Four

A/N: With thanks to my beta, JunoMagic.

On hearing that the alternative to being stuck in this tiny excuse for an flat with the ever-irritating Hermione Granger was Melinda Parkinson, Severus almost felt something crack from the pressure inside.

Her tongue? My face!

As glass dust and possibly a few larger splinters fell on the table between him and Hermione, Severus forced his embarrassment and anger to the back of his mind and decided to rethink his tactics.

'So, how did you deter Mrs Parkinson?' he asked, forcing his voice to calm politeness.

'I told her that I was your wife.'

'That is a very poor joke.'

'I'm not joking. She believed me. It might be to your benefit to keep it up if you ever run into her at the shops.'

Severus gaped at her incredulously, but said nothing.

I suppose it's better than the alternative...

'Thank me anytime.'

He didn't want to do that, but he was willing to let the matter drop.

'I have been too busy lately to read the newspapers and information leaflets that somehow found my Unplottable house. What is this so-called P-virus?'

'P is for penis...,' she began only to be abruptly cut off.

'As difficult as it might be for you, Miss Granger, please refrain from repeating commonsense basics and only tell me what I actually need to know.'

Assuming that he was embarrassed by the subject matter because of their past relationship, Hermione gave him what she must have thought was a soothing smile. 'Please treat me as you would any other Healer, Mr Snape,' she said coolly in her best medical-professional voice. 'I will not divulge the contents of our conversation to any other sentient being.'

'Use your head, girl!' he spat. 'This is obviously the sort of problem I would rather not discuss at all.' As an afterthought, he added, 'And I am treating you exactly as I would treat any other Healer.'

Hermione stared. 'So, what are you saying? Would you prefer me to pretend that we're friends?'

Friends?

He snorted.

How amusing.

'Just spare me that hideously artificial Healer voice and your grossly over-simplified explanations, Miss Granger.'

She seemed annoyed. 'I might be more inclined to stop calling you "Professor" if you would stop referring to me as "Miss Granger". "Hermione" is fine if "Healer" isn't to your taste.'

It is not.

'Fine.'

'And what should I call you?'

'"Severus", then,' he growled, unwilling to veer any further off topic while his groin ached ever more insistently. All he really felt like doing was curling up on the bed again to wallow in his pain and misery. Only years of self-discipline and pride kept him upright and determined to function normally in front of her.

'The pain is milder now, though still present. Am I recovering?'

She chewed her lip and rested her face on one hand as she weighed her response. 'We're not sure. The ferocity with which the virus attacked your system last week most likely signalled the onset of the last phase of the illness – the painful part. Of course, that is assuming that the mutated strain is only more severe and will run the same course as the original virus.'

Trying not to whimper at the idea that 'painful part' was yet to come, Severus forced himself to ask the last question.

'How long will this phase last?'

'In the other patients? Two or three weeks,' Hermione replied. She made a sort of half-movement to reach out to him, but then obviously thought better of it. Instead, she settled on allowing great pity to stare out at him through wide, brown eyes.

Those eyes!

'You were the one who put me to sleep,' he said, his tone making it almost an accusation, unable to believe that those were the eyes that had pulled him back from the brink of insanity.

'Yes, and I am your Healer. Why do you think we've been holed up in here together?' she snapped, angry and disappointed in herself for feeling too under the weather to do her job properly. She just couldn't think straight.

I must be some sort of masochist. Why am I still seeking this impossible man's approval after so many years?

Hermione's preoccupation with her own problems kept her from noticing Severus' more careful assessment of her now that he was aware of just how relevant she was to his future comfort. Accustomed as he was to being various shades of pale, it hadn't immediately occurred to Severus that Hermione Granger did usually walk around with a healthy flush in her cheeks. Right now, she looked like an overcooked vegetable, almost grey-tinged.

With his characteristic tact, he enquired, 'Since your health will probably affect mine if we are to be confined in such close quarters, I am interested in knowing why you look like an Inferius this morning.'

Shivering slightly despite the warm summer breeze blowing in through the window, Hermione sat up straighter and replied fiercely, 'I think I have a cold, which I'd intended to sleep off until you woke much later in the day. Now, if you have nothing to add, I might go back to bed.'

Deciding that a cold was the absolute last thing he needed right now, Severus was more than happy to let her disappear and fester in as small a space as possible.

Since he was almost convinced that there was nothing she could do for him, even should the pain grow worse, he would see what he could do with these living quarters while she slept...

After using the very cramped bathroom to perform his morning ablutions, Severus surveyed the cluttered living room with a strong sense of disgust.

He'd expected Granger to be cleaner.

Oh, it wasn't really dirty, nothing even close to the sort of filth he often encountered in the Slytherin boys' dorms, but it came nowhere near his own exacting standards of hygiene and orderliness.

Starting with the kitchen, Severus was most alarmed to see that there was no food to be had. A mouldy loaf of bread and yoghurt past the expiry date could not rightfully be considered edible. Nor could the dirty cauldron sitting in the sink bring forth any emotion other than sheer horror.

Potions in her cooking space! And she insists that we're living here for how many weeks together?

Although he had never really been worried about his long-term health, the state of Hermione Granger's kitchen forced Severus to grapple with the tenuous nature of his own mortality. He just couldn't shake the thought that he might have survived the war and carved a niche out for himself in the new world order only to starve to death in Hermione Granger's flat.

While he considered possible methods of obtaining food, Severus started subtly testing the wards on the flat, careful not to do any spell that might wake the girl.

Hermione, he thought, rolling the name around his mind and even testing it on his tongue as he tried to merge his memory of her as a student with the present incarnation sleeping in the next room. He had known that she was a Healer, of course. Barely a week went by without some mention in the social pages of the Prophet about what the Golden Trio were doing with their lives. Not that he eagerly kept up with such things, but he felt it prudent to know what was said about whom. His own name even merited a mention occasionally.

Eventually deciding that he could break through the wards if he really wanted to, even though it would probably take a couple of days due to the sheer amount of layers to be dismantled, Severus was still pondering breakfast options when he walked up to Hermione's bookshelf.

Bookshelves.

In this tiny flat, he could only admire the fact that she had still devoted the whole wall next to the door and the space under and around the living room window to her books.

In terms of size, it was an impressive collection for someone so young, and there were not a few titles that he had always meant to read, yet somehow never got around to. Her taste, he noticed, was very diverse. Everything from Muggle bestsellers to thick tomes filled with dry, magical theory graced her selves, all meticulously arranged by subject, then author.

At least I'll be well entertained...

As he picked up a book on Animagus transformation, and vaguely wondered whether it was even legal for the Ministry to confine two unmarried citizens together for an unspecified period of time with no means of support or sustenance, Severus flipped open the cover only to see familiar writing staring back at him.

Minerva.

The answer to all his troubles. If she cared enough about him to hunt him down and send a bag packed full of clothing with him to St Mungo's, she could bloody well ensure that he didn't starve to death, too.

The problem was how to contact her. Looking around the flat, Severus saw no fireplace, and no owl. He had never really considered it before, but though this was clearly a witch's home, it must be a Muggle building. There was even a telephone connected on the wall above the kitchen bench top.

Deciding that a Patronus was his only option, Severus kept his message brief and to the point. It was best that way; there was simply no point mincing words with Minerva. Sickness or not, she was probably still a little bit put out that he had missed tea with her the other week.

Only a few minutes after Severus had sent the message, while he was deciding which of the chairs looked easiest to turn into a sofa, Minerva's reply arrived in the flat with a loud crack!

'Scampy is here to serve the family of Snape!' beamed the young elf, wearing a spotless Hogwarts tea towel.

Severus had always liked elves. So much so that he didn't bother to correct the elf's assumption that he and Hermione were a married couple. However, that Hermione had been spreading the same rumour, albeit for a good cause, did make him somewhat suspicious. He made a mental note to remain alert to the possibility that this was part of a much larger, more personal conspiracy.

However, feeling relieved that Minerva had provided such an appropriate and useful solution to the problem, Severus lost no time in detailing the sort of things that he would need. Food, waste disposal and laundry. Yes, laundry. Contrary to popular belief, Hermione's so-called S.P.E.W campaign back in the day had been totally ineffectual. Only the headmaster could free a Hogwarts elf. The irony of it all was that her little stunt had only proven that the elves did have some standards and organisation after all. The boycott of Gryffindor Tower had actually been thought worthy of a mention in the next edition of Hogwarts: A History and other works, as a significant development in the 'Right to Clean' movement.

Unsure how Hermione currently felt about house-elf enslavement, Severus toyed with the idea of actually asking her what she wanted done, but then thought better of it.

This flat is tiny. I cannot possibly live in this squalor for any longer than it takes to clean up.

If he had been forced to guess without seeing the place, Severus would probably have said that Hermione had, at worst, a bit of clutter. Nothing at all like the mess that covered her entire living room. Books, newspapers, quills, and parchments were stacked randomly on the floor along with assorted items of clothing, shoes, bags, and other paraphernalia slung over what few items of furniture she had. Strangely enough, the cleanest part of the room was the kitchenette.

Cauldron-in-the-sink aside, it didn't look like it had ever been used.

In what would become the first of many attempts to ignore the ache in his pants by spurring himself to action, Severus decided to ignore the room for now and promptly directed several strong spells at the kitchen bench top.

He hadn't eaten for a week.

Around three hours and an edible, if not perfect, chicken broth later, Severus began to wish that he had cooked a steak.

Though he could have asked Scampy to cook the soup, Severus knew that it would have taken the elf just as long to do it from scratch, and the elf was better employed as it was – magically disinfecting the bathroom. Though Severus had used the tiny cupboard-like shower earlier out of sheer desperation, in doing so, he had seen several fungi that he didn't particularly care to harvest. In any case, soup making was more or less similar to potion making, requiring less actual thought than other methods of cooking. All in all, Severus was quite proud of his efforts.

Remembering that Hermione had gone to bed looking paler than a Malfoy, Severus decided that it would be prudent to check whether or not she was still breathing. After all, with the two of them warded in together, he would almost certainly be found responsible if she were to die.

Wondering how best to wake her, Severus was tempted to simply slam the door open and save himself the trouble of saying anything. Old habits died hard; he had opened his classes at Hogwarts in the same manner. Deciding against that on the basis that the door's slam-capabilities were as yet unknown to him, Severus was still undecided as he stood over her and watched her sleep.

Only a very few seconds was enough to tell him that something was quite wrong.

Hermione was curled up tightly in a ball, shivering, despite the warm air and the fact that she was covered by a sheet. Her face had regained some colour, but her flushed cheeks alarmed him, especially when combined with a quick pulse.

Though Severus hadn't thought anything of putting his fingers gently to Hermione's exposed wrist to check her pulse, he had some quite serious reservations about putting his rather cold hand on the back of her neck or her forehead to get an idea of her temperature. He certainly would not appreciate anybody doing that to him, and he was a bit wary of her possible reaction.

She doesn't really seem the sort to hex first and ask questions later. That's also assuming her reflexes are even that good...

Deciding to take the chance, given that even if she did hex him, Severus was confident that he could dodge it, he gently put his hand on her forehead only to yank it away almost as soon as he did.

Her skin was burning to the touch.

Fuck.

When an 'Accio Pepperup' yielded no results, Severus scalded his tongue with the too-hot broth and sent Scampy running for cover as he snapped out orders for a cauldron and certain other ingredients from his storeroom at Spinner's End. As soon as the elf had left, Severus looked around the messy living room once more with a disdainful sniff.

Hermione Granger was already turning out to be absolutely pants at healing. She didn't even have a proper potions preparation space.