Chapter Two

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when, despite Hermione's parting remark, the nurse who came to attend him turned out to be someone else. Now that he had recovered his voice, but was still too weak to get out of bed, he reverted to his normal charismatic self; within a matter of hours the beleaguered Mediwitch from St Mungo's had flung her apron at Poppy's feet, her bun in disarray, her eyes red and filled with tears of rage.

"I'm off! I didn't spend all those years studying just to take care of an ill-tempered git!"

"But, my dear, Professor Snape is a war hero..."

"I don't give a monkey's! All the wonderful people who died in the war, and he had to survive? I hope he chokes on his tongue in his sleep."

And that was the end of nurse number one. She hadn't been easy to get, either: most of the younger Mediwitches had been Snape's students at one time or another, and remembered him only too well. The mere mention of his name was enough to make them quake in their boots, lips trembling. Soon only a handful of student nurses...Hufflepuffs, every one...remained who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the "war hero."

Severus himself, lost in a dark miasma of pessimism, depression, and self-pity, had nothing better to occupy him than the terrorization of his healers. It was a talent he had elevated to a veritable art form. He studied them, ferreted out their weak spots and insecurities and, swiftly and without warning, would deliver the coup de grâce.

"Daddy's little girl, hmm? Always wanted you to be a nurse, didn't he? I wonder what he'd say if he knew you hadn't the slightest aptitude for magical medicine, try as you will . . . "

"Miss Coleman, these delicate hands were made for other things, certainly not for magical medicine," he would say with a malevolent smile, pressing the hand of a confused young woman between his own. "Things like . . . like . . . tell me, Miss Coleman, how might a waste of space like you occupy herself?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Miss Belcher. Did you really think this was the way to outshine your brother? He's years ahead of you. Years. At least that's the impression I get reading this edition of Magical Healing. His article regarding the alternative uses of dittany is quite interesting. But don't despair; if you really exert yourself he might let you become his . . . errand girl."

"Severus Snape!" Poppy scolded after yet another weeping student nurse had left her office. "No one's going to want to take care of you! Those poor girls!"

"If they had a lick of sense they would realize that everything I say is completely baseless," he said with a look of studied innocence. "But they're such little fools! And if they're credulous enough to believe everything I say, then they deserve every bit of it."

Had Severus believed in karma, he might have behaved differently, for in short order he was to realize that he had more cause for despair than he had at first supposed. He made this discovery one night when he was finally feeling strong enough to stand up, and found that his legs refused to leave the bed.

Alarmed, he flung back the covers and used his hands to lift one of his legs, and then to let it fall. Nothing. He tried the other, with the same dismal result. Simply put, they were dead.

The impact of this revelation was devastating. He was unable to process a single coherent thought: ideas flared and dispersed in his brain, like bolts of lightning colliding and counteracting one another.

He sat through the night, oblivious to the passing of time and the arrival of the dawn, and when Poppy came in with the breakfast tray she found him motionless, sitting bare-legged on the bed, a look of pathetic bewilderment on his face.

"For Circe's sake, Severus!" she exclaimed, dropping the tray. She knew at once what had happened, and that it would not be easy to make him understand.

Severus raised his head and looked at her with dark, empty eyes.

"I can't walk," was all he said, in a small voice she had never heard him use before.

"Severus, don't be upset, it's still too soon..."

"I can't walk." He interrupted her, his voice a bit louder than before.

"The vertebrae...the snake crushed your vertebrae..." She stammered a little, desperate to make him understand.

"I can't walk!" he shouted. Alarmed, Poppy approached the bed, hoping to pacify him. She laid a hand on his shoulder and began again, trying for a calming tone and the right words.

"Severus. It's early days yet."

"I CAN'T WALK!" he roared, grabbing her by the shoulders. Apparently Professor Snape had returned from his post-traumatic leave. "Why the fuck did no one tell me I couldn't walk?!"

Hearing the shouts, two of the St Mungo's Mediwizards (who happened to be nearby dispensing some potions) and Professor Sprout (who had come for an antidote to a venomous plant) came at a run. Seeing Severus shaking Poppy by the shoulders, they immediately drew their wands and pointed them at him.

"Severus, let go of Poppy this instant," said Pomona, in a cool, calm voice which carried an undertone of icy menace.

Threatened by three wands at once, he let her go, and in that same moment felt two tranquilizing spells hit him directly in the chest. He managed to contain his reflexive rage, but immediately felt blessed nothingness take over him, and by the time his head hit the pillow he was actually grateful.

He woke at four in the afternoon, still thick-headed from the sedative spells, and with some effort shook off the residual wooziness. He blinked twice before being sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. She was in a corner of the room, wearing the garnet-colored robe and white apron that all the nursing students wore, her finger marking a place in the book resting in her lap.

"Miss Granger! What the devil are you doing here?"

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said, polite as always. "Isn't it obvious? I'm the new nurse-student-assistant-whatever."

Severus pushed himself to a sitting position and pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to make the room stop spinning. He looked at her through the strings of black hair falling across his face. Fuck, it must be true. Otherwise she wouldn't be wearing the uniform.

"What happened to Poppy? And those useless girls from St Mungo's?"

"Well, Madam Pomfrey is still a little shell-shocked. She's not used to being physically attacked by her patients. And the St Mungo's students won't come back...there's not a single one that could be persuaded. So it's just you and me, Professor," she said with a air of courage that was far from what she was actually feeling. But her instinct, informed by six years with "Professor Personality," warned her that it would be a mistake to show the slightest weakness if she didn't want to end up like the other nurses.

Severus laughed through clenched teeth.

"Poppy's afraid to come herself, so she sends you, a child, to do her job?"

"I'm not a child," she said in an offended tone. "If it hadn't been for the war I would have left Hogwarts already. And anyway, no one else wants this job."

"And why would you want it?" His left eyebrow rose a fraction.

That was a good question. Ron had asked if she was crazy, accepting a job like this one...there wasn't any professional experience valuable enough to be worth the torture of spending extra time in the presence of Severus Snape. For his part, Harry felt differently. He didn't exactly ask her not to take the job, but he made it clear that if it weren't for the fact that Snape would loathe the very sight of him, he himself would have done it.

It wasn't a matter of pity, or really of the experience either. It was a matter of honor now. The greasy git had saved their lives countless times. If she hadn't volunteered, her conscience would never have let her rest. The problem was that Snape mustn't suss that out, because even from a distance you could tell that he was allergic to pity and wouldn't be able to tell the difference between that and a debt of honor.

"I've been thinking of going into magical medicine. Even though I haven't taken my NEWTs yet, Professor McGonagall wrote me a letter of recommendation to St Mungo's, and they're confident that my marks will be high enough to get me into their program. They'll count the time I spend here as part of my medical work placement."

"How very like you, Granger, to find a way to get a head start on your classmates, but there's a part of this that doesn't add up."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. If he thought she was motivated by compassion he would make her regret her decision to accept the position so quickly that by nightfall she'd be returning the uniform to St Mungo's. So she struggled to maintain a poker face.

"Someone in possession of a superior mind like your own," he continued, in that sinuous tone that he used when he wished to make the strongest impact on his audience, "not to mention an absolute know-it-all like you . . . wouldn't you be better off dedicating yourself to a field reserved for the most brilliant intellect...arithmancy, for example?"

Hermione smiled in relief, first of all because it was the first time he'd ever acknowledged that she was an intelligent person...which was unusual enough in and of itself. And second, because she had the perfect answer ready.

"Oh, I don't plan to devote myself exclusively to the care of the sick. I'm planning to go into research. I want to develop new potions, new spells, find solutions for problems that don't exist today." Her eyes shone with emotion. She had a promising future, and she couldn't wait to get started.

"I wonder how long it will take you to open your eyes to reality, Granger. Everyone dreams of making their mark in their chosen field. They all want to change the world . . . when they're young. But sooner or later they realize that the world goes on as before, and will remain the same with or without them. Eventually they lose hope, after a year or two behind a desk shuffling papers . . . or in your case, treating sniffles."

But Hermione paid him no attention, shaking her head with a little half-smile. She'd been pretty sure, even before she came in the room, that something like this was going to happen when she confronted her Potions professor. If he was bent on making her cry like the other student nurses, he was going to have to try harder...much harder.

She laid her book on the side table and crossed over to the bed. "I need to change your bandage, Professor."

So, this was no joke, and Poppy wasn't going to jump out from behind a curtain shouting, "Surprise, Severus!" With a snarl he lay back on the bed and offered her his bandaged neck. His neck, in the hands of a student he'd brought to tears on more than one occasion. This was a real demonstration of faith.

She removed the bandage carefully but was unable to suppress a horrified gasp.

"That bad, is it?"

"It's pretty bad."

"Have you got a mirror? I'd like to have a look."

"Trust me, Professor, you'd rather not."

Her touch on his neck was gentle. Gentler, in fact, than Poppy's or the student nurses'. Perhaps she did have a talent for medical magic after all.

"Does it hurt very much?"

"Only when I breathe."

Hermione was momentarily taken aback, and then burst out laughing. Had Severus Snape just made a joke? His face was as grim as ever. Perhaps . . . perhaps at some point they'd come to understand each other. There was plenty of time.