Chapter Three: Wounded Heart

Chapter 3 – Wounded Heart

Antilitigation Charm: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. All characters are property of JK Rowling and not me. If they did belong to me, Severus Snape would be alive and well and snarking his way through Hogwarts again.

Granger was as good as her word. I never saw her during the day. I could occasionally hear her on the other side of the curtain talking to other patients. Her bossy voice was gentle for the most part, unless she was berating a student for not heeding Healer orders or forgetting to take their potions.

Mainly she offered succor, reassurance. She soothed nightmares; she joked with and brought gifts to patients. She gave advice and answered hundreds of questions. She held hands and dried tears and comforted frightened children. She avoided me like the plague, and I told myself good riddance to bad rubbish.

Weeks passed. My convalescence was painfully slow. I wasn't the best of patients on a good day, and no Healer save Poppy would attend me now. If anyone had hoped that the end of the war would foster a kindler, gentler Severus Snape, I was more than willing to disavow them of that notion. If anything, my knowledge of still being on this earth filled me with a bitterness that was growing darker with each passing day.

I awoke one morning in the wee hours from a nightmare, shivering, aching for a wee. In the dream I had lost something, and just as I located it, it would disappear like smoke. It might have been a person or an object, but in the mercurial way of dreams, it seemed to constantly change shape and purpose.

I knew for sure it wasn't Lily, as she was by my side the whole time, berating me for losing whatever it was in the first place. "You had it but you let it go, Sev," she admonished, shaking her head sadly. "Now you're going to have to work harder than ever to get it back. You'll have to do it on your own now. It'll take time to get it back. Time and tenderness, and still it might be too late."

I staggered into the loo, and after taking care of my bladder, I stumbled back to the cot, only to find a parchment lying on the bed. I picked it up and recognized Granger's handwriting. It was some sort of poem or song, and as I read it, my heart rate increased.

Wounded heart, I cannot save you from yourself, though I wanted to be brave, it never helped.

Waiting to reach out for love when it falls apart, when it cannot rise above a wounded heart.

Tenderness and time, Lily had said. Stupidly I felt my eyes fill with easy tears of self-pity. I dashed the tears away angrily, dredging up feelings of resentment aimed at Granger for trying to guilt me into feeling sorry for her. It was on the third read through that I realized she felt sorry for me.

I couldn't say if love would be enough to end the pain. It had been too long since love had any association with me. I read the poem again. It also told me on no uncertain terms that Granger was through being my punching bag. She was honouring my request for solitude.

I spent my remaining confinement at the infirmary trying to get my strength back, getting heavy doses of antivenin and magical physio to combat the worst of the wound's lasting effects. The scar was magical; it would always be with me. The bitterness was fading a little as well, to be replaced with a sort of grim resignation. If nothing I was a realist. I had lived; I would have to find some sort of life. That is, if I managed to stay out of Azkaban, and I still wasn't sure of that.

One day I removed my hospital gown and I grimaced as I looked in the mirror. I was a mess. My skin was ghastly pale, criss-crossed with old wounds, scars, burns. Hideous. No one will even think about wanting you now, you sad, wretched little man, I told myself.

I heard a flurry of sound outside the door and quickly dressed. I smirked as Granger flew into the room, her Healer robes flapping around her. "Professor Snape!" she called out, and was about to shout it again when I appeared.

"Professor...there you are!" She was sporting the biggest smile I'd ever seen, and her eyes were dancing. She looked ludicrous, I thought. Hphmmm.

"You look like a piano with all those teeth glaring at me," I growled, narrow-eyed. I sighed, not wanting to encourage her happy countenance. "What do you want, Granger? I'm disinclined to be in the mood for company."

Her smile dimmed for a moment at my harsh words, but she suddenly smiled even larger, as if she'd decided my foul mood wasn't enough to spoil her happy one. "I've just returned from the Ministry with Harry, Professor Snape. This is for you!"

Granger handed me a small box. On top of the box was a scroll, sealed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister. I leisurely broke the seal, perversely taking my time to show Granger I would not be rushed by her puppy-like enthusiasm. I read through the first few paragraphs and sat down on the bed heavily.

I had just received confirmation that the Wizengamot had cleared me of all charges.

Potter and Granger had done it. Using select memories, Dumbledore's official portrait and a large dose of Veritaserum, they'd convinced the Ministry to find me not guilty of killing Albus, being a Death Eater, or participating in any Death Eater activities. I could return to Hogwarts as a professor if I so chose. I would not be going to Azkaban. I was free at last. I laid the scroll on the bed, and looked at the box which accompanied it.

With some effort, I opened it with shaking fingers. Order of Merlin. First class. To Severus Tobias Snape for his selfless efforts in bringing about the downfall of the wizard Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort. Another parchment was from the Treasury. A yearly stipend for the rest of my life from a grateful government. And with it a hastily written, personal note from Shacklebolt: It's not enough, Snape, but I hope it will suffice for now.

I gazed out the window. No, it wasn't enough. But it would have to do. I was alive. I was free. I was declared innocent. I really could, if I chose, start over.

For a moment I was too overwhelmed not to feel a cautious happiness. My rigid self-control slipped and I looked up at Granger. Her expression was as stunned as I felt. It was then I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

"Professor. Severus," she breathed, and her face softened into an expression of wonder and delight. Self-consciously she tried to suppress it. "I'm sorry. I've just never seen you smile before." She retaliated with a glorious smile of her own, and if ever love showed on a woman's face, it was on Hermione Granger's.

I swallowed. She was happy for me. Looking back, I know she would have hugged me if I had allowed it. I didn't want that. I know I didn't want it. I told myself so, didn't I?

"Well, Miss Granger, I wouldn't recommend broadcasting the fact. I do have a limited quota, you know." I meant to sound flippant, but with my sterling social skills it came out sounding sour and petulant. I dared to peek up at Hermione through the curtain of my lanky hair. It had gone greasy again since she was no longer my attending Healer.

Hermione smiled down at me, a wistful little smile of regret. "It's okay. I'll be your Secret Keeper." With that, she placed the medal and my pardon on my bedside cabinet, wished me a good evening, and left me alone with my thoughts.

A day or so later, Potter came by to stammer out a clumsy apology and extend an awkward olive branch. I didn't make it easy for him, but for Lily's sake I forgave him his transgressions, seeing as he was so eager to forgive mine.

After a reluctant handshake we parted company. As he walked away, I could see Granger in the background, anxiously watching over us. Tentatively she approached me.

With something like admonishment in her voice, she began, "Professor? Did you..."

"As you can see I didn't hex Mr. Potter, so your friend is perfectly fine, Miss Granger," I snapped, irked at their solidarity. Trust Granger to watch over me in case, Merlin forbid, I was less than civil to Potter the Great.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then huffed in irritation. "I wasn't worried about him, you sodding moron! In case you've forgotten, you're still recovering from a life-threatening injury. I was checking to see if he'd upset YOU!"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she poured me a glass of water and left, but not before I heard something I really didn't expect. She actually laughed.

"You're one in a million, Professor. Definitely in a class by yourself." With that, she turned on her heel and left, still chuckling.

-o0o-

I don't know when I noticed her insinuating herself back in my life. It was little things, like a flower on my bedside table, the appearance of a book I'd fancied reading but never got round to opening. After a few days of trying to get up the courage to ask, she offered to read it to me, her reading voice expressive and easy on the ear. I didn't hate it.

There was her quiet delight in my daily improvement. She headed off Daily Prophet reporters with a gentle but unrelenting 'no', and fielded visitors jealously, but with discernment. She was strong and during my rehabilitation managed to make my occasional stumble look as if I were steadying her, not the other way around. Hermione guarded my dignity, the one thing I had left that I still felt was truly mine to protect and nurture.

I don't remember when she became so important. She was the one I clung to when the nightmares returned and the damn snake lashed out at me over and over again in my dreams. In those dark hours I was the child and she the grown-up, chasing the frights away. It is very unmanly to cling to a woman's skirts. It isn't unmanly to admit you do. I was beginning to feel afraid to go to sleep without her.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?" Hermione said, one evening, right in the middle of a very good book she'd been reading to me. I sighed.

"If I answer it, will you get back to reading? You would stop at the most exciting bit."

She had the grace to blush. "It's about the spell. That night in the Shack."

I steeled myself. She would only ask it eventually. Might as well get it all out. "Go ahead, Granger. What do you want to know?"

She closed the book, marking the place with a finger. "When you found out which spell I cast, you were so very angry." She pressed on. "From what I've read about the Invenio Etanimo Serveturus spell, it is meant as a last-ditch effort to keep the soul from leaving the body."

"This is true, as far as it goes," I said, shifting a little to get more comfortable. The bite wound was healing and itched under the bandage. The only way to scratch it without every mediwitch in England noticing was to pretend to shift around. It usually worked.

"Please don't rub the bandage, sir. It will only take longer to heal."

I made a growling noise in my throat, embarrassed at being caught. "Get back to the bloody question, Granger."

She flushed and ducked her head. "Well, the literal translation for the spell is 'I find your soul and keep it safe.' Why is that so bad? I mean..." She swallowed, hesitant to bring up that night again. "Why were you so angry about me keeping your soul safe?"

I gathered my thoughts. "You see, Miss Granger, you had some facts, but not the whole picture. The Invenio spell is very old magic. It was originally created to bind mating couples together in dark rituals."

The colour drained from her face and her breath rushed from her lungs. She brought her hand to her mouth, horrified. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry..."

Tears filled her eyes. "I didn't know all the facts. I thought it was a spell that would keep your magical soul intact until your physical body could be healed." She was so distraught I could feel my conscience ache a little. How many times had I cast a spell and thought of the consequences later?

I tried to be the instructor again. "Another reason to remember you can't find all the answers in books, Miss Granger. The actual truth is that the intent of a spell is what makes it dark. In the dark arts, the spell would be used by a wizard to bind a witch he desired to him by her soul. Until he released her, she would be incomplete. The wizard would then be the only one who could give her access to her soul and to the full range of her magic.

"I think in your case you pulled my soul back, but part of it remained in you, in your magical core. Has your Patronus changed since that night?"

She looked thoughtful, then drew her wand and cried, "Expecto Patronum!" A lovely silvery otter spun into view. It was playful and rather cheeky as it zipped around my bed, watching me with inquisitive, intelligent eyes.

"No, it still looks the same," Hermione replied, watching it carefully. "Although I might be imagining it, but it does look a little larger than it used to." We both watched it cavort and flirt until she dismissed it.

As it left, shimmers of soft light sifted down from it like dust motes and settled onto my head and shoulders. I felt the magic enter me and I trembled a bit. Hermione bit her lip, looking thoughtful.

I pondered this for a moment. "It could be that part of my magic has fused with yours. Not to make you feel any worse about it, but it may be the reason it's taking me so long to recover from Nagini's bite. My magical health is not up to full strength, ergo my physical health is taking longer to recover."

Seeing her stricken face, I grudgingly added, "But then again, Nagini was a bloody great magical snake. It could be taking so long to recover because I'm lucky to be alive in the first place." I was aware of the crushing irony of my statement, as was Granger, but we both decided discretion was the better part of valor and let it go.

It was only when I woke up a few nights later and caught Hermione unawares, that I realized she had set her Patronus to guard over me. As the otter ducked and swooped over my bed in invisible channels, slivers of water-like magic spun loose and nestled into me like rays of silvery moonlight.

The clever little minx had discovered it. Her Patronus had been the Spell Keeper of the missing parts of my soul.

Hermione had found a way to restore my soul. She had located the parts of it she'd captured that night in the Shrieking Shack to bring me back to the living. Hermione was returning the missing pieces of my soul to me, but unfortunately the restored magic had the side effect of being the cause of the nightmares.

Fair play, I thought. I could live with the nightmares. Each day I grew stronger as my soul solidified back into my magical footprint. Soon my magic was almost completely replenished and my physical recovery was almost miraculous from then on.

One day Hermione wasn't there when I awoke. I told myself I didn't miss her. I just was used to her being there. I waited half a day before swallowing my pride and asking Poppy about her whereabouts.

Huffing, overrun and harassed, Poppy retorted, "Severus, the girl collapsed last night. She's taken care of you day and night for weeks now, whether you wanted her to or not. She fainted dead away during dinner and I've sent her to her rooms to rest with orders to stay there until she can move again. She's almost used up her magic healing you, you ungrateful wretch."

I looked at her blankly, trying to decide whether or not to be offended. Shaking her head, Poppy smiled one of her rare almost-smiles. "Merlin knows why, but that girl cares for you, you great pillock. Every night, she's given you more and more of your soul back. She's formed a feedback within her magical core and now her soul is the one depleted. I just hope one day you'll appreciate all she's done for you."

Poppy then gave me that motherly look I knew so well. Her expression softened a little, making me recall the Madam Pomfrey of my own school days, the one we boys secretly fancied a little. She put a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"Give a little, Severus. You know, you could be worthy of that girl one day, if you'll just grow the hell up." And with that, she left me to my thoughts, her stout heels clicking a fading cadence on the stone floor as she walked away.

Poppy was right. I needed to grow up. I may have been twenty years her senior, but Hermione was always going to be the more emotionally mature of the two of us.

It was almost two weeks before Hermione was well enough to come back to the infirmary. I was reading one of her books when her shadow fell across my legs. I counted to three, then looked up at her. I knew it was her as surely as if she'd been announced.

She smiled down at me, and something in my pent-up self recognized her soul within mine. And it was as simple as that. I was glad to see her, and our souls, which were incapable of petty things like pride and deceit, touched and knew these things to be true. I didn't have to fear ridicule or rejection. I had seen Hermione's soul. Its intentions were pure. Pure and Severus Snape hadn't gone together since childhood. I was ready for purity.

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A/N: The song Wounded Heart is from Bonnie Raitt's album Silver Lining. You can find it on YouTube, and I encourage you to listen to it.

To see the beautiful art that inspired this fic, please go to: http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d32srwz

It will give you a good idea of why I wrote this story in the first place. TR