Three

'Mrs Parkinson, is it?

Oh, of course I'll contact you for dinner when he's better! I'll, I mean, we'll be moving house soon...oh, you'll give me your address instead? Thank you, I'll be in touch.'

'You owe me, Severus Snape.'

Noise.

All at once, just as if someone turned on the wireless.

Strange noises, they were, too.

Who the bloody hell owns a dog near Spinner's End?

Opening his eyes and blinking to clear his focus, Severus panicked for a moment when after several moments, he still couldn't see a thing. However as his brain caught up and brought back his last few memories, he relaxed at little.

Funny, I don't remember St Mungo's ever being this dark before...

Doing a very cautious inspection of his general state of health, Severus was surprised to find that aside from the throbbing in his nether regions, he seemed to be in very good shape. A bit stiff, but that was to be expected. He suppressed a twinge of irritation at his still-aching crotch. The pain was back to manageable levels, but it still wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

If they haven't done their job yet, what business do they have to be waking me up in the middle of the night?

It was then that he realised that he wasn't the only person in the bed.

Freezing, rather than jumping up in alarm, Severus didn't dare breathe as he slowly turned his head to inspect the other person more closely.

Definitely a woman, but from the back, could be anyone. Impossible to say what colour that hair is, and pulled back like that, difficult to see texture and length...

A look past the woman into the room proved beyond doubt that he was no longer in St Mungo's. The bed they were on was right against the wall, making it absolutely impossible for Severus to get out without climbing over his mystery bedfellow. The room was cluttered without even having much furniture. Severus could only make out a wardrobe and bedside table in addition to the double bed he was currently on. If it wasn't for the window on the wall nearest the foot of the bed and the doors he could vaguely see in the darkness, he would have assumed that he was in some sort of prison.

But why the bloody fuck would the Healers send me to sleep in someone else's home, not even counting the fact that I've somehow ended up in bed with them?

It was time to act.

First, Severus slowly and carefully pulled the sheet off and laid it carefully back down on the bed, trying his hardest not to wake the other person before he was able to move freely.

Subdue the unknown, steal her wand, and get out!

Speaking of moving freely, the removal of the blanket immediately alerted Severus to the fact that he was rather inappropriately attired for the escape plan that he had been formulating. Vaguely similar to the hospital gown he had been expecting, Severus found himself clad in what was very probably an enlarged t-shirt.

If she's dressed me in her own clothing, it will be worth murdering my generous host before escaping this prison...

It was with these fairly uncharitable feelings foremost in his mind that Severus pounced on his host, rolling her onto her back and straddling her while he secured her arms above her head.

At least, that's what he intended to do.

Unfortunately, what Severus didn't realise was that he had actually been asleep for over a week. As a result, some of his muscles didn't respond quite as quickly as he had intended. Lying sprawled over the woman with a strong grip on one of her wrists was not ideal, but since she was probably a bit winded by his weight, overall not a totally ineffective manoeuvre. Fumbling with his left hand for the wand on the bedside table, Severus swore when it dropped to the floor with an audible clatter. However, he soon realised that all his precautions probably weren't necessary when his host patted him on the cheek with her free hand and mumbled sleepily, 'Not now, I'm tired.'

Totally unable to comprehend how deep a sleeper she must be to assume that his attack was anything other than what it was, Severus decided to forget the wand for now and change tactics.

Slapping her lightly on the face, then a little harder when there was no response, he ordered, 'Wake up.'

At once, there was a response as the woman opened her eyes and took in a gasping breath, 'Sir!'

That single syllable caused Severus to leap off the bed and away from her even quicker than he had attacked her before, reflexively covering his bits with his hands. He was glad that the darkness hid his blush. He knew that voice and wished a thousand times within a fraction of a second that it was anyone, anyone but her. Trust her to see him in all his embarrassment and misery.

Slytherin knows, I feel like some sort of awful pervert...

'What the bloody hell is going on, Miss Granger?' he snapped, discomfort shortening his ever-unpredictable temper.

Gods, what did I do to end up with her? I'll sue St Mungo's. No. I'll track down who is responsible for this and hex them until their own mother wouldn't recognise them. That will definitely be more satisfying...

Squinting to get a better look at her, Severus could vaguely make out the girl hanging over the side of her bed, obviously trying to find the wand he had knocked onto the floor. Why she didn't just get off the bed, he wasn't sure, but after a few moments of her fruitless groping, he stalked back to the bed, grabbed the damn thing and gave it to her.

A split second later, when she muttered 'Lumos' with the wand pointing squarely in his face, Severus wondered why the bloody hell he had done that. He really must be sick. Probably delirious.

What happened to grabbing the wand and running?

'You should get back into bed, Professor,' she said sleepily, lowering the wand as she saw him twitch slightly at the wandight in his face. 'You weren't meant to wake up until tomorrow morning.'

'I am not a professor,' grated Severus, forgetting all about his painful erection as he crossed his arms across his chest defiantly. They had a few things to straighten out before he was leaving this place.

'Fine. Mr Snape,' she agreed, rolling back into bed and pulling the sheet back over her body in a surprisingly fluid movement.

That doesn't sound right either. Why is she attempting to placate me? Isn't she bothered at all by this situation?

'What makes you think I am getting back into bed with you?' he retorted, angry now that she wouldn't even talk about why he was here.

'Do whatever you want to.' She waved her wand at one of the doors; it swung open with such force, Severus was surprised that it didn't damage the wall. 'Wake me after the sun has fully risen.'

Just a second after her head had hit the pillow, and she began to drift off back to the happy place where she was not sharing a very small flat with Severus Snape for the foreseeable future, Hermione was jerked back to her unhappy reality by one of the wards going off.

Specifically, the ward the Ministry had put up only the day before to keep the grumpy bastard inside her flat.

Knowing that it wasn't really urgent, because she had his wand, and she doubted that he had the strength to break down her door, Hermione nevertheless resigned herself to getting up and explaining what had happened over the last few days before returning to her much-needed rest.

It had been a very trying week, and she was not in a good mood.

After splashing some cold water on her face, Hermione stumbled out into to her all-purpose kitchenette-living room-study and was immediately confronted with an amusing parody of 'irritated Potions master'.

He was standing in the same attitude he had often adopted in the classroom, with his arms folded across his chest and legs planted firmly apart, glaring at her as if she had just blown up her potion in his face. However, this picture of superiority was completely ruined by the fact that instead of his usual crisp black robes, the professor was dressed in an old t-shirt of her father's with a big, yellow smiley face on the front that said 'Smile!'.

That parts of his anatomy were dotting the 'i' did nothing to help his case. Fixing her gaze squarely at the height of his chest – not because she wasn't curious, but because she felt it was rude to stare – Hermione had to collect her wits quickly when Severus interrupted her wayward thoughts.

'You live in a shoebox.'

Amusement gone, Hermione grit her teeth and tersely replied, 'It was all I could afford as a student, and not that it's any of your business, but my lease ends in a few weeks.'

'Why have you warded me in?'

Irritated with the way that he was interrogating her, but keen to get this confrontation over with, Hermione leaned against her table and took a deep breath.

'What is the last thing you remember before you woke up here?'

'St Mungo's,' Severus bit out. 'A Healer put me to sleep.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, that was last Wednesday. We then ran tests on you to determine how much of what potion you had left in your body.' It was now her turn to glare at him. 'The impotence potion was of your own creation?'

'Obviously,' he grumbled. 'The ordinary ones stopped working weeks ago.'

Wrong answer.

'There is no such thing as an ordinary impotence potion,' she hissed. All the feelings she had buried while trying to help this man suddenly came rushing back in the face of his terrible attitude and awful manners. 'You could have made yourself sterile. Or, for all you know, it could have turned black and fallen off. We didn't use impotence potions to treat the P-virus precisely because of all those nasty side effects. Magic does have some rules, you know, and suppressing certain natural reactions is never a good idea.'

'And how exactly would it have affected you if any of those things had happened? I knew –'

'I would have been the one trying to re-attach it!'

In hindsight, that may have been a tad over-emotional, but Hermione was simply in no condition whatsoever to deal with this sort of unreasonableness. Heedless of the way he was staring disdainfully at her, she added, 'Now, would you like to know what happened? I'm beginning to think that I should have let Melinda Parkinson take you home, after all.'

At the mention of Melinda Parkinson, Severus immediately dropped the superior stance and at once seemed to realise that he was standing in front of Hermione Granger wearing nothing but a gimicky t-shirt and sporting a rather noticeable hard-on.

With as much dignity as he could muster with his hands cupping his balls and no pants on, he hissed, 'Kindly keep your voice down, Miss Granger. Your neighbours are likely still sleeping. Now tell me where to find a pair of trousers.'

'Minerva packed you a bag when she found you more or less unconscious at your home,' Hermione replied, sitting down and massaging the bridge of her nose. If this headache got any worse she'd have to scrounge around the flat for some pain relief potion of her own. She felt like she was coming down with something. No doubt the hours and energy she had been putting in St Mungo's were finally catching up with her. 'The bag is in the bedroom. You'll find your wand in there, too.'

Five minutes later, he walked back into the living room in a pair of black trousers and a plain white shirt.

Looking him up and down, Hermione realised she had forgotten to give him basic instructions about what and what not to put on. 'I hope you didn't put any underwear on, sir. Don't restrict yourself any more than necessary in that area. How are you feeling down there, by the way?'

It seemed that being clothed hadn't improved his outlook. 'Fine, Madam Healer,' he snapped. 'Now, start at the beginning and tell me everything.'

Hermione took a deep breath and reviewed the mental pact she had made with herself to stay calm and professional, no matter the provocation.

He's no different from any other patient.

And one of the most brilliant wizards I've ever met.

Now massaging her temples, Hermione tried to put together a succinct, yet coherent version of the last few days that hopefully wouldn't alarm him. Just because he'd shown almost no regard for his health thus far didn't mean she was willing to wager on what his reaction would be to her news.

'So you took the impotency potions for a while –'

'Three weeks.'

'Yes, for three weeks, and then they stopped working, and you ended up in St Mungo's –'

'You said Minerva found me. How did she know to look?'

Hermione glowered at his constant interruptions.

Bloody control freak. Can't even resist adding to someone else's narration...

'You were meant to have tea with Minerva on the Tuesday. When it seemed you had decided against gracing her with your presence, she decided to visit you instead. Since you were found rocking on your bed, totally unable to answer her queries about your health, she Floo'ed St Mungo's immediately.'

Glaring at the man just to check that he wasn't about to treat her to his unwanted two Knuts again, Hermione was a bit concerned to see that his face was beginning to look a bit pinched. Not that it changed much really, just a bit of extra tightness around his mouth and eyes.

'Has the pain got any worse?'

'It has,' he answered shortly, 'so hurry up with your bedtime story, Granger.'

Grating her teeth, Hermione continued, 'While you were asleep, we ran tests and determined that you are immune to known painkillers and muscle relaxants, which, I assume,' she added, staring straight into his eyes, 'is because of frequent use during the war and not some sort of addiction. But the main problem stems from the use of impotency potions. They did suppress the virus for a time, but that has only made things worse.'

'How so?'

Here Hermione hesitated, unsure exactly how to word this.

'Well, given that you are saturated with potions to the point where the only way to completely flush it out of you would be to replace your blood, our tests results were not very precise. They showed that in your case, you definitely have the P-virus, but it isn't progressing in quite the same way as it is in our other patients. The impotence potions will have to be processed by your body in the normal way.'

She relaxed a bit when he nodded calmly. 'The virus somehow modified itself to its host.'

Surprised by his knowledge of what was essentially Muggle medicine, since magical strains were generally stronger, but also found it harder to adapt, she added, 'Yes, it mutated. Actually, we've been quarantined inside this flat. I can't get out either.'

He took that fairly well, actually. His nostrils flared, and he gave her a look that quite clearly said, 'I do not approve', but otherwise made no comment.

'And Melinda Parkinson?'

'Who is she, by the way? Any relation to Pansy?'

'Cousin's wife. And she's my stalker. I'm surprised you didn't realise.'

'Oh, I thought so. But innocent until proven guilty, you know?'

'This is of vital importance, Miss Granger. I need to know whether to contact my lawyer.'

'She turned up at the hospital with a formal petition to take you to her home. If she hadn't tried to lick your face when she thought I wasn't looking, I might even have approved it.'

At that revelation, the light bulb hanging above the table promptly smashed and showered them with a tinkle of glass shards.

Hermione was just glad that he hadn't popped a blood vessel instead.