The Hospital Wing

As always, if you recognize it, it's not mine. It's Jo's.

To see it full-size and read the caption (squeee!) go here:

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50. THE HOSPITAL WING

Pain screamed up her arm.

Her eyes burned in torment.

Her head, god, what had happened to her head?

But all she could see was his face...the look on his face...the unveiled distress. If any of his Slytherins had seen him...what was he thinking, looking at her that way?

And so she'd said the only thing she could think of to snap him back to being her professor, her Professor Snape. "My darling boy..."

And it had worked.

He'd sucked in a deep breath, glared at her, and yes, he'd clutched her to his chest...oh, the relief, the peace at being held so...but his vulnerability was gone.

She rested her cheek against his strong chest and allowed herself to feel safe again....

But...the pain. She couldn't succumb to the pain.

She couldn't succumb to the comfort of his arms, the quick rolling of his long strides, the fierce muttering of low-voiced accusations she couldn't discern but could imagine....

She couldn't.

She had to think...think...think.

Professor Dumbledore...she had to tell him...not Professor Snape. No, he couldn't know. She couldn't tell him. She had to tell Professor Dumbledore....

Her arm was pressed against his chest, his hard chest, his beautiful angel-white skin beneath layers of linen and wool, she could see his chest, could taste it, could practically feel it with her fingertips...

Fingertips that howled with pain.

Each stride, pressing her arm, the bloody wound, the snakebite.

And Colin, he couldn't tell them...couldn't show them...had she told Colin not to show, not to tell? Had she warned him?

So much to do, to control, when all she wanted to do was sink into his arms and let him hold her until....

If he kissed her, she would be well.

She must tell them that...that was all she needed...to kiss her and make it all go away.

He must kiss her. He could heal her with his...

No, not that. She couldn't think of that.

She must talk to Professor Dumbledore.

Colin.

She couldn't succumb. Not now. Not yet.

The pain...

Oh, god, the pain.

If only he would kiss....

Her eyes burned. They burned.

"Please," she begged, but had no more words. Simply, "Please."

And he didn't hear her.

He didn't kiss her.

She buried her face in his chest and fought not to succumb.

XX

"Fucking hell, Albus, what were they doing? What was she doing? She came close to killing herself, and I demand to know why!"

Albus ignored him and continued to lean over her arm, examining the two jagged wounds.

"This isn't good." Albus's wand hovered over the wound and revealed a sickly pallid green glow and the same icy green spreading through the veins beneath her skin. He performed a quick spell...

Miss Granger cried out in pain.

...and the green stopped spreading.

"Severus..."

Before Albus could take another breath, Severus had her wrist pinned to the bed with his right hand while his left stroked the matted hair from her face.

"Leave," he ordered quietly, watching her face as she...incredibly and foolishly...relaxed under his touch. Didn't she realize this was Dark poison, this magic seeping into her veins? That her faith in him was naïve and...well, he simply was all she had, and that was her misfortune, but did she have to look so expectant and trusting when his own pulse was thudding in his veins at the visual evidence of her situation?

When Albus and Poppy had left them...no arguments from either quarter that he was best able to handle a Dark curse...he leaned back over her arm. "It's cold?" he asked softly.

"Li...like ice in my veins," she whimpered.

He felt her eyes clinging to him, but couldn't be distracted by them. Albus's charm held; Severus leaned even closer and examined the tiny threads of poison that had spread from the larger, more noticeable veins, saw it already pulsing, straining to break through, to finish its job and carry its deadly infusion to her heart.

There was no time for anything but the most desperate, most elemental defence.

One hand still on Miss Granger's bloody forehead, the other on her arm, he began the incantation...the soft half-chant, half-sung ancient words that sprang from deep within. He hated his voice, hated the way it swelled and overwhelmed on the one or two times in his life when he'd been forced to actually sing where others could hear and turn and stare at him, and thus he kept it stifled, choosing instead to use his voice for the spoken word rather than song.

But this was different. This was a chant older than time, a beseeching, a... he stopped short of the word prayer.

And then, he stopped thinking as the spell overtook him from within, swelling in his chest and emerging with the very air he took in and then released....

Soft, yet so overwhelming, so desperate, that for long moments it was his entire being, his only awareness, this incantation, until he realized that another voice had joined his...

Hoarse, equally soft, but feminine.

His eyes flew to hers to find her watching his lips as if being reminded of a song long forgotten, needing his prompting, following him a split-second after his own voice formed the archaic words.

How soft, how honey-sweet yet rasping with pain. The words flowed from her in mellifluous splendour until they were no longer hesitant but simply part of his voice, part of him...lifting where he lifted; pausing where he paused; another part of him, and equal part of him, that missing part that had shifted into place and made him feel whole, and then... fading to nothing when the incantation ended....

Belatedly he dragged his attention back to her arm and shit...oh, shit...at first thought Albus's revealing spell had failed, for he could no longer see the green tracery beneath her porcelain skin.

But her fingers flexed, and the arm beneath his hand was warm and firm...when on earth had she developed such muscle tone? He wondered distractedly...and he realized....

It had worked.

His gaze shot back to her face. Her eyes were already heavy-lidded and her smile smug. As if it were nothing more than to be expected. As if casting off a curse from one of the most powerful Dark wizards in history was as simple as "Finite Incantatem."

Which it wasn't, it bloody well wasn't, and all the rage and frustration he felt returned tenfold, that she had put herself in this position, risked herself blithely, and then looked at him with full expectation that he could save her...always looking to him to rescue her from whatever foolhardy situation she leapt into...

"What happened?" he demanded. "What did you do?"

"I can't discuss it with you, but you have to trust me..."

"To blow up the fucking castle next?" he demanded, his pulse still pounding in his temples.

"Severus Snape, either calm yourself or leave," Poppy snapped as she swept open the curtain and entered with a tray of instruments and potions. But her brow was knit with concern. "Were you able to slow it down or..." Almost as if she daren't voice the hope, she added, "Or stop the spread?"

"The poison is gone," he said, his voice clipped.

Relieved, she stood aside and Albus entered behind her.

He belatedly realized, Miss Granger...her eyes still bloodshot but filled with warmth...was stroking his hand. Not clinging to it in search of comfort, but comforting him!

He yanked his hand away and spun away from her and immediately felt the loss, wanted to step back and block Albus from her.

Albus, who now bent over her arm, then stood up abruptly.

His eyes met Severus's, then swung quickly back to the smooth, unblemished arm.

Not a scratch, not a scar to betray the existence of healed snakebite.

No indication that such had ever marred her soft skin.

Albus's silence as he looked from Miss Granger to Severus again was more powerful than words.

Poppy's startled gaze met Severus's. She clearly had questions about whatever healing had taken place. Questions for which he had no answers, not a fucking one.

Albus cleared his throat. "Perhaps you can now treat her eyes, Madam Pomfrey. They can't be comfortable."

"Of course," she said and then for good measure, repeated distractedly, "of course."

She leaned over and examined Miss Granger's bloody, bloodshot eyes with a magnifying charm.

Miss Granger was still and calm, as if she hadn't mere moments before survived Dark poisoning. As if she had no fucking idea she'd done so.

He wanted to hold her, to whisper soothing words...fucking hell, to take her out of this place and back to the dungeons where she belonged.

But she lay there looking straight ahead, then to this side and the other, down and then up, as Poppy moved back and forth between her eyes. Only her lips...lips that he knew to be so warm and soft beneath his...betrayed her discomfort, drawn in a tight line as they were.

"Well, then," Poppy finally said, her relief evident to those who knew her ways, and after years under her care Severus definitely knew her ways. "Nothing but a bit of grit and debris, which I can remove easily enough. It appears the concussion of the explosion caused the burst blood vessels in your eyes, dear, but I can heal those, too. Go ahead, blink if you need to."

She blinked a few times, wincing, and then opened them wide again.

"Hold still now," Poppy instructed briskly, then raised a cloth in front of the injured eyes and murmured a summoning spell while performing an intricate pattern with her wand.

Miss Granger watched every movement, as if memorizing it for later...which she probably was. Startled, she gave a soft yelp and squeezed her eyes shut and then popped them open again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"That's all right dear. It's reflex." Poppy showed her the cloth that was now spattered with bloody grit. "Instinct, to blink. It happens when the debris flies out."

Severus was reaching for the cloth...he wanted to examine that debris...when Albus snatched it first and deposited it neatly in a pocket of his robe. "Very good, my dears." He cast a benevolent smile on both witches. "And Severus, I'm quite impressed with the healing you performed. Under the circumstances I fear the results could have been much more malevolent."

"Believe me, the blood loss is malevolent enough," Poppy remarked, critically examining the wrist of Miss Granger's uninjured arm with skin so pale, the veins beneath it provided stark blue contrast. "First, however..." She lifted a small vial and popped the cork out. "Hermione, I'm going to put this in your eyes, and then we'll bandage them for 12 hours. The ointment interacts with your tears. Within moments of application, your eyes will be pain-free. By morning, most of the capillaries will be healed, and your eyes will look and feel almost normal, although some sensitivity to light may be present."

Severus seized the vial from her fingertips. "You won't be using that on her. I'll brew fresh. It won't take more than a few minutes, and then an hour to cool..."

"Severus Snape, you prepared that ointment yourself not six weeks ago, and it has a shelf life of eleven months. It hasn't been opened since it arrived here, and I am not going to make this girl..."

"Woman," Professor Dumbledore corrected.

"...suffer another hour just to give you something productive to do. There is nothing else productive for you to do, so just deal with it. You've already done your part when you brewed this year's potions, unguents and supplements!" Her tone shifting back to calm, she held the vial over Miss Granger's eyes. "Open again, dear. That's it, perfect." A wave of the wand and twin streams of pearly, viscous liquid dripped into those trusting eyes, and he saw the pain leave her body in the way her muscles softened, her breathing slowed.

"Blink."

She did as instructed.

"Now, I'm going to put a bandage on them..." Poppy cut a hard glance in his direction. "Don't touch that tray, Severus."

"I need..." Miss Granger began, and he was at her side in an instant.

"Need what?" he demanded.

"To... to talk to Professor Dumbledore," she said quietly. "Alone."

He stiffened. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Why don't you order some dinner for the two of you?" Albus asked genially.

"Excellent idea. I think some... nourishing broth? Yes, nourishing broth would be in order," Snape snapped.

"She needs something more substantial than that if she's going to have the strength for a speedy recovery," Poppy chided.

Severus met Miss Granger's gaze and watched the penny drop. "Oh, but my wife has specific ideas about appropriate nourishment for the injured," he said silkily. "I wouldn't dream of varying from them."

And with that, he exited the curtain and strode toward the window at the far end of the ward to glare down at the empty Quidditch pitch through the gloom of a foggy dusk.

This entire ward was defenceless. He couldn't articulate, even to himself, what danger he thought hovered nearby, of course. He only knew that high above the ground with windows all around, it felt insubstantial, vulnerable.

He couldn't leave her side; that went without saying. But to remain with her through the night, how would that look to those who were monitoring him for any weakness, any at all?

And Albus, sending her off on dangerous errands that resulted in explosions and terror and blood...he looked down at himself, still covered with it.

He'd find Potter and the Weasleys. That's what he'd do. He'd find them and get the answers out of them if he had to hold them at wandpoint. And the older Creevey, too. That meant there was photographic evidence.

For the first time since he'd felt the tremors and heard the explosion, he felt control surge through him, control fuelled by anger, yes, but control all the same.

He crossed the ward and approached the door and was startled when Albus stepped in front of him.

"Ah, good, I was hoping to get to speak to you."

"Indeed," Severus sneered. "I can't imagine why."

Albus, damn his black soul, twinkled. "My dear Severus, there are some things we need to discuss. It seems that as Hermione is here for the next twelve hours at least, tonight would be a good night for a chat in my office."

"I think not, Headmaster."

Albus raised his eyebrows at the formal address.

"She may be here, but she will not be alone."

Albus let out a long breath. "Ah. I see."

Severus made to step around him.

"It's just that...I must ask you a question, Severus. I hope you don't mind..."

As if his minding had ever mattered.

"...but I truly must know. When you married her, who and what did you think you were marrying? I fear I'm confused by your attitude."

"I have no fucking idea what you're saying, old man. Just spit it out."

"I assumed you were marrying a young woman, as I can't imagine you agreeing to a union with anything less. Yet you seem to forget that even before your marriage, she was an adult witch who already was serving our noble cause in ways beyond your knowledge and that even as your wife, her responsibilities continue. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she asserted her rights as such when she insisted upon you being her bond to the Order, and as a member of the Order her responsibilities are even more important and necessary. I would have you explain to me why you think you should be privy to them. Are you telling me that she knows all of your clandestine activities?"

"Of course not! But this is..."

"Not different." Albus stood stiffly before him and, for once, was pulling rank without artifice. "Is that understood?"

Rage stirred within him. Rage, boiling rage.

"Is it?" Albus demanded.

"It is," Severus managed to say. "If you'll excuse me, I have to order dinner," Severus snapped.

Albus relaxed into his grandfatherly mode and patted his shoulder. "Have some wine with it. It will do you good."

"Your concern flatters me." He jerked away from the gnarled hand and headed to Poppy's desk where he picked up a scrap of parchment and scrawled his order. By the time he sent it through the Floo, Albus was gone and the curtains around Miss Granger's bed were open.

"Don't badger her," Poppy ordered, "or I'll banish you."

It was all he could do to cross the floor, to close the curtains with a wave of his hand, to stand and stare at her. She was so small in that bed of white linens. How wrong it was to see her framed by white instead of red. To see her hair matted instead of wild. To see her eyes covered with a bandage only shades whiter than the pallor of her skin.

What the fucking hell had she been doing?

"Professor?" Her voice was calm. "Please," she said in those clear, crisp tones, "could you come closer?"

He forced himself to move slowly, to match her mood, calm for calm.

When he stood beside the bed, she reached blindly, and he moved his hand to hers so that she could find him. And when she clutched for his hand, he finally, finally allowed his hand to return her grasp, to reassure himself that she was truly alive and well, within his reach, within his protection.

Just as he felt the faint trembling, the flutter of tension that flowed from her fingers to his, she beckoned with her other hand, and he bent closer...

To have her grasp blindly until she found his face, then slide her fingers into his hair...grab it, pull it, pull him down until her lips were so near him, her words...mere breaths, really...were desperate in his ear.

"We did it," she breathed. "We did it."

And when he stood there without responding, she added, "The Ministry! We blocked them!"

And her smile...her triumphant smile...that was a balm to his battered soul. With everything that had transpired since then, she savoured their triumph over the bastards in the Ministry, over Lucius.

He allowed her to place her hands on either side of his face and to guide him until their lips touched, and then, well, then... His heart lifted and settled again in his chest, this time at peace, as he fed from her joy and yearned to share it, if only for now, if only for this moment between dangers.

And then, she was whispering again into his ear. "Please..." she begged...was begging him. "Take me home. I'm strong enough. I can stand; I know I can. I'll heal better there. I'll heal better in our bed with you...please!"

And what could he do, then, but bury his face in her hair that smelled of smoke and blood and pull her to him? What could he do but promise to take her back where he'd wanted her all along, in their quarters where he could keep her safe, where he could hold her and soothe her and...fuck it all, forgive her for whatever it was that she'd done, as long as she was with him, part of him, where she belonged.

He felt her trembling body relax in his arms. "Thank you," she said, "thank you," though he hadn't spoken a word, somehow she knew.

He started to slide his arms under her, but she stopped him. "No, I told you, I can stand. I can walk, if you guide me. They'll never let me go if you have to carry me."

"I'd like to seem them fucking try to stop me."

She giggled, damn her, giggled. "Still. It would be better if I demonstrated I could get there on my own two feet."

"I'll not have you traipsing through the castle, blindfolded and bloody..."

"Of course not. We'll Floo." She sat up, and he braced himself to catch her, but she used one hand to clutch his forearm. "There, now. This isn't bad at all," she said, her voice thready with the strain.

She rose to her feet and, with only the slightest of unsteadiness, took the first tentative step. He moved forward, matching her slow pace. They were halfway across the ward when Poppy emerged from her supply room with a fresh tray of Merlin knew what and stopped, aghast.

"What do you think you're doing, Severus? Get that girl back in the bed before..."

"I'm going to my own bed," Miss Granger announced imperiously. "I'll return in the morning for you to remove my bandages and change my dressings, if that's quite all right with you." And, her tone implied, even if it was not.

"Severus, you don't mean to let her..."

"She's an adult witch, Poppy. She can do what she wants," he said with a sniff of disdain.

With that, they arrived at the Floo. He thrust a fist of powder into her hand to match that in his and said, "On the count of three."

And on the count of four...had they still been counting...they stepped into their quarters and she fell into his arms.