Chapter Five

That next weekend, she went home again and used the computer in her father's study to make a starting list. There was a facility close to where she lived. She could at least look it over. She didn't expect to find him that close. That would be a miracle, and those were far and few in her life. She'd always had to work very hard for what she had.

She arrived early Saturday morning, moments after the start of visiting hours. She had prepared some documents and had taken on the role of an inspector. It seemed the best way to get a foot in the door without arousing suspicion. She kept her wand concealed in her sleeve in case she had to use the Imperius curse.

She stepped up to the desk of the call nurse on the floor of the comatose patient ward and stood, waiting to be acknowledged. The nurse, a severe-looking, rather large woman, ignored her.

"Ma'am," she said, "I wish to speak to the person in charge."

"I'll be with you in a moment," the woman said, not even looking up.

Hermione fingered her wand but did nothing, waiting another full five minutes. She pulled her papers out and then her transfigured badge. "Ma'am, I do not appreciate being kept waiting. I'm Health Inspector Phyllis McGalleon, from her Majesty's government. I wish to inspect this facility, and I wish to do it now!"

She'd been practicing so that she would have a much sterner voice than the one she'd used when she'd pretended to be Bellatrix. The memory of her performance that day made her mentally shudder.

The woman looked up quickly and took in her suit, the documents, and the badge. She stood immediately. "Inspector, please forgive my delay, I have some vital information I am relating to the different doctors on our severest cases."

Hermione decided to not press the woman's obvious lie. "Well, if you could call your director, I would be pleased to get on with this inspection. I have several more places to visit today."

"Right away, Inspector." She picked the phone up and, after pushing a few buttons, spoke into it, explaining Hermione's intent. As she put the phone down, she said, "The director will be with you in a few moments."

A man came from an office a few doors down the hall. He was straightening his tie, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Inspector," he called as he came closer. "I am director Herald Goodman. If you like, I can take you on a tour personally."

Hermione held out her hand and they shook hands. "Mr. Goodman, or is it Doctor Goodman?"

He smiled. "Doctor."

"Well, then, Doctor Goodman, it is good of you to offer to take me personally. Your facility seems to be in top condition from what I can see from here." The halls were gleaning white, and the floor shone like glass.

"Come this way and we will get started." He gestured for her to walk with him. "I think you will find we run a state-of-the-art facility here."

"Please, tell me about it," she prompted as they left the annoyed nurse behind.

"We have on this floor 50 beds of which 39 are filled. We are a long-term facility on this floor and must take care of all the patients needs on a 24-hour basis. There are no fewer than 23 staff members here at one time. Many of our patients need constant monitoring and physical care. We have a physical therapy staff that also runs around the clock. Even at night, the patients must be turned, extremities manipulated to maintain circulation."

Hermione said, "I will need to make a count and see each patient."

"Of course." He stopped at a door. "This room holds five patients and has at least two nurses in the room at all times. Please, go on in. I will go back to my office and get you a printout of all the patients in our facility for your own records." He opened the door and informed the duty nurse of her purpose then excused himself.

Hermione stepped confidently into the room, though her heart was beating rapidly against her chest. The room was fairly bright. A soft music issued from ceiling speakers. There were sounds of the hiss and wheezes of machines, breathing life into the unconscious patients and checking their vitals. Two beds lined one side of the room and three on the other. One of the two beds had larger machines using up extra space. There was a space of four feet between each one giving plenty of work space. Hermione could see that this place was run with care and concern. Even now a nurse at the other end was brushing a sleeping woman's long dark hair. The woman talked to her patient as if she was awake and listening. Perhaps she could hear. Many comatose patients were known to report having heard music and conversations upon their awakenings.

Hermione nodded to the other nurse and wandered in and out among the beds. She appeared to be studying the machines and IV drips. She made notes but she was really searching the faces of the patients and found this room housed only women.

She quickly made her way through the room, and then as she neared the door, Doctor Goodman appeared. "Well, what do you think of this first room?"

"It's very well maintained and your staff is quite caring," she told the man.

He smiled. "You will find every room maintained in the same manner. I hire only people who want to be here. We have no abuse in this facility."

"How is your facility funded? Do you have private families paying for their loved ones care, or is this a government run facility?" She feigned interest by peaking into a door. It proved to be a therapy room.

"This facility is not a government owned hospital; we are an exclusive private hospital. Our clients are quite rich, and their families want the best for them." He frowned a bit. "Don't you have a list to tell you which places are private?"

Hermione didn't cringe but lied, "I'm sorry. I ran out of my office without that page. My secretary told me to get it from the printer and I was distracted."

"Of course. We all get distracted from time to time." He relaxed and the suspicion left his face.

Hermione followed him down the hall, rolling her eyes at her stupidity. She should have found that out beforehand. Of course an inspector would know.

"Doctor Goodman, in this facility would you ever get patients that are John Does? None of your patients are unidentified?"

This earned her another odd look. "No, you would have to go to a public facility to find such a patient."

"I see," she said, "I thought as much. I just wanted to know if you would take in such a patient."

"I believe we have had one or two emergency cases over the years: people we have stabilized and sent elsewhere. But nothing since I came here, and it's been a number of years now."

They went through the last ward.

"I have been here seven years," he told her as they exited the room.

So, she could cross this place off for clues to Snape's whereabouts.

"Doctor Goodman, this facility is in top shape; you must be very proud of your staff," she said as they shook hands once more at the main door.

He smiled and said, "Thank you, Inspector. Perhaps we will see each other again someday."

She said, "Perhaps we will." She turned and went through the door and out onto the street. Taking a deep breath of the cool air, she let it out slowly. The rooms full of silent people had unnerved her, and this hospital took extremely good care of their patients, but what of Snape in a facility where they kept him unconscious with medications so he couldn't wake, what of his care and for that matter, all the many others who were probably there? Her eyes burned with tears as she ducked into an alley and Apparated to her parent's house.

Her mother was sitting in the garden as she appeared in the yard. She scrubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket she wore.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" Her mother came quickly, enfolding her into her arms.

Hermione let her cheek rest against her mother's shoulder for a bit, then pulled away. "Sorry, I'm exhausted and still have so much more to do this weekend."

Her mother took her face into her hands and made her look at her. "Tell me what's wrong. I know it's wizarding business, but I'm still good at listening. You are my daughter and I want to help you."

Hermione turned away, running her hand through her hair. "Alright, Mom, but I want to change first."

*****

Hermione lay down on her bed. Her head ached from tears and frustration. Her mother had listened and was very supportive. She'd told her that she was doing the right thing.

Hermione turned over and plumped the pillow and then reached over and took the piece of wood from the drawer. An idea occurred to her. She retrieved her wand from the top of her dresser and carefully transfigured the wood into a bottle of polished wood. She got a chain from her childhood jewelry box and strung the chain through the top of the pendant and placed it around her neck. The chain was long; she knew she would be able to touch the bottle when necessary, yet no one would think it strange if she touched the small pendant on her chain. They might, however, have questioned her touching a small chunk of wood.

She touched the bottle, running her thumb over the wood as she slipped into sleep.

Again she found herself in the white corridor. Was this the actual corridor of the hospital he was in? Had he seen it with open eyes when he'd arrived, or was this all her imagination? She decided to look a little more closely at her surroundings, but found she was only staring at the ceiling and watching the lights flash past. She was on a gurney being pushed down the hallway. There were no details to catch. She now found herself in the darkened room of beds full of patients. She moved slowly to the bed where Snape lay.

"Granger." His voice behind her startled her.

She looked into his comatose face and then up at him standing beside her. He was dressed in his teaching robes. "Sir."

He stared at his own unconscious face. "This is becoming more bizarre. I'd guess I'm looking through your eyes."

"I suppose so , sir," she said, turning to him. "I visited the first facility today. Just to get an idea of what to expect. It was easy to get in and out but quite unnerving."

"Silence of near death can be emotional," he said, looking back down into his own silent face.

She turned to study his face. There was no anger, no disapproval, and no resentment on his face. He looked younger, much like his relaxed comatose face. She was surprised to find he was handsome in his own way. She suddenly realized Snape was studying her face. She felt her face burn with embarrassment, remembering he could read her thoughts at this time.

"I would question your sanity," he said with a raised eyebrow.

She shook her head. "I might question my own. This whole thing is crazy, and yet here I am with you and you haven't even insulted me tonight."

"It would hardly be conducive to your good will, Miss Granger. I need help, and as you are the one who has come to help, I must be grateful."

"Thank you, Professor," she said quietly.

"I am not your professor anymore," he answered.

"Mr. Snape, then," she said.

"Make it Severus. Mr. Snape was my father and I despised the man." The old anger covered his face again.

"I'm sorry. Severus, it is. I suppose you should call me Hermione. After all, I am no longer your student."

He allowed a slight smile to bend his lips. "I can see that quite well for myself."

Hermione stared at him and felt her face heat up again. She turned away to cover her blush and stared down into his sleeping face. "Are you in any pain?"

"No, none that I can detect at this time. When I am awake, I can feel a tightness about my neck."

They both bent down to look at the sleeping Snape's neck. A few lines of puckered skin where Nagini had struck him marred his neck. It was red but showed no signs of a raw, festering wound.

Snape straightened and stepped back. "This place is as quiet as a tomb. Only the machines make sounds."

"They played music for the patients I saw today. The nurses talked to them as if they were awake," she told him, walking over to where he was.

"I hear a word now and then. I feel rough hands on me as I am taken care of. There is little kindness here."

Hermione instinctively reached out and touched his arm.

He pulled back as if stung.

"I'm sorry," she said, coughing in embarrassment.

"No, I'm sorry. Touch is something that usually hurts. It's instinct."

Tears burned in Hermione's eyes for the raw child-like hurt in his eyes.

He frowned and snarled. "I don't need your pity, girl. Get out of here!"

Hermione found herself sitting in bed, clutching her blanket, her tears hot and running down her face. She flopped back on her pillow, grabbed another one, and clutched it to her like a large teddy bear. It had not been pity, only comfort she'd wanted to give him. Damn the man! she thought. I suppose he can't help himself. I have no idea the hell he's lived. How will I get him to accept my help without thinking I have a motive or that I only feel pity? Doesn't he know what an amazing man he has been all these years? He had taken so much pain and hurt because of a promise to a childhood crush–no, maybe his one and only love. His sacrifice was the only reason Harry was alive to get to the end and destroy Voldemort.

I have to get him to see he is worth so much more than he believes himself to be. It was a daunting task. She turned to her side, still clutching the pillow, and finally fell back to sleep.

Returning to Hogwarts late on Sunday, she came in time for the evening meal. Here amongst her colleagues and the school, she felt the weight of the stone castle comforting, and she let the magic of it soothe her nerves. She could not dwell on Snape much during the week. She had students to teach and papers to grade. There was a Quidditch game on Saturday, and Gryffindor was playing Slytherin. There wasn't the same bitter rivalry there had been before the war. Students mingled more, but there was still a house pride, and she hope her house team would win.

She took some time in the evenings to study the papers she'd printed out. She did make a plan about which hospital comatose ward she would visit. She also looked into the wizarding world. Was it possible someone had him secreted away? She really didn't think so, but she thought she might go to St. Mungo's and talk to Healer Leurantte about it–to see if he knew of any other places that kept spell damaged patients. She wanted to make sure no stone was left unturned. Maybe Snape's caretakers where Squibs and not Muggles.

Saturday found her in one of the Gyffindor towers, cheering on the players like a school girl. Minerva sat a few seats away and watched her with amusement. She'd been worried about the young woman. Her face had seemed haunted lately, and she never looked rested. Was this job too much for her? There was no doubt Hermione had always been driven by her own self to complete more than anyone else. But, she thought that was a good quality. She was beginning to wonder. The woman had been going home most weekends lately, but seemed less rested each time she returned. The snitch was caught, and Minerva cheered with the rest of them. Her concern fading at the sight of Hermione's smiles and cheers.

Hermione walked along the banks of the Black Lake later than night. Her cloak was pulled tightly around her. She reached up with her fingers to caress the smooth wooden bottle. This had been the first night this week she'd had some time for a conversation. Well, if truth be known, she'd been avoiding him. His displeasure and anger had made her gun shy.

Severus, are you there? she called.

Hermione. His voice was controlled and benign.

She wrapped her arms about herself. I'm sorry...

No, he broke in, the fault was mine. I misread. You offered comfort.

She nodded, then realizing he wasn't seeing her right now, said, Yes.

He was silent for so long she thought maybe he had gone to sleep. She jumped when his voice came back. I am... unaccustomed to anyone caring whether I live or die. I assumed you felt forced under these circumstances to help me. It did not occur to me that you... want... to help.

Severus, I do want to help. It's true, I would help anyone. But, you are... She hesitated to tell him something she'd only been toying with in her own heart. ... important to me. I want to be your friend. I have never met a man who could teach me so much, carry on a conversation with me and not just nod because half of what I say would not be within your understanding. Hermione was surprised when she heard a deep chuckle in her mind.

You have finally found that the knuckleheads can't keep your mind engaged, he said with a dead pan drawl.

Hermione laughed, letting him know she saw he was joking with her. That's exactly right. When I find you, I hold you to having dinner with me at least once a month and letting me talk to my heart's desire.

Again a silence and then his voice whispered, What is your heart's desire, Hermione?

Hermione felt him slip out of her mind, and she stood staring at the Black Lake, her heart pounding against her chest and her face flamed red. What had he seen in her mind?

She passed by the greenhouse on her way back to the castle and told Pamona that Severus had talked to her and she'd found him quite pleasant tonight.

As she slipped into her bed that night, his voice came back to her thoughts, What is your heart's desire, Hermione? It made her shiver. Had he been teasing her, or was it possible he was flirting with her? She fell asleep, wondering if she would welcome his flirting.

Suzanne, thank you for your Brit picking. I appreciate your help.

Merrin, I am so blessed to have you volunteer to be my beta. I can't tell you how honored I am and how relieved to have such an expert. Thank you, so much.