Two

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I intend no infringement and am making no profit.

***

The clattering of her house keys landing on her desk made Hermione cringe in pain. Whereas at midnight compiling a list of her responsibilities to Snape had seemed a bright idea, she'd spent four hours lying in a cramped stupor on her living room floor. Denied adequate sleep, her spine shrieking its complaints with every step, she was anticipating a rather miserable day.

Thankfully, the Healer who usually worked the night shift before her, Helen, had been kind enough to leave her a large mug of coffee, spelled to remain at the perfect temperature. Closing her eyes and sighing deeply, Hermione sipped at the miracle cure and removed her coat, stumbling slightly. Extreme fatigue had left her feeling drugged and somewhat disconnected from her body.

Her decision to petition for custody of Severus Snape's body suddenly seemed like a poor choice indeed. She'd managed to complete a very impressive list of issues and chores to be finished for his benefit, but going up against Narcissa Malfoy was simply begging for trouble. She had no reason to fear physical retaliation...the Death Eaters had been rounded up and thrown in Azkaban with no hope for pardons, and the woman herself never put a well-clad toe outside the boundaries of her property...but Hermione wouldn't have put it past her to seek her revenge via alternative routes.

She was flipping through the many charts awaiting her attention when a soft knock sounded from the hallway, and a large, shaggy head popped around the corner of her office door.

"Yes?" She looked up to find Neville Longbottom's shy, round face smiling at her.

"Neville!" She rose hastily to her feet and swore softly when the coffee mug swayed precipitously on the desk. "Hello! I haven't seen you in awhile! Come in." She motioned for him to take a seat in the chair before her desk, but he shook his head regretfully.

"Sorry, I can't. Gotta get back to the greenhouses." She nodded understandingly. Neville was one of St. Mungo's top Herbologists...an amazing accomplishment for someone so young; his aptitude for his subject paralleled her own for the art of Healing...and was responsible for a large number of the ingredients used to create the thousands of potions used by the Healers every month. Though he was a frequent visitor to the third floor, Hermione rarely had occasion to speak with him.

"Okay," she said in a disappointed tone. "But don't forget...you promised to have lunch with me one of these days."

He grinned. "Well, since it's Friday, you're out of luck for this week, I'm afraid. But maybe next week...?"

"Don't get my hopes up," she teased, gulping down another refreshing mouthful of coffee. "Was there something you needed?"

"I was just down talking to Susan, and she asked me to tell you to stop by. Apparently some papers you turned in yesterday afternoon have been processed."

Hermione's grip on the coffee mug tightened dangerously. A small portion of her was still truly too terrified at the prospect of spending an indeterminate amount of time caring for Snape to wish for good news.

"Did she say anything else?"

"No, just that she wants you to stop by...and you'd better do it sometime this morning, because she's threatening to quit before lunch and never come back."

Relaxing somewhat, Hermione thanked Neville and bade him a cheerful goodbye. She could always count on Susan to drag her out of any funk or self-pity, and thus a visit seemed an especially good idea at the moment. She pulled on her Healer's robes, reduced and pocketed the first charts that required attending, and quickly made her way to the administrative offices.

Susan Bones, despite her reputation for shyness at Hogwarts, had gained a certain notoriety since landing the highly coveted position of First Assistant to the Director of Administration at the hospital. While others found her professional demeanor off-putting at times, Hermione simply adored her. She was fantastically well suited to her job and had succeeded in bringing a simpler, more polished approach to overseeing the goings-on of the hospital.

Miraculously Susan prevailed over the immense stress and the expectations placed upon her, retaining the valued Hufflepuff quality of being an excellent listener and an ideal confidante. Hermione had spoken to her more frequently during the past few months. The two conferred about the less pleasant aspects of their jobs and relationships, and Susan, to Hermione's constant relief, was one of the few who did not flinch when she confessed to her mounting uncertainty regarding her engagement to Ron.

Hermione paused outside the office door, knocking lightly. Susan's head was bent intently over a towering pile of forms, and she was scribbling furiously. As her friendship with Ginny...her only truly close female friend throughout her school years...had, sadly, become rather distant and detached over the past few years, Hermione was grateful to have a kindred soul...and another woman, nonetheless...located just a few floors away.

Susan's head shot up, her face pinched with irritation that immediately diminished when she took note of her visitor's identity. "Hermione! Come in, come in. Sit down." She began shuffling papers madly, and Hermione watched with dizzy fascination. How the prodigious First Assistant managed to maintain her sanity while organizing so many projects simultaneously never ceased to amaze her. Even during her school years, multitasking and making spur-of-the-moment decisions had never been Hermione's forte. Susan seemed to revel in it on a daily basis.

"What's all that?" Hermione happily accepted Susan's offer of tea and a biscuit, chewing thoughtfully. "Did they ever buy you that self-indexing file cabinet you were asking for?"

Susan snorted. "No, of course not. We can't manage such a frivolous expense, you know? They can afford to buy a whole shipment of rare and exotic plants for the Thickey Ward, but they can't buy me a simple file cabinet." She blushed suddenly, hanging her head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have said that. That was rude. Neville would probably hex me."

"Probably," Hermione agreed mildly, "but we both know you'd win."

"Only because you'd cover my back." Susan shook her head in amusement and looked up, tired eyes meeting Hermione's gaze. "How are you, Hermione? Wedding still bothering you?"

Hermione groaned. "Let's not talk about it." All morning she'd been beset by images of Ron's enraged face when he confronted her about petitioning to care for Snape without first consulting him. "How are you?"

"Bloody tired. I worked on a report for seven hours after work yesterday, and His Highness didn't so much as thank me." Susan shot her a conspiratorial smile, and Hermione returned it with a commiserative grimace.

"He still can't get off his high horse and acknowledge that you exist?" She'd grown to dislike the Director somewhat by extension, having seen how poorly he treated his young protégé, who continued to impress and outshine when faced with every obstacle set before her.

"No, but I'll get over it. I'm sure he's under a great deal of stress himself."

Hermione resisted the urge to bark an amazed laugh. She could never have been so tolerant and understanding when put in Susan's position; it was one of the other girl's most admired qualities.

"So what did you want to see me about?" She sought desperately to remain composed, but below the level of the desk, blessedly outside of Susan's view, her foot was bouncing impatiently. Internally she was still divided as to whether or not she wanted her petition to take precedence over Narcissa Malfoy's. "Neville stopped by my office. He said to talk to you before you quit."

"I wish." Susan blew a stray hair out of her face and muttered a quick spell to refasten the long plait of hair at her back. "Well, I got a memo this morning saying that you petitioned to take care of Snape now that they're getting rid of him?"

"Abandoning is more like," Hermione returned rather too icily for her own liking. She flinched. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, I agree with you completely. It's horrible that they'd even consider letting him... Well, you know." Susan's voice regained its businesslike evenness as she whisked a file out from the teetering mountain before her. "Anyway, apparently there was another petition put in a few days ago."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, striving for nonchalance. Susan rolled her eyes and giggled.

"Don't play coy with me. I was the one who had to answer to that kid you sent down yesterday."

Hermione stubbornly said nothing.

"Hey, I don't blame you," Susan assured her, searching around until she had unearthed a suitable quill and a pot of black ink. "I wouldn't want to see him turned over to Narcissa Malfoy either. That woman gives vampires and trolls a good name." She handed the quill over to a confused Hermione. "Which is why I'm happy to tell you that they've agreed you're the best candidate."

"Really?" Hermione replied breathlessly, allowing a sigh of relief to escape her. "Thank God. I couldn't stand to think of what she..."

Susan nodded understandingly. "It's a sure sign that times have changed when a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor are desperate to protect Snape," she remarked with a chuckle, and Hermione laughed as well. "Here. Just sign on the bottom here...and here"...she flipped briskly through the papers, indicating the relevant locations..."and you're all set to take him back with you at the end of the workday."

"Five o'clock?" Hermione confirmed, already excited to get him moved out of his hot, stifling surroundings and into more comfortable quarters. "Right at five?"

"If they'll let you escape," Susan replied with a teasing smile. "In all seriousness, though, are you sure you want to do this? You're agreeing to be responsible for his welfare for an entire year. After that you can return him to the hospital until someone else petitions for him or... Well, you know." Hermione knew all too well, and the thought bit painfully at her heart. "But as it is, you're committing to one full year."

Hermione nodded shortly. "I realize that. I'm more than willing." She signed the documents with a flourish, an immediate golden glow confirming her signature and transmitting the verification to several locations within the labyrinth of hospital forms and papers.

"Okay, then that's it." Susan gave her a mock handshake. "Enjoy your new professor. He's probably a much better house guest when he's quiet."

Hermione snickered. "Well, we'll see," she agreed, sobering the moment she exited Susan's office. It was all well and good for them to make light of the situation in order to dispel the tension surrounding his condition, but she genuinely had no idea what to anticipate once she'd brought him back to her flat.

***

As it turned out, she shouldn't have spared the brainpower required to fret so early in the day; the attending Healer, barraged by one hapless case of accidental poisoning after another, refused to let her leave until nearly eight o'clock that evening.

After bolting down a measly share of the cafeteria's grainy and unidentifiable supper offering, Hermione saw to the last few patients on her list, finding that several required extensive treatment and briefing until they were released. She was veritably dragging her body down the hallway by the time she returned to her office, where her superior sat primly in the chair before the desk, looking weary.

"Good evening, Healer Granger," the woman greeted her in a crisp tone. She was a fair bit shorter than and smaller than Hermione, but intimidating nonetheless. Healer Vickers was a legend in her own right, touted as a promising candidate for the next available opening in the Wizengamot, and Hermione felt a distinct and unshakable sense of inadequacy when confronted with her presence.

"Good evening, ma'am. I was wondering if I could ask a favor..."

"You need assistance moving Severus Snape's body." Her piercing gray eyes studied Hermione with keen interest. "I anticipated that you would. Your good deed has rather made the rounds today."

"Oh." Hermione's throat felt tight. "I hadn't realized..."

"Well, don't concern yourself with it. I think it's wonderful that you're going above and beyond your responsibilities here to care for someone in need." Hermione was somewhat blindsided by the thought that any of the hospital staff had had differing views on the circumstances, but she chose not to broach the fact. Instead she silently and obediently followed Healer Vickers to Snape's room, where the older woman began to describe the process by which they would transport him.

"There is a Ministry vehicle waiting outside," she explained brusquely, sparing a moment to shrewdly inspect the patient's condition. Snape's face was as sunken and inexpressive as ever, his bones disturbingly prominent. "I will help you to levitate him down to the ground floor. It will take our combined concentration to maintain him steadily and keep from bruising him."

Together the women achieved a feat Hermione would have otherwise considered impossible. It took them nearly thirty minutes to maneuver their way through the hallways and down to the ground floor, the confluence of their powers forming an eerie, luminescent shroud around his body as they progressed with agonizing slowness. With every step Hermione's breath hitched, and she feared that they would topple him too far in one direction or the other. In his emaciated and fragile condition, a fall of even several feet would have resulted in grievous injury.

Fortunately, they alighted before the black, nondescript Ministry vehicle without incident. The interior of the car had been magically enlarged and equipped with a well-cushioned bed on which Snape's body fit comfortably. Feeling touched by her superior's efforts to help her, Hermione thanked the older Healer warmly before clambering into the vehicle and giving the driver her address.

The man was kind enough to help her perform a similar operation in order to manage the staircase leading to her second-story flat. While he provided the raw concentration necessary to keep Snape's body afloat, Hermione directed her energy toward stabilizing and cushioning him, preventing any sudden jarring movements from causing further trauma to his system. Once within, they managed to settle him with minimal trouble into Hermione's guest bed. She thanked the Ministry driver, tipped him generously, and was left standing in the foyer of her small flat, the slam of the door echoing in her ears. The complete silence of her surroundings felt troublesome and wrong when there was another person present.

She wandered into the kitchen to fetch towels and a basin of warm water and commenced with the most basic of medical care...a thorough bodily examination and wash. Once she had stripped his upper body of the hospital gown, she stifled a gasp, dismayed by the overwhelming number of scars crossing his body. The combined skills of the best Healers in Wizarding Britain hadn't been sufficient to erase the history of torture and beatings he'd endured at the hands of his master.

Gingerly lifting one skinny arm and then the other, Hermione bathed his body in warm water; it was difficult not to dwell on the outrageous prominence of his ribs and wrists, the spare skin accentuating the disparity between his frame, certainly not small for his height, and his dangerously low weight. She vowed to discover a way to fortify his daily potion schedule with something more nutritious. When she'd finished with his chest and shoulders, she began to carefully examine his scalp, noting a fine array of scars located there as well.

She washed his face with utmost caution, fearing that the frail, parched skin already stretched to papery thinness over his cheekbones would tear at the lightest touch. Layer after layer of grime dissolved and sluiced off his face, and Hermione found herself becoming increasingly irate at his treatment. She couldn't blame Healer Cuthbert...the old man had been hard-pressed to maintain his own health for the most part...but someone else ought to have offered to assist him in providing regular care. Someone else ought to have noticed Snape's condition and intervened. She felt tremendously guilty that she herself hadn't managed to do so.

When she'd finished washing his face, she ran a gentle, inquisitive finger along his jaw line and the bridge of his nose, seeking for any signs of past fracture. Finding nothing, she made a quick sweep with her wand to test the bone density; it alerted her to a past fracture of his nose. It was clear it had been broken at least once, but the injury and healing had likely occurred many years ago, during his adolescence or young adulthood.

The bones of his jaw seemed sound, as did his shoulders and arms. A murmured spell and a low, methodical pass of her wand over every inch of his torso revealed in sickly glowing red the concentrated areas where the poison had settled in, continually corroding his muscles and organs. It had formed a massive systemic infection that seemed to have infiltrated every pore of his body.

Distressed, Hermione turned back toward the bed-table. Without further research she could do nothing to combat the poison, but her many salves could quickly heal the sores and abrasions that had formed over his bed-ridden body. As she turned her wand passed inadvertently over his face, the color analysis projected by the spell shifting to a dull but noticeable blue.

Intrigued, Hermione moved it upward. The farther from the lower portion of his body her wand progressed, the more noticeable the blue glow became, culminating in a brilliant cerulean at the crown of his head. Baffled, her heart racing, she resorted to pushing aside what little hair remained on his head, repeating the spell once, twice, thrice.

It was unmistakable...the wand was informing her that his head, at least, was in perfect health.

"That can't be possible." She dropped her wand into her lap and sat back on her haunches, staring at his face. The thin lips were slackened, his pallor ghostly white with sickly yellow undertones. Beneath crinkled, parched lids, his eyes displayed no movement. Even his ears seemed to have been leached of skin tone...not that he'd had much to begin with, as any Hogwarts student could have attested.

Hermione repeated the spell again and gave a cry of alarm when the blue reappeared, its hue even more intense. "How is that possible?" she whispered, glancing down at her wand. Was she experiencing errors in the spell results due to her wand?

Though she knew it would be impossible to relegate her confusion to the background, Hermione forced herself to press on, removing the light traveling trousers he'd been clothed in, undoubtedly Healer Vickers' work. His lower body had wasted away to practically nothing, the knee caps and ankles as prominent as his cheekbones. She began to massage in a light warming lotion which, upon contact, would sink into the muscle tissue, providing nourishment and encouraging regrowth.

An hour later Hermione had healed all of the minor sores and abrasions and made considerable headway in treating the more severe. She'd found several improperly healed bones in his left leg and his right hip, which she'd promptly knitted together properly, afterward glancing briefly in the direction of his face. By all accounts he felt nothing...no pain, no response to external stimuli; his body's systems stood perpetually on the brink of imminent collapse, the poison having overtaken control.

His face remained completely nonreactive, but something she could not identify compelled her to massage an analgesic salve into the flesh of his right hip and left leg.