her properly. He repeated himself again, dimly aware from the pain in his throat that he was shouting. He felt a faint pinch in his neck, and a wave of lethargy swept through him. As he fell into a pair of waiting arms, he tried to explain that they had the wrong person. She was the one that needed the sedative, not him. Black spots invaded his vision, and a hand placed a clear mask over his face.

"Don't worry, sir," he heard a voice say from far away. "She's in good hands."

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It was white, pure white everywhere. Opening her eyes felt like forcing a rusty gate open. Bits of grime had collected at the corners of her eyes, marring her vision of stark cleanliness. It seemed unnaturally bright in the room.

Despite her lethargy, Hermione remembered everything. And she remembered with acute embarrassment that she had called Snape her husband. Somehow that fact was the most horrifying part of the whole ordeal. As a spy, Snape certainly would have recognized a distraction when he heard one. But she had no explanation for why she had chosen that option rather than faking a seizure or suddenly bursting into song – both of which now seemed like much more sane options. She was also certain that she had said something even more embarrassing to him before she had passed out after the multiple Apparations.

Hermione lifted her hands to her face to rub the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She wondered why the room seemed to get brighter as she brought her hands closer to her face. She let her hands fall to her lap and looked at them.

She screamed.

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Severus Snape awoke feeling more relaxed than someone recently beaten and broken had any right to feel. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling this good since he was in his teens, before the whole joining-the-Dark-Lord fiasco. He looked down at his left arm to find it splinted and swathed in bandages.

Right, they had broken his arm. And they'd broken his face, too, which had hardly been necessary. He looked down and was surprised to find his chest free of wrappings. Hadn't they swung a crowbar into his chest?

He took a few breaths, steeling himself for the pain from his broken ribs. He felt nothing.

Snape took a few more breaths and was stunned to realize that not only was he uninjured; the old aches in his chest from ribs that had broken and healed improperly in years past were also gone. He ran his fingers across his thin chest and found not a single familiar dip or imperfection. He realized a split second later that groping himself had required the use of both hands, including the one attached to his broken arm.

Staring at his splinted arm, he tried to move his fingers. They wiggled merrily. A few seconds later, he had removed the splint and bandages. His left forearm was straight and unbroken, without a hint of blood or bruising. Hardly daring to breath, Snape turned his forearm over. The Dark Mark was there, black and undisturbed. He released his breath in a great whoosh. Apparently there were limits to the magic that Granger had unwittingly transferred to him.

He swung his legs across the bed and onto the ground, a fluid, flawless motion without any familiar tightness and soreness in his joints that had plagued him every morning for as long as he could remember. He stripped away the plastic tubes and pads taped to his person before pulling on his clothes and somewhat battered robes that were lying neatly folded on a nearby chair.

Then he walked - no, glided - over to the sink built into the right wall. There was a mirror affixed above the counter. It was so small he could only see his head and shoulders.

A face from his dreams looked back at him.

Snape had never been vain. After many years in his body, he recognized a lost cause when he saw one. His hair would always be greasy, his build slight, his teeth discolored and crooked, his nose a cumbersome protrusion. However, in his dreams, he imagined that he didn't look so used, like a pair of shoes broken in too well: scuffed, stained and cracked around the edges.

The face that looked back at him was smooth, with only the faintest of wrinkles around his eyes. His skin was no longer pale as a corpse's. He seemed to glow with a healthy tan that a lifetime in the tropics could not have perfected. His new complexion made his black clothing appear dignified rather than forbidding. His nose, while still as large as ever, was straight and centered upon his face. He ran a finger along the bridge, feeling for breaks that no longer existed. Snape stared at himself for several long moments. Then he took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the cold air shooting straight to his brain.

The world spun. He keeled over, vomiting into a nearby rubbish bin. He remained upon his knees for some time, his hair falling in a cool curtain around his face, waiting for the nausea to return. Nothing happened.

He felt clean inside. It was as if something had been festering in his gut for a lifetime, and now it was gone.

Snape accepted all of these miracles with remarkable calm. His mind was otherwise occupied with the mystery of how Granger had performed this marvel upon his person. A chill rose within him as he imagined what her involuntary outpouring of magic had done to her. She had erased nearly twenty years of harsh living from his body. What had she sacrificed to make this possible? What if she looked down at her hands, her young tender hands and saw...

From the room next door, Hermione Granger let out a blood-curdling scream.

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He was out the door and in her room so quickly he might have Apparated. Hermione Granger was in the process of drawing breath for a second scream when her eyes landed upon him. She made an odd choking sound, and her scream died in her throat.

Severus Snape stared at her body. Every bit of her exposed skin – her hands, forearms, face, neck... was glowing. Her skin shone like thousands of diamond facets turning and winking in the sunlight. The brightest points of light concentrated in her fingertips and the base of her throat. Unconsciously, Snape felt himself reaching for the heavenly creature, his hand drawn to the brilliant light.

The door slammed open, and a pair of doctors in blue hurried into the room. "Miss! What happened, are you alright?"

Severus drew his hand back as if it had been burnt. Granger stared at him as the men in blue poked and prodded her, checking her readings.

"No sign of trauma and her temperature is normal, but her pulse is still off the charts," one doctor said to his partner. The other nodded back. Both of them seemed unaware that their patient was shimmering like a gigantic Christmas light.

"Miss... Hermione?" asked one of them. "That's what the man who brought you in called you. Do you know your full name, miss?"

Snape learned two things. First, they were unmistakably Muggles, since every wizard in the world recognized Hermione Granger's face. Second, his own appearance had changed so much that the same doctors no longer recognized him.

"Hermione..." Snape said. Her first name sounded awkward on his tongue, but he was not about to enlighten anyone of who she was. They were in enough danger already. If possible, her eyes went ever wider. "Your mag – er, energy has dislodged from your core and is flowing unchecked from your body. There is no cure for this except bed rest, so you must calm down." He affixed her with his best classroom glare.

He realized after a beat that he was attempting to intimidate someone into calming down, and there was something counter-intuitive about that. But Hermione had never been a normal person. He watched her take a deep breath, saw as she flexed and unflexed her fingers. Both of them watched the points of magic in her fingertips slowly fade from bright white to cool blue and then finally to the pale red of healthy, unblemished skin.

The glittering light faded from her face leaving her flushed and shaking. She brought her trembling fingers up to her rosy cheeks, and Snape's breath caught in his throat at her beauty.

Thrusting that thought into the deepest recess of his unconscious mind, Snape cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, I trust that she is well enough to leave your care? Our presence is required elsewhere most urgently."

One of the doctors frowned at the man in black. "And just who are you, mister? Only family..."

"Her husband," he replied.

To her credit, Hermione allowed not a flicker of surprise to cross her features, schooling her expression instead into one of gratitude.

"As you can see, she appears none the worse for the wear."

The man scowled. "You'll need to sign in. We couldn't find any records on her."

"I understand," Snape replied smoothly. "We are happy to compensate the hospital for her stay."

"Sir, it's not a question of money. We need to be sure that...." Hermione cleared her throat quietly. Five one hundred dollar bills appeared in her hand. Snape's mouth twitched in a smile. The two doctors exchanged a glance. After a moment, the older one shrugged and cleared his throat. "I'm certain we could work something out."

"Excellent. Now if you would step out of the room with me, gentlemen, I believe that the lady needs her privacy to dress."

Outside in the sterile white hallway, the doctors pocketed the money and shook Snape's hand. They slapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him on landing such a young, misguided bride. Snape watched their retreating backs, his fingers twitching towards his useless wand.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews and encouragement, everyone! Just one more chapter after this.