Chapter 4

A/N: Written for Bluestocking79 for the Winter 2007/8 round of the SSHG_Exchange on LiveJournal. Huge thanks to my beta, ubiquirk, and my Brit-picker, Saracen77. Any remaining errors are mine.

Disclaimer: Does anyone actually think these characters are mine? Didn't think so.

Chapter 4

She couldn't quite believe it. Of course, she knew that a witch or wizard under extreme emotional strain might cause spontaneous magic to happen. That's why she hadn't been shocked, only startled, when the first lamp had blown up. Who wouldn't want to blow things up when they'd just found out they might lose the use of their wand arm entirely? Who wouldn't want to blow things up when they'd just found out they might lose the use of any arm entirely? But then when she'd felt the bite of the jagged bit of glass and spatters of scalding wax ... She knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but somehow she'd felt as hurt as if he'd slapped her across the face.

"There you go now, dearie," the mediwitch said with a last dab of some potion or other. "Put a bit of this on again later, then twice a day until it disappears, and it shouldn't leave a scar."

"What? Oh, thank you," she answered absently.

"Now, don't you worry about your Mr. Snape in there," the mediwitch continued as she made a few notes and cleared away a few odds and ends from the little room she'd brought Hermione to. "He's just had an awful shock. From what you've said about his rehabilitation, he'll probably be able to regain most of what he's lost."

Hermione bristled. "Most of what he's lost since when? Since last week, when he was almost comfortable with wand movements most of us have been able to do without thinking since we were fourteen?"

"Well ... yes."

She sighed. There was no way he would ever find that acceptable. She certainly wouldn't. Who could? Besides, there was the slight problem of who was supposed to help him with it now. Staying with him until he woke up was one thing, but she couldn't put her life on hold indefinitely. She needed to figure out what sort of job she wanted, obtain said job, find herself a flat, move out of Grimmauld Place, and actually get her life started. There wasn't going to be time left over to baby him through fits of pique and stubborn refusals to try to use his good arm for magic, but she didn't think Dedalus was going to be up to managing him every day. Maybe Mrs. Weasley could be persuaded to try again?

She slid off the examining table and stuffed the little pot of potion into a pocket.

"I'm not sure you should go back into his room quite yet," the mediwitch said.

"I wasn't planning to. I ought to go home for a bit, now that he's awake."

The other woman looked a bit worried.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Well, you will be back, won't you?"

She shrugged. "I'll have to be. Some of my things are still in his room."

"But ... you'll still be by to sit with him, won't you?"

"If he wants visitors, I'm sure I'll stop by sometimes," she hedged, certain he wouldn't want her to do anything of the sort. "Why? It isn't as if I'm family or anything."

"No, but ... well, he's been much easier to manage this time, with you here."

"He's been unconscious," she pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

"That didn't stop him from causing all sorts of havoc the last time he was here," the mediwitch countered. "Today was the first bit of spontaneous magic he's shown. Before, we were cleaning and repairing his room at least three times a day."

Hermione took a second to wonder why they didn't simply put Shield Charms around things, then shrugged and moved on to wonder why it should make any difference that she'd been there. Perhaps it was what they'd said about just knowing there was someone there? Whether or no, that was all well and good while he'd been unconscious. Surely her presence would only aggravate him further now that he was awake.

The look he'd given her had been like a bucket of ice water dashed over her head. Had she actually started to feel close to him over the past few days? Holding his hand and calling him "Severus" was just something they'd told her might help. He'd never have allowed that if he'd been conscious, and he'd probably be horrified if he knew she'd done it while he wasn't. It shouldn't hurt her to acknowledge that, as she couldn't have imagined otherwise. Could she?

"We'll see," was all that she'd say until she'd had some time to figure out what she was doing, not to mention how he'd react when she came back to fetch her things.

~o0o~

She wasn't sure if it was fortunate or not, but he was asleep when she returned, and she made every effort to keep it that way as she quietly Summoned her toothbrush, hairbrush, purse, blanket, and slippers from the bedside table she'd stored them in and under.

It was decidedly unfortunate, however, that when the table drawer closed, it made a very distinctive click that woke him with a start.

She froze.

"Miss Granger?" He was looking at her as though questioning whether she was actually there.

For a moment, she considered letting him think she was a figment of his imagination in hopes he would go back to sleep. The moment passed. "Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I've just come to collect my things. Don't worry, I was just leaving."

When she was little, her best friend next door had got a puppy for Christmas one year, but then had to give it away when it turned out her mum was allergic. The look on his face was exactly the same one Melanie'd worn the day they took Corbie away. Perhaps he wasn't as eager to see the back of her as she'd thought. For some reason, she found that idea comforting.

"Miss Granger, I ... apologize for injuring you." He turned his head to look away from her. "It was not intentional, but it was still inexcusable."

She took a step into the room and allowed the door to close behind her.

"I know that, sir. You've never done anything to actually hurt any of us, even when you were obviously furious." Was that the reason for her feeling of betrayal? Somehow that didn't feel quite right.

Not entirely sure why, she pulled up the chair she'd spent the last three days sitting in. It must have been habit, as she had to almost forcibly restrain herself from taking up his hand. That would have been a very bad idea, she thought.

"You thought I would hex you for Binding and Stunning me," he said, still looking at his bandaged arm.

Had she said that? Oh. Perhaps she had.

"No, not really," she admitted. "I mean, I thought you'd be angry. But if you haven't cursed me yet for any of the things we did in school, I don't imagine you'd start now."

Now he looked up at her, clearly focusing on her cheek, which she knew still sported an angry red line. She briefly wished the mediwitch had put a bandage over it, even though the cut was already well sealed. Her breath caught as he lifted his uninjured hand as if to touch her cheek. Only it stopped when it was mere inches away and dropped back to his side.

"I swore I'd never be like him," he murmured.

She crinkled her brow but thought better than to ask who he meant.

"When I asked why you were here," he said more strongly after a moment, "I meant the question more generally. Clearly you have been here for several days. Why?"

She squirmed in her chair. How could she explain without giving him some false impression? She had to say something. As best as she had been able to learn, he did not need to use his wand to simply pluck the answer from her mind, and she was afraid of what he'd find if he did.

"I didn't feel right about leaving you all alone," she finally said.

"That did not seem to be a problem when I was bleeding to death in front of you," he snapped.

She bit her lip. What could she possibly say to that? "I know. I'm sorry."

He let out a sigh that she couldn't quite interpret and said, "Where do your parents think you've been these past few days, Miss Granger?"

"They have no idea I exist," she said stiffly. She hadn't meant to admit that.

He looked at her as if finally slotting a puzzle piece into place. "I see. Do you plan to restore their memories?"

"It was enough of a risk to modify them the first time," she replied with a twinge of guilt. "I won't risk turning them into Lockharts. It'll have to be enough that they're safe."

"They could still be at risk, in any event."

She nodded. While the odds were that any remaining Death Eaters would go after Harry first, the lot of them were reminded regularly of the need to remain on their guard at all times.

It occurred to her that he might now think she had nothing else to do than to return to working with him when he was discharged to his home once again. She wasn't quite sure how to dispel that notion without outright telling him she didn't plan to do so.

"What, then, will you do now? Where have you been staying? At the Burrow?"

"Erm, no." Not that Ron wouldn't have wanted her to or that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have welcomed her. "Harry's been letting me stay at Grimmauld Place until I get a job and a flat."

"I see," he said, looking once again like a minor mystery had been solved. When had he ever wondered about her living arrangements?

An uncomfortable silence fell, and she was suddenly certain that, with or without the use of Legilimency, he knew she had no intention of playing nursemaid to him any longer, and not because she already had other specific plans.

"I should be going," she said as she stood and returned the chair to its normal position by the wall, strangely reluctant to follow through on her words.

"Yes, I expect you should."

"Shall I come visit?" she asked almost in spite of herself.

"If you have nothing else to do, I suppose that would not be objectionable," he surprised her by saying.

"All right then. I'll see you later." She took her leave, closing the door quietly behind her and feeling somehow both pleased and unsettled by their conversation.

~o0o~

Hermione sipped her tea and munched on her toast as she leafed through the newspaper. There weren't exactly loads of jobs being advertised in the Prophet. Surprising, really. You'd think there would be all sorts of things needed while everyone rebuilt from the war. Perhaps those jobs had all been advertised and taken during the summer. The few jobs she did see listed did not interest her in the least.

She could, she supposed, owl Professor McGonagall for advice. Had things been a bit more normal last year, had she actually done her seventh year, no doubt she would have spoken with her many times about her interests and what opportunities might exist. Not that it was ever a fair comparison, but if things in the wizarding world were at all like they were in the Muggle world in so far as employment, the very best opportunities were not the ones a person would find in the newspaper, and she didn't know where else to look.

Of course, Professor McGonagall had quite a lot to be getting on with herself right now, getting Hogwarts' school year started with a larger than usual seventh year, a new Transfiguration instructor and Head of Gryffindor to break in, and repairs probably still ongoing. So Hermione didn't really want to bother her until she was certain she'd exhausted all the avenues she could on her own.

"Is Miss be wanting more toast?" Kreacher asked.

"No, thank you," she replied. "It's been a couple of days. I think I'll go visit Professor Snape."

Her mood already a bit brighter at the thought of doing something other than moping over her situation, she spent an extra few minutes taming her hair before leaving for St. Mungo's.

~o0o~

"And to what do I owe this honor? Have you grown tired of the search for employment already?"

She supposed she should have expected as much. And it wasn't as though there weren't any truth to that.

"It's a pleasure to see you as well, sir," she replied, hoping he hadn't seen her flinch and realizing that was probably unrealistic in the extreme. She brought her chair over by the bed and sat down. "How are you doing?"

"I am in hospital, Miss Granger. How do you bloody well think I am doing?"

Annoyed, she crossed her arms and replied, "I think you could be doing either better or worse than when I last saw you, which is why I asked."

He made a scoffing noise and said, "They say that if I am very fortunate, I may regain almost as much use of my arm as I had before burning it."

Her heart sank. That was what she had been told as well, but she'd hoped it was just the sort of "don't get your hopes up" thing that Healers and mediwizards said. That could still be true, but somehow hearing him say it gave the prognosis a bit more weight.

Of course, he could always try using his left hand. He almost had to now. She bit her lip to keep herself from actually saying it.

"If you were about to suggest what I think you were, Miss Granger, I suppose I must finally concede your point. I shall, indeed, be required to learn to use my wand in my left hand." He looked as though the very idea made him want to vomit.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," she said hastily. "I know you didn't want to. But after all, just because Remus, er ..."

He looked puzzled. "What has Lupin to do with anything?"

She shifted in her seat. "Well, he was always so insistent that we learn to use both hands, and you two never got along, so I thought ... never mind."

"Never mind, indeed." He snorted. "As if anything I said or did was ever influenced by Remus Lupin."

Hermione felt more uncomfortable than ever. While she supposed that wasn't precisely speaking ill of the dead, it felt awfully close. She wished she'd never let that slip.

"Dedalus was by yesterday," he continued. "You needn't worry. He will resume assisting me once they finally let me out of this place."

She supposed that ought to make her feel better. It didn't.

"I could probably carry on helping for a while," she heard herself say. "At least until I find a job."

He looked at her as though she had just sprouted antennae and wings. Considering that she hadn't intended to say anything of the kind, she imagined she wore a similar expression. For the briefest second, she thought she might have even seen a hint of a smile pull at the corner of his mouth.

"That would be acceptable."

"Well. That's settled then."

While any suggestion of a smile on his part was clearly a product of her own imagination, she couldn't deny that she wore a smile herself for the rest of the day. It was nice to have something to do besides stare pointlessly at the Prophet.

~o0o~

Within a week, he had returned to his home and Hermione was back to painting Nerve-Regeneration Potion onto his arm and supervising the exercises he had to do in order to regain even the most basic use of that arm and hand. The difference this time was that this was followed immediately by wand-work practice with his left hand, something he took to much faster than she would have expected for someone so resistant to doing so.

Well, the other difference was that every time she applied the potion, she found herself remembering that very strange dream about him. A dream that had recurred a few times since with some rather ... surprising variations. She made it a point to be quick and efficient painting the potion onto him so that she wouldn't have time to think about that.

"Maybe it's just because this arm wasn't damaged," she said, "but it seems to me you're making amazing progress. You've done as much this afternoon as we managed in two whole weeks with your right hand!"

Seeming far less pleased than she thought his achievement warranted, he merely nodded and said, "That should be sufficient for today."

While she had hardly expected him to dance a jig, she found his lack of reaction somewhat disappointing. She decided to add the left-handed wand-work to the Charmed parchment and took it down from its place on the wall to do so. In the process, she bumped one of the many rickety bookshelves with her elbow, knocking a couple of books onto the floor.

"Ow! Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed as she bent to pick them up. One, she noticed, was a photo album that had fallen open. The picture that caught her eye was of a much younger Snape with a man who must have been his father. It was a Muggle photograph, so neither of the figures moved, caught perpetually in the moment the older man had been taking aim to throw a dart at a board that appeared to have been more or less in the same area of wall where her Charmed parchment had been hanging. Fascinated, but unwilling to be yelled at for looking too long, she snapped the album shut and replaced it and the other books on the shelf quickly. "Would you like me to set this a bit sturdier? Or would you rather wait and do it yourself later?"

"I believe my shelving was functioning adequately before you assaulted it," he snapped. "As you are clearly the one who broke it, fixing it is surely the least you can do."

She shot him a dirty look and cast a non-verbal Reparo before answering, "If I'd hit it hard enough to break it, my elbow would hurt much worse than it does, so I hardly think it's my fault."

"And does your elbow hurt, Miss Granger?"

"Not hardly at all." Did he just ask whether she was hurt?

"Then I thank you for fixing my bookshelf."

"You're welcome."

Turning her attention back to the Charmed parchment, she finished the spell to add a section that would cover the left-handed wand-work and re-hung the chart. Considering the dramatic dip on the portion reflecting his progress with his right hand, perhaps he would find it encouraging to see this for comparison. At any rate, he didn't say anything further about it, merely wishing her a good day when she finished hanging it and took herself off.

~o0o~

The next day was a free day for her, and it started, as most days had lately, with flipping almost aimlessly through the utterly useless Prophet. She was starting to wonder if she shouldn't just start looking for a Muggle job instead, though the problem of explaining her educational credentials (or lack thereof) would be sure to come up. When she thought of owling Professor McGonagall, however, something in her just rebelled.

She wondered at that a bit. Was it simply that she didn't want to bother the busy Headmistress? Or was it more that she didn't want to feel like she was back to being a student again? If so, that was ridiculous, and she knew it. Certainly others who had left Hogwarts went back to see their former Heads of House or other teachers from time to time. She'd seen one or two of them in the halls when she was younger. And it had nothing to do with not wanting to go back to Hogwarts herself, as it would only be sending an owl.

Of course, she hadn't quite got round to sending one to Harry and Ron either.

It was rather ridiculous, when she thought of it, that she couldn't bear the thought of returning there, after all that had happened, when she was voluntarily spending time with a man she thought she had watched die. Ever since learning he had survived, one of her worst memories was of leaving him behind in the Shrieking Shack. Her worst nightmares included him lying there in a pool of his own blood, croaking for help with no one to hear, or even paralyzed and unable to call out, as he surely must have been for some time. And yet she went to see him every other day, had stayed with him almost constantly at St. Mungo's while he was unconscious.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Kreacher looking at her cooling tea reproachfully. She took a dutiful sip and returned her attention to the advertisements for welcome witches, store clerks, and owl attendants.

~o0o~

When she looked over his chart the next afternoon, she was pleased to see that it did, indeed, show a sharp contrast between the fairly gradual improvement he was showing with his right arm and the amazing progress he was making with his left. He was up to fourth-year Charms and Transfigurations already, meaning that between his time with her and his time with Mr. Diggle, he'd covered about a year per day. Once he managed some of the fifth-year Charms, he wouldn't need them at all, as he'd be able to charm the brush to paint the potion onto his right arm himself.

She berated herself for being dismayed by the prospect of no longer being needed to come around and assist him.

Truly, though, even looking at the progress he'd made previously with his right arm, there was no comparison to the rate at which he was proceeding with his left. Of course, his left arm had the benefit of not having been affected by the snakebite. Something tickled the back of her brain as she thought that.

"Are you planning to admire your own handiwork for the remainder of the day?" he asked.

"No, of course not." She turned and walked back over to where he was standing. "I just got lost in thought."

"No doubt one of many reasons you have yet to secure yourself gainful employment." He stared down his nose at her. "Have you even organized any interviews yet? Or are you still sifting through the no doubt plentiful offers that have collected at the Employment Branch of the Examiner's Office?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Surely not every offer you will have received is beneath you, Miss Granger," he said stiffly.

"Offers?" she asked, surprised to hear how very small her voice sounded.

"Yes, offers," he drawled. "Sit down, Miss Granger. You look as though you are about to pass out."

She all but fell onto the couch and just looked at him, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her to ask him about all this in the first place. No, he hadn't been her Head of House, but he'd been a Head of House. Of course he knew about this sort of thing.

"Clearly, Minerva never had the opportunity to talk to you about how to proceed after your N.E.W.T.s. Equally obviously, the examiners assumed she must have done, or they would have informed you that employers come to them to make offers to those who have achieved Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations in relevant subjects. By now, there is most likely a stack awaiting you that is nearly as tall as you are."

Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no sounds came out.

"No doubt these prospective employers will be as impressed as I am by your stellar impression of a goldfish. However, they will be more impressed if you actually owl them for interviews. Really, Miss Granger, what have you been doing all this time?"

"Apparently not what I should have been doing," she admitted, furious to have wasted so much time and embarrassed that he'd caught her in this apparent failure. How many of those offers must have had expiration dates that had passed by now? "May I please ask you some more about how this works?"

"As I have never been able to stop you from asking a question before, I hardly think I shall succeed now," he said with a smirk that really ought to annoy her but didn't. In fact, she thought she quite liked it.