Five

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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Less than a week of school days remained before the holiday break when Hermione found herself approaching Madam Pomfrey. The mediwitch listened attentively as Hermione explained the project on which she would be embarking the following term, placing particular emphasis on the importance of a thorough, professional examination to protect Professor Snape.

"I understand your concern, of course," Madam Pomfrey agreed. "But you must realize, Miss Granger, that clinical trials of this nature require regular, consistent physical examination of the subject's health."

Hermione nodded promptly. "I assumed as much. I wouldn't have presumed to ask you to do all of them...I know you're far too busy...but I was hoping that you could help me with the first and explain to me the format to follow. I'm sure Professor Snape would be more at ease knowing that you were overseeing the first."

Madam Pomfrey laughed freely at that, pouring Hermione another cup of tea. They'd seated themselves comfortably in her office, which Hermione was pleased to note had finally begun to regain some of its tranquility since Voldemort had been vanquished. Over the summer, she'd found it the most oppressive place in the castle, bogged down with medical reports detailing the most gruesome injuries incurred in the course of the battle. With the warmth and comfort of tea in her stomach and Madam Pomfrey in such a visibly good mood, however, she could feel herself becoming deliciously relaxed. The cream-colored walls and simple furniture seemed almost welcoming.

"I'm sure Professor Snape trusts you," she assured Hermione, "but naturally, it would be best for a professional to perform the initial examination. Now, I must remind you, Miss Granger, that I'm not a Healer, nor have I ever been qualified as one."

Hermione just nodded.

"That being said, I'd be happy to help you with the first exam provided it can be performed at my convenience. It will have to be an evening...I'm afraid this is nonnegotiable...since I'm typically so busy during the day. And with Quidditch season!" She shook her head with a matronly air. "Really, the things those children get themselves into... Anyhow, what is your deadline, my dear?"

"I have to have the initial examination done to complete the equation parameters before I can choose a potion," Hermione began, falling effortlessly into academic mode. She lay the parchments detailing the final four potions she'd chosen on the desk, and Madam Pomfrey obligingly slipped on her spectacles and began looking them over critically. "Once I have Professor Snape's initial health status, I can complete the equations and determine which potion is most appropriate for his individual condition. After that, he'll have to help me with the brewing. I'm afraid they're rather beyond even NEWT-level."

"Oh, absolutely," the mediwitch replied, her spectacles sliding partially down her nose. She glanced at Hermione seriously over their gold rims. "And to tell you the truth, my dear, I doubt he would have allowed you to brew even were you a certified Potions mistress. If Severus Snape has volunteered to take part in this, he's quite serious about pursuing quality results. He wouldn't bother with it otherwise. Don't take it personally."

Hermione took a deep, reassuring breath. She'd known as much, logically, but it was difficult to snap out of old habits. The Hermione Granger who had sought ever and only to please would have railed endlessly against the suggestion that she couldn't handle such potions, but there was no sense in putting on a front of obstinacy and stupidity. If she couldn't see to the matter herself...a thought that still required some getting used to, she realized wryly...then she would be sure to offer Snape as much assistance as he could possibly need and then a bit more for good measure.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey told her gently with a friendly pat on her forearm, "I'm afraid I shall have to get back to stocking. I've been dealing with Professor Snape for years now; I'll arrange for him to be here Friday evening. I presume you're leaving the castle Saturday?"

"Yes." Her stomach flip-flopped with coiled anxiety. She had promised Harry and Ginny that she would spend the holidays with them at Grimmauld Place, and she knew beyond a doubt that Ron and Lavender would be there. She wanted to devote every waking moment to the completion and polishing of her equations, and it would take considerable self-control to do so with the two of them parading around.

Still, she had to let it go, she reminded herself. She had nothing to regret; the rejection was in the past. It was the first time she would spend any significant amount of time in Ron's presence, however, and she didn't want to ruin Harry and Ginny's chances of passing a pleasant holiday together. It would be their first without clouds on the horizon, and Hermione knew that Ginny had lately thought of nothing else.

"I'm leaving early Saturday morning," Hermione elaborated, rising to her feet. Madam Pomfrey took in this information, glancing at the calendar on her desk.

"I see no reason why Friday evening shouldn't be acceptable to all of us. I'll speak to him. You'll want to be sure you bring some bound parchments; keeping a record of a subject's health is as important as recording results in any other discipline. I'll add a copy to my own records, as well, and I'll be sure to get his signature so that his other records can be released to you. They may assist you with the Arithmancy portion."

Hermione was amazed to find that even her anxiety over Snape couldn't overcome her absolute pleasure in the fact that her plans were officially taking flight. Thanking Madam Pomfrey warmly, she left with a genuine smile, heart fluttering.

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"Can you believe that test?" Ginny demanded through a mouthful of pudding. Hermione cringed, feeling her appetite, usually boundless, flagging somewhat. Ginny wasn't normally so uncivilized at the table, but she couldn't really hold it against her on that occasion.

It was Friday evening, and in a few short hours, the pupils would begin leaving Hogwarts according to their own schedules. Ginny had decided to depart that very evening after sitting their latest Potions test and having supper with her friends. Hermione had expected the conversation to consist of grumblings over the injustice of the latest tally of House points, but among the seventh-year Potions students, Snape's test was currently foremost on the agenda.

"Difficult," Hermione agreed blandly, gulping her pumpkin juice. She calmed herself by momentarily watching the liquid as it swirled in her goblet. The Potions test had been exceedingly challenging...even she, though she'd prepared for hours, could readily admit that...but it hardly compared to the anxiety she felt over her imminent eight o'clock appointment with Snape and Madam Pomfrey. She was to witness and assist in his initial physical examination, and she'd found herself struggling not to observe his every movement that day.

He was currently at the head table and looked to be in a profoundly foul mood. She watched him stab forcefully at shreds of food, destroying plenty but somehow never seeming to eat. She wondered how he felt sitting at that table every day in full view not only of his colleagues but of every student in the school, his eating habits constantly scrutinized. It was odd, she thought, that stress could affect two people so very differently. She sought desperately to prevent her classmates from noticing her struggles to normalize her view of her daily meals; it was a battle more difficult than she'd ever imagined, reducing her to a mindset in which she consumed without truly tasting. She'd begun to improve over the past couple of weeks, finding that her self-control grew as her mood rose and her plans for her honors project coalesced, but it was far from a complete recovery.

Ginny was now wrapping up her conversation, hugging the other Gryffindors with enthusiastic squeals and promises to exchange letters over the holiday. Hermione choked back a snort. Ginny, social butterfly though she was, would never keep such assurances...she would be too busy holed up in Harry's bedroom, if past experiences were any indication. When Ginny had finally made the rounds and concluded by standing before her, Hermione hugged her with intense affection.

"You're coming tomorrow morning, right?" Ginny was grinning breathlessly, and Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Tell Harry and Ron not to worry. I'll be there."

The barest perceptible flicker of surprise crossed Ginny's face at the mention of Ron's name in a friendly, almost normal tone. Her smile grew, if possible, even brighter.

"I will. See you tomorrow!"

Hermione waved goodbye and then let her hand fall heavily, staring at the stone floor. She had half an hour before her meeting with Snape and Madam Pomfrey, which allowed her plenty of time to return to her room. Once there, she stripped out of her school uniform and donned the plainest, most comfortable clothes she could find...loose trousers and a black jumper...and gathered the bound sheaf of parchments in which she intended to keep a written record of Snape's physical status. She pulled her hair back into a severe French twist, determined to avoid any of her usual triggers of fidgeting and anxiety.

When she arrived at the infirmary, it was to find Madam Pomfrey bustling about by candlelight, the sun having long since set, and the castle grounds darkened. She was preparing methodically, and Hermione perched on one of the hospital beds and watched, fascinated, the elaborate and well-rehearsed ritual that played out. She was vaguely surprised, as she'd always imagined that Muggle physicians had far more implements and substances at their disposal that needed to be cleaned, maintained and inventoried. After all, Madam Pomfrey had only to wave her wand to accomplish many of the skills of her trade.

She appeared to be anticipating a very, very thorough examination by the look of it. A large array of potions already lay on the table beside the bed that she'd clearly chosen for Snape. She had her own stack of parchments awaiting her clinical observations, and Hermione spotted an embellished quill of uncertain identity atop the stack. Madam Pomfrey had just begun uncapping the potions and mixing them vigorously when Snape walked in.

Hermione jumped at the sound of him releasing a low groan. Her cheeks burned lightly.

"Yes, Severus, the full work up," the mediwitch said brusquely, not breaking her concentration to look at him. "If you want to participate in this, you've got to provide Miss Granger as much information as possible, I'm afraid. This is your final opportunity to decline."

Snape, a muscle in his lower jaw twitching rhythmically, said nothing. Hermione thought his shoulders looked stiffer and higher than usual.

"Very well." Madam Pomfrey surveyed him once, quickly, and then turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, step into my office and count to thirty, please."

Hermione cursed herself silently, already feeling her cheeks flaming. She'd been so certain that the gravity of her project would supersede any sexual tension, but perhaps she was destined to be proven wrong on that count. Passing by Snape, she met his eyes briefly as he shot her a disinterested glance before lifting a hand, which she knew would eventually land on the buttons of his frock coat. She was relieved by the temporary sanctuary of the office and began pacing relentlessly, mentally counting.

One, two, three... He surely had to have removed his frock coat by now, she thought restlessly, resisting the urge to rake back her already bound hair.

Seventeen, eighteen.... The seconds crawled by. His shirt was probably off by now. Or would he remove his shirt at all?

Twenty-four, twenty-five.... There was nothing else to be done; she couldn't shake the image of him removing his shirt, baring skin she'd only allowed herself to speculate about in her dreams. Fumbling about in her pocket, withdrawing her wand, she held it in a slightly slippery grip and hastily cast a Cooling Charm over herself. Breathing a sigh of relief as icy fingers caressed her face, throat and breasts, she replaced her wand and smoothed down her jumper.

"You may come out, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey called, a slight undertone of amusement in her voice. Hermione emerged to the sound of Snape's deep muttering as he attempted to stare down the mediwitch.

"The girl can count, surely?" Even his scornful words had a silky quality.

"Hush, Severus."

He glowered, but she brushed it off. Hermione stifled a giggle. They functioned like a mother and her irrepressible child; she could see that already. It was amusing superficially, but the knowledge of how many hours he'd been forced to spend in Madam Pomfrey's care over the years was still heartrending.

She faced him fully and felt the sexual awareness drain away, leaving her entire frame suddenly cold. He was so painfully thin. His collarbones protruded drastically, and the bones of his shoulders and elbows were equally visible, covered by dehydrated skin stretched practically to its limit. She'd never before realized how dreadfully underweight he was for a man whose frame was clearly not so small by nature.

"Very well, Miss Granger." Madam Pomrey's lips were set in a businesslike line. "Professor Snape here has a limited attention span for my meddling, so I think you and I had best get started." She raised her eyebrows, as if daring him to respond, but he only raised an elegant eyebrow in return. Hermione squared her shoulders and withdrew her quill, placing it expectantly on her parchment. He was clothed in a pair of light gray cotton trousers, a sickly hue that only served to emphasize the unfortunate sallowness of his skin. Every time her gaze strayed to his ribs, large and bony, visible in truly shocking detail, her heart constricted sharply.

"Now," Madam Pomfrey began, slipping on her gold spectacles and indicating her own parchments with a brief wave of her wand, "a Healer would normally employ this particular model of quill that I have here. It's a variation of a Quick-Quotes Quill. You've seen Rita Skeeter's, I suspect?"

Hermione pursed her lips in distaste and simply nodded. Madam Pomfrey, she noticed, was now very nearly grinning. Perhaps she'd heard through the usual Hogwarts channels precisely what Hermione had done to the loathsome woman years before. She dared the most fleeting glance at her professor's face and found his expression implacable. If he'd understood the reference, he hadn't reacted to it. She felt a brief pang of disappointment, certain that he, of all people, would have found humor in the tale.

"This particular model does not indulge in any ridiculous embellishments, of course." Madam Pomfrey's voice took on a steeliness reminiscent of Professor McGonagall's. "It writes precisely what I say, word for word, and then it groups the observations appropriately into organ systems. It's similar to what a Muggle physician would do, I believe, in reviewing the systems of the body. I'm sure you're somewhat familiar with this procedure."

Again, Hermione nodded wordlessly.

"Excellent. So as I was saying, the quill is intended to leave both of my hands unencumbered so that I can proceed with the exam more efficiently. Now, since it will be necessary for you to mimic my movements, I'd like you to take your own observations as I perform the diagnostic spells, and then I will assist you in repeating those movements. Do your best to organize the observations as logically as you can, and always, always be concise but descriptive. No unnecessary words or flowery descriptions here. I cannot emphasize that enough. You want clean, precise descriptions to assist you in research or further diagnosis in the future. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, we'll begin with basic diagnostic spells." She explained how to precisely wave the wand and did so before Snape's chest, leaving Hermione to marvel as his entire abdomen suddenly lit up a bright, sickly green shade. "This particular color indicates lingering muscular damage across the ribs and through his lungs and stomach down to the hips," she recited, pointing to the areas as she listed them. "You'll want to start with this spell, as it most clearly illustrates the areas that are still suffering from poor circulation due to the damage the snake venom caused. Severus, take a deep breath and hold it, please."

Snape did as instructed, chest inflating. Hermione watched the shades of green shift alarmingly and released an involuntary gasp; she could see, through the minutest fluctuations of color gradient, the agonized movement of muscles performing at decreased capacity. That he was still suffering greatly could not have been more visible.

Madam Pomfrey instructed Snape to raise the gray trousers to his knees, which he did wordlessly, and Hermione cast the muscle damage spell herself. She resisted the urge to place a fingertip lightly on his calves, which were stringy and pale, dusted with fine black hairs that failed to disguise the malnourished state of his muscles. His extremities appeared to be have been even more devastated by the venom, the color of the spell deepening to a deep forest-green that was almost indistinguishable from necrotic black. Hermione jotted down her observations, including careful instructions for repetition of the spell, as Madam Pomfrey dictated to her quill. "His extremities received the least benefit from the antivenin and healing potions administered shortly after his rescue, so they're still having the most trouble, as you can see for yourself. We shall see whether or not your modifications can better distribute potions to his extremities. Now for nerve damage."

Snape, apparently familiar with the proceedings, shifted with slightly jerky movements and lay prone on his back. Hermione felt a jolt and inhaled, recalling his body on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. She couldn't shake the recollection of the astonishing amount of blood pouring from his neck. Approaching the bedside with trepidation, she realized he was shooting her a probing look.

"Are you feeling quite well, Miss Granger?" Madam Pomfrey asked with a frown, voicing the question that seemed to be in his gaze as well.

"Fine. I'm just remembering.... I'm fine." She studiously avoided his gaze and pulled out a fresh parchment, placing it on the top of her stack and readying her quill. Snape continued to regard her for a few moments, though not with any kind of obvious menace. The neutrality in his expression was almost more disconcerting than the sight of him on his back, lying still.

Madam Pomfrey proceeded with the spells for nerve damage and pain. During the latter, when his entire body lit up in bloody red luminescence, Hermione had to stifle back tears. She felt sickened by the thought of her conversation with Ginny that Monday. The thought that she'd even briefly attributed sexual connotations to this examination, with the debilitating amount of pain he was suffering, now disgusted her thoroughly.

Ultimately, the entire process concluded much more quickly than she'd anticipated. Madam Pomfrey administered analgesic potions and lit them with a tracing spell, leaving Hermione to observe how quickly they dissipated in his bloodstream. It was precisely the problem she hoped to solve with her charm-based modifications.

The rejuvenating potions, intended to revive his atrophied muscles, also did little, and Hermione found herself wondering if his body had begun to accumulate a kind of immunity to such oft-taken remedies. Inquiring of Madam Pomfrey whether such a situation was possible, the mediwitch replied in a somber tone, "I've given him everything in my arsenal, Miss Granger. Every potion, every spell, every charm that could possibly help him...if you can name it, I've employed it. It's very possible that he's progressively developing a resistance to the few means that we've found to alleviate the pain. I sincerely hope you and Professor Vector have an apt solution for these problems because I've tried so many times..."

She trailed off, lost, and an expression of mutual regret and understanding passed between her and Professor Snape. Hermione found herself looking away, feeling as though she'd intruded during an intensely private moment. She'd underestimated Madam Pomfrey, she decided; the mediwitch had always seemed compassionate in a firm, almost dictatorial way, but Snape was special to her. She'd begun to soak up his ongoing pain as her own.

Snape cleared his throat, shattering the contemplative silence. His eyes sought hers. Hermione longed to find something appropriate to say, something that communicated her feelings, but they were inexpressible. She couldn't speak condolences that now extended beyond words.

Madam Pomfrey saved them all, pocketing her wand with a businesslike flourish of finality and informing Snape kindly that he could leave. Having been dismissed, Snape rose stiffly. Hermione watched the awkward movements of his arms, almost comically drawn out, and realized that he was striving to disguise his pain and faltering. He gathered his clothing from where he'd placed it on a nearby chair and disappeared immediately into Madam Pomfrey's office to dress.

Hermione stood still, her stomach heavy, and watched his emaciated shoulders retreating. She knew with deep-seated certainty that the image of his shoulder blades threatening to break through the skin would be permanently etched in her brain during the weeks to come. She felt numb, waiting while Madam Pomfrey perused her notes, highly praising their conciseness but urging her to group them more specifically.

Hermione forced herself to regain her focus and began reorganizing her notes industriously. Snape emerged from the office moments later, clad in his usual black armor. "Miss Granger, I shall expect a message from you over the holidays detailing your choice of potion and explanations." He'd left not even a single button undone, and the sight of her imposing Potions professor, restored to his usual fierceness, jolted her.

"Yes, sir." She nodded briskly. "Would you like a copy of my current notes? I could grab them from my room..."

"That will not be necessary. Professor Vector has provided me with copies. I simply ask that you keep me up to date with your progress over the holidays so that I will be able to acquire the ingredients necessary."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes wanted to linger on his shoulders, now knowing the precise contours of muscle and bone. "Have a happy holiday, sir," she finished, her voice fading lamely when he stalked from the room without so much as a backward glance.

Hermione paused with her quill in midair, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. Madam Pomfrey's hand descended tenderly onto her right shoulder. "You mustn't take it personally, my dear. I'm sure you've heard that before. Even those spells can't give you...or me, for that matter...an accurate idea of just how much pain he has had to tolerate. I'd give anything to have been able to see that creature's death..." Her eyes filled with a murderous expression that alarmed Hermione, but then the storminess quietened. "At least it's over. Now we can only hope that you'll be able to help him."

She proffered a stack of parchments, magically shrunk to a more convenient size. Fighting back a sigh, Hermione accepted the thick sheaf of Snape's past medical records, hoping the other woman's faith wouldn't turn out to be unfounded.