Chapter 6: Awaking to a Dream

The Uninvited

Chapter 6: Awaking to a Dream

Healer Penelope Clearwater sat watchfully by her patient's side, alert for any change in his condition. She had slipped into Hermione's room after Harry's disgruntled exit, but Hermione had given her very little by way of details.

'He's in there,' Hermione had assured her. 'He's working through some issues, but he'll be back. You'll see.'

Standing, Penny methodically took Professor Snape's vital signs and marked them on her chart. Hermione was certain there was no malign spectral presence in the professor's mind. Penny was almost disappointed to hear it; a bad-tempered ghost would have been something specific to deal with, rather than the vague notion of 'personal issues'.

Resuming her seat, Penny trained her gaze upon her patient. She was determined not to quit his side until he regained consciousness.

Penny's wristwatch informed her it was three in the morning when the professor spoke.

'Hermione,' he whispered.

Penny sat forward. 'Professor?' she said, her fingertips light upon the back of his hand.

The gaunt face turned toward her voice, but his eyes did not open. 'My angel,' he murmured.

Penny blinked. Hermione was his angel? What an odd thing for him to say.

The slack hand beneath her fingertips jerked, and her wrist was enclosed by the relentless grip. 'Harbinger of pestilence and calamity!' he shouted. 'It's not my fault – it's all YOUR fault!'

Penny swallowed nervously, reaching with her free hand to try to prise the claw-like fingers from her wrist. 'Professor?' she tried again. 'Wake up.' And let me go, she added to herself.

Once again, the face turned in her direction and the grip on her wrist loosened, permitting her to pull away from him. 'It must be as bad as I think it is if you're here,' he said quite clearly, his tone caressing. 'I'm happy to see you, but I hate to see you – it's never good, when I see you,' he said, almost apologetically.

Penny scrabbled for her quill and parchment and began to take feverish notes. What on earth was he talking about? Who did he think he was talking to? Surely not to Hermione? Not in that caring, almost tender way?

Agitatedly, he began to move beneath the bedclothes. 'Look out! He's going to kill you!' he cried, and he spoke with such conviction that Penny looked nervously behind her before noting his comment on the chart. 'Stay before you go,' Professor Snape said, sounding rather younger. 'Leave now,' he said authoritatively. 'Don't go,' he pled. 'He's gone – it's safe – come back – goodbye, Girl...'

And although Penny stayed by his side for the rest of the night, occasionally speaking to him and periodically checking his vital signs, he gave no further indication of consciousness that night.

His eyes opened to a world full of the hopeful pink of the dawn. A lifetime of caution kept him still and quiet; without moving, his eyes darted about, assessing his location and situation. Obviously, he was in hospital. He didn't see her anywhere. He felt a small tug of anxiety at her absence, but he pushed it aside. First things first.

The door opened and he turned his head to see Marcus Flint walk into his room with an armload of clean linen. 'What day is it, Flint?' he demanded.

The yellow-robed Slytherin dropped the linens onto the floor. 'Sir!' he said, staring at Severus with goggling eyes. 'You know me?'

'Yes, to my everlasting chagrin, you dunderhead,' he snapped irritably.

'Do you know who you are?' Flint asked, apparently incapable of coherent thought or speech.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. 'If this is a joke, Flint, I suggest you desist immediately. I am not amused.'

'Sorry, Professor,' Flint said, backing toward the door. 'It's just you've been asleep for a long time – the Healer only just went for her morning tea – I should fetch her.'

'Wait!' Severus commanded, and Flint obeyed instantly. Severus indulged an inward smirk. Some things remained the same, at least. 'Where is she?' he asked.

Flint evinced confusion. 'The Healer is –'

'Not the Healer!' Severus snarled.

'Oh!' Flint said, nervous as ever to have his erstwhile Head of House irritated with him. 'Do you mean the Assassin?' he asked hesitantly.

'Who the hell is the Assassin?' Severus demanded impatiently. 'No, Flint – don't try to answer that.' Severus took a deep breath and spoke very slowly and clearly, as if addressing someone who was not quite bright. 'Where is Hermione Granger?'

'That will be all, Flint,' a faintly familiar female voice responded, and a lime-green robed woman came into the room. 'You may go,' she added to the orderly, coming to offer her hand to Severus. 'Good morning, Professor Snape – I'm Healer Clearwater.'

Severus took the proffered hand for long enough to be polite. 'I recall you quite well, Penelope,' he said dryly. 'I do not award many Outstanding marks in NEWT-level Potions.'

The curly-haired witch gave a small smile as she seated herself at a table near the foot of his bed and began to write upon a chart. The faint tug of anxiety he had experienced upon awakening and not finding Hermione present became more pronounced. Where was she? Had any of it been real? Had he agreed to return to this wretched life in response to a mere fantasy? Was it just a further example of his pathetic wishful thinking? His heart nearly seized in his chest at the notion – what if it had all been nothing but a dream? Could a dream have inspired him with such amazement and respect? Could a fantasy have shown such caring and affection for him at every stage of his miserable life? How could he fantasise something he had never experienced before? No dream he had ever had could have produced this level of wonder in him – no, he wouldn't disbelieve until he had seen her.

He had to see her.

'Do I have no visitors at my sickbed?' he asked with a wry attempt at humour.

The Healer looked at him speculatively. 'You've had a fair few,' she allowed. 'You've been here two months.'

Severus simply stared at her. Two months? How was that even possible? 'The snake bit me,' he whispered, 'and I died ....' He looked up at her sharply. 'I died, Healer Clearwater. Would you care to explain how I come to be here?'

The Healer rose and began to cast a series of diagnostic spells. 'You were brought in under the Vita Donum Charm, sir,' she told him between spells. 'You were very fortunate.'

Severus wracked his brain. Who could possibly have performed such a charm on him? The Dark Lord had left him lying in his own blood in the Shrieking Shack. Potter had been there, but the boy knew nothing of healing charms – who, then?

'Professor,' the Healer said in a no-nonsense tone, 'I have to perform a mental status examination on you. You're going to find the questions annoying, but I have to do it, so it will be easier on both of us if you simply cooperate with me.'

Severus glared at her, the growing anxiety about the girl's absence gnawing at him.

'Get on with it, then,' he snapped.

'Your full name?'

They continued with fatuous questions regarding his date of birth, the name of the Minister for Magic, and the winner of the last Quidditch World Cup. He was testily naming three cities in England when Flint re-entered the room. The orderly handed Clearwater a scroll, which she quickly perused and tucked into her robes.

'Tell her he's conscious and lucid,' she murmured to Flint, then turned back to Severus.

Severus' heart leapt. 'Tell who?' he asked, forcing words past the huge lump of hope in his throat.

'Hermione Granger,' Clearwater responded, looking down at him with such kindness that he wanted to strike her.

He looked away from her, terrified that his eyes might show his confusion. 'She could come and see for herself, if she cared,' he said gruffly.

'Professor,' Clearwater said, and she waited for Severus to turn his face back to hers before she spoke again. 'We've had you here for two months. Your wounds healed, but you remained unconscious – then, when you finally woke up, you didn't know who you were and you were hallucinating – seeing people who weren't there.'

Severus blanched inwardly. How humiliating, to have made such a parade of himself all over St Mungo's – what things had he done and said whilst out of his mind?

'We consulted a Spectral Cognoscenti,' Clearwater continued.

Severus could not prevent the sneer at this pronouncement. For the love of Merlin! They might as well have invited Sibyll Trelawney to Heal him.

'The Cognoscenti couldn't rule out the involvement of a malign spirit of some sort; she recommended that we send someone into your mind to investigate.'

Severus felt himself bristling. That, of course, explained the presence of Granger in his mind, but how dared they? 'You are aware, are you not, Healer, that non-consensual Legilimency is against wizarding law?' he inquired silkily. He ought to know; Merlin knew he had used it often enough, himself.

'You will, of course, do what you think best, Professor – but I hope you will consider the consequences to everyone involved before you do anything ... rash.' She gave him a stern look. 'I'm sure you know that Hermione Granger came into your mind,' she continued.

Severus turned a keen eye on the Healer. Now they were getting to the part which interested him.

'I don't know what happened in your mind, Professor,' Clearwater said gravely, 'but whatever it was, it nearly killed both of you.'

Severus' hand shot out, closing over the Healer's wrist; the young woman winced, as if the wrist was sore, and Severus immediately released her. 'Where is Miss Granger?' he asked urgently.

'She's in the general ward,' the Healer replied, rubbing her wrist. 'Hermione is going to be all right, but she's still very weak.'

Severus struggled to sit up, appalled by his own weakness. 'Healer Clearwater, you will take me to her right now.'

The Healer moved quickly to elevate the bed, allowing him to sit upright. 'I understand that you want to make sure she's all right, sir,' Clearwater said with quiet compassion, 'but you're not well enough to go visiting.'

Severus felt his stomach clench in dread, his mind running in circles completely independent of the Healer's words. Did he want to know if it had been real? He drew in a ragged breath. He had to reason through it. If their connexion had only been a dream, it was better to find out quickly – and to assess the ground for a possible campaign to take it from dream to reality. He wasn't used to getting what he wanted – when had it ever happened? Disappointment had been the ruling emotion of his life until he had schooled himself not to hope – damn her for making him vulnerable again! Surely he would be able to tell simply by looking at her if it had been a dream or reality.

Would she be as kind outside of his mind as she had been within it?

'I'm not asking you, Miss Clearwater,' he said icily, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 'I am going with you or without you. Your superiors might take the news more kindly if you're with me when I leave my room – but suit yourself.'

Hermione was sitting up in her bed with a Healer on one side and an orderly on the other when Clearwater guided Severus into the room on an air-chair.

'Look who's come to see you, Hermione,' Clearwater said as they entered.

The orderly was between them, but Severus caught glimpses of Hermione's face. 'You seem well enough,' he said, feeling awkward and wrong-footed for having rushed to her bedside.

'So they assure me, Professor,' her voice floated to him as the orderly moved away from the bedside.

Then those warm, vibrant brown eyes were on Severus' face, and his questions were met with all the answers ever known.

It was like bumping foreheads with someone when both of you were reaching for something one of you had dropped, so swiftly did their minds rush to embrace as their eyes met. A week of sunlit days passed – or perhaps it was only a moment – before Severus said, 'May we have the room, please?'

Clearwater gathered the others and shepherded them out as Severus magicked the air-chair closer to Hermione's bedside. The tiny bit of her life force, given at his lowest ebb to keep him going, glowed within him like a candle flame, so vividly did he feel it burning inside him. By contrast, she looked so pale and wan against the pristine white pillowcase that he was moved to speak.

'I believe I have something of yours, and I would like to return it,' he said, taking the risk of extending his hand to her and reaping the reward of having her slip her hand into his.

Hermione gazed at him as if she were feasting her eyes upon the finest work of art. For the first time in his life, Severus was on the receiving end of a burning, greedy look, and the strength of the emotion he felt in response was like drumfire in the air. It hadn't been a dream – it had been real – better than real, for the time in his memories was past, but this, what he felt right now, was forever. He was sure of it. He had only to share eyes with her to know it was true.

'I'd like for it to remain where it is,' she told him.

At her words, the spark pulsed once in acknowledgement, and he wondered if it would always be thus, that any reference she made to the part of her in him would elicit a physical response he could not ignore. He found himself devoutly hoping so. Yet to see her so weak when he desperately wanted to pull her into a crushing embrace was daunting. He tilted his head slightly, rubbing a gentle circle with his thumb on the back of her hand.

'Then perhaps I could return the favour?' he suggested in his mildest tone, keeping his fervent wish cloaked in nonchalance.

Her eyes lit up, and his pulse quickened; she wanted it, just as he did – for each of them to have a life spark of the other within themselves, more intimate than sexual union. Yet still, she did not speak.

'As I understand it,' he added, dropping the timbre of his voice, leaning in to speak to her, and her alone, 'I am one hundred percent, physically – perfectly fit – and the sooner you are out of this place, the sooner the team can begin ... collaborating.'

Her eyes brightened until she seemed to be lit from within, and the smile she trained upon him would have blinded a lesser man. 'Then by all means, Professor,' she said.

Taking his wand in hand, Severus steadied his mind to cast the charm, briefly reflecting on the persons for whom he would willingly give up one iota of his life force.

Hermione. She was the only one.

'Vita Donum,' he intoned, and the jet of golden light which sped from his wand to her heart gave them matching frissons of energy, the charge travelling back and forth between them through their joined hands as they gazed without blinking into one another's eyes. In that moment, he had a clear memory: lying upon the dirty floor, blood gushing from his throat, and the girl appearing over him, a look of fierce concentration on her face as she pointed her wand and imparted life unto death.

He lowered his wand but held fast to her hand, watching with great satisfaction as her colour improved and strength visibly generated within her. She would recover much more quickly, now – soon, they would clear out of this place – together.

With all his heart in his eyes, bare to her scrutiny, he said, 'I thought I was all alone there, for a while.'

And he knew he was seeing into her utterly welcoming heart as her brown eyes filled with tears, and she replied, 'Never.'

Finite

A/N: The Author's theory is thus: Hermione's trip into Severus' mind did not change what happened in his life, but her visits and what transpired between them created a second set of memories, super-imposed over the first. The entire notion is the Author's fabrication from beginning to end and has no right or wrong answer.

This chapter was betaed by DeeMichelle and Keladry Lupin and Brit-picked by MagicAlly.

Hope you enjoyed this foray into a different genre for me. Thanks for reading!