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Chapter Text

The first time he blinked awake, there was a voice, vaguely familiar, and something cold on his scorching face. 

Then he passed out again.

The second time he woke up, there was no voice and nothing cold, not even light, only the memory of trepidation, of failing, of uselessness … 

… and pain.

So much pain … 

It choked him until he escaped back into darkness.

His third waking up wasn’t as fleeting as the others, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that. 

There was light hurting his eyes, pain flooding back, and … 

Something cold on his scorching face. 

“Professor?”

He carefully moved his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It felt … furry? And it tasted as if something had died on it.

Ugh … 

But his movements didn’t go unnoticed.

“Here, take a sip.”

A straw was guided to his lips, and he tore them open, sticky as they were. Then, there was something cold in his mouth as well, and oh! He’d never felt and tasted something more divine than that! 

If only he wouldn’t have to swallow the water down. 

He gasped when the sharp, burning pain shot through his throat, and with the pain came another memory: Nagini.

The next gasp was from a sudden rush of panic, and he nearly choked on the water.

“Please, sir, easy! You’re safe! But you’ll damage the stitches, please!”

He blinked rapidly until his vision somewhat cleared and the light didn’t hurt as much anymore, then he looked around for the source of that vaguely familiar voice while he tried to calm his thundering heart. 

Why was he even alive?

Wasn’t he meant to die? 

Who had … 

Granger.

Her face swam into his field of vision and … 

Hadn’t she been there as well?

The Shrieking Shack, he … he’d seen her there, hadn’t he?

What was she doing here now? Why was she … caring for him?

He tried to articulate just a single one of his plethora of questions, but all he managed was a pathetic gurgle.

“It’s all right,” Granger said and tried to smile, “it will take you some more days before you’ll be able to speak again. But you will be! Able to speak again, I mean. And you … we did it. Voldemort is dead, Harry lives, you live, it’s …” She sniffled. “It’s fine. Go back to sleep, you need to rest.”

The Dark Lord was dead.

And Potter lived? How was that even possible?

But Granger's words worked like a charm, and his eyes closed on their own accord, dragging him back down.

When he woke up the next time, it was night, and he could open his eyes without being stabbed in his brain. 

Unfortunately, he still couldn’t see much. 

The silhouettes he was able to distinguish hinted that he was at St Mungo’s. Clinical walls with a bland landscape painting (or was it a still life?), a generic wardrobe, and – most unmistakable – side rails on his bed. They were cold underneath his fumbling fingertips. 

Had Granger really been here? Or had he been hallucinating? Maybe it'd been just a mediwitch and he'd … 

Maybe he'd only imagined her because … because she'd been there. In the Shrieking Shack. When he'd … died.

Or not died, apparently.

Yeah, that … that sounded about right. Why should she be here after all? That was ridiculous.

When he carefully turned his head to the right, he saw another bed, another side rail, and a heap that his muddled brain slowly interpreted as the silhouette of another patient. 

Marvellous … 

He puffed and tried to swallow before he remembered that his throat was in shreds. 

Ouch.

Holding his breath for long enough to cause his lungs to hurt, he counted through the pain and eventually exhaled slowly. Then he closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but to no avail. He might still be excruciatingly exhausted, but rested enough for his brain to start spinning. 

Plus, he realised how wretched he was feeling. 

His back hurt from lying for too long, his skin hurt, probably from the fever he was running, his face and his whole body still felt like they were on fire, and his head was pounding because it always did. He couldn’t remember the last day he’d spent without a headache. 

Gods, I wish I'd died … 

But it didn’t seem as if he had a choice. 

He slowly disentangled his hand from the blanket and felt the bandages covering his throat. They were thick, and yet it hurt touching them. 

Fuck.

Doesn’t this blasted hospital have a bloody pain-relief potion?!

He turned his head to glance at his bedside table, but there was only a glass of water and something longish that he needed shockingly long to recognise as his wand. He reached for it, almost brushed it from the table, wincing from twisting his sore back, and eventually got a hold of it. “Lumos!” he whispered, but nothing happened.

Well … so much for that.

He kept it in his hand still, if only because he probably wouldn’t be able to put it back, and he didn’t want to wake his roommate trying. 

Panting, he lay back and closed his eyes against the pain pulsing in his whole body. Merlin, he would kill for a cold shower. But when he peeled his blanket aside, he began shivering within minutes. Bloody hell … 

Keeping one leg under the blanket, the other above, he waited for the night to fade, and after satisfying his insomnia for an hour or two, he even fell back asleep.

It was a landscape painting, and it was bland as he found the next day when he focused his entire attention on it while a mediwitch cleaned him, his bed, and the wounds on his neck. 

“It’s good you’re awake, Professor Snape, but you’ll need some more days to … recover. Healer Sanders will come in later and talk about your prognosis.”

Prognosis?

He glared at the young woman whom he’d taught some years ago, but just as back then, she was proficient in avoiding his eyes. Before she left, she brushed back the curtain she’d closed before he’d woken up to grant him some privacy.

And when she was gone and Severus peered at the other bed, he took a sharp breath.

Granger?!

She was his roommate?!

“Hello, sir,” she said meekly and smiled awkwardly. 

Well, that was worse than hallucinations!

“What … you … here?!” he managed to hiss, regretting it instantly, though. 

But really! Didn’t this blasted hospital have enough bloody rooms to accommodate him away from his former students?! What was next? Potter and Weasley visiting her only to see him like this?!

His surging rage spiralled him higher and higher up a spluttering, hissing fit that cost him so much energy that the room began to spin and he felt like passing out.

“Oh, no, no, no, no! Please, sir! You have to calm down!”

He shied away from Granger, who was suddenly standing by his side again, her hands raised as if she wanted to touch him but didn’t dare to.

Well, she’d better not! 

But she grimaced, being faced with his rage and inability to articulate it the way he usually did. “I know, this is … somewhat less than perfect.”

Oh, is it?!

“But it’s … Well, the hospital is in chaos. It’s been five days since the battle at Hogwarts, and … There are still so many wounded … And we are …” She shut her mouth, glancing down at her white hospital gown. 

What? What are we?

But he needed to snap his fingers before she met his eyes again. “Well … I don’t know that much about your status, sir, but I am …” Her chin trembled. “They don’t know how to help me, and that’s why they parked me here. Here I’m in nobody’s way and …” She brushed a tear from her face. “And I guess they don’t have to … Dunno.” She sniffled again. “I guess that’s why you’re here as well. They cannot do anything for you at the moment. Your wounds have to heal, you have to rest, and … Well, it’s quiet here, I guess. But I asked them to give you another room! I really did! But there’s … just no other vacant room. Maybe they’ll have one in a day or two, and until then … I could close the curtain if you want?”

Her words flew past his ears, so shocked was he by the way she looked and behaved. Had he seen Hermione Granger that visibly broken ever before? Her face was pale and gaunt, her eyes red-rimmed, the hospital gown hung on her thin frame, the seams trembling from shivers she tried to hide. 

And her voice … 

Her voice sounded as frail as a sheet of parchment while she tried too hard not to break into tears because … 

Well … Because of what?

“Why are you here?” he breathed.

She gulped. “Um … Curses, they think.”

Curses? Plural?!

She grimaced again, probably guessing his thoughts. “I was hit by … at least two, but they think it’s more likely three curses at the same time. They mingled and … nobody knows how to cancel them. They don’t even know what curses they were, they are only positive that one of them was … Cruciatus.” She gulped again. “I get bouts of … pain and … they last for some hours before they subside and …” She shrugged. “Nobody knows how to stop that, so they parked me here and … I’m sorry, sir.” She lost her battle against her tears and hurried into her bed, turning her back to him. 

Severus exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Curse damage … There was hardly anything the magical world had as hard a time curing as that. Especially if Cruciatus was part of the mix. And if they hadn’t been able to discern more than that after five days … 

He cast her a glance, wondering if her shoulders were twitching from suppressed sobs or because she was cold. 

It was only a couple of minutes later when the other things Granger had said were seeping into his mind. They cannot do anything for you at the moment. He swallowed tentatively, slowly getting used to the pain his torn throat was causing him. 

Bloody hell … 

But why was he even surprised? It figured. If his injuries had been curable with an antidote and some vials of murtlap essence, he would have already been discharged. That he was still here, that he was still in so much pain and had so high a fever … That didn’t bode well. 

They just should have let me die … 

He pinched his eyes closed against that thought. 

And against a bout of panic that rose up his sore throat. 

If only he could tell what was causing that panic, not wanting to die or not wanting to live like this … 

The following night, Granger returned to his side after his agonised gasp had woken her. “Are you in pain?” she asked.

Yes … 

“Wait, I’ll get you a potion.”

And off she was. 

He couldn’t tell how long she needed to get back, a vial clasped in her hand, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, but she got back and she helped him ingest a few sips of the potion. It took the sting out of the agony Nagini’s venom was causing him.

That was what Healer Sanders had told him. Traces of Nagini’s venom were still in his system, and there was no way to get them out. 

Oh, they’d tried! 

They’d tried different antivenoms, different dialysis charms, literally every single means they knew – but Nagini had not been a normal snake, and her venom had ceased being a normal venom since the Dark Lord had turned her into a bloody Horcrux, and all they could do now was hope. Hope that his body would be able to get rid of it by itself. 

Well, so far, his body was failing. 

He slumped back down, panting, his eyes closed -

- and winced when something cold was pressed onto his scorching forehead again. A flannel, if he wasn’t totally mistaken.

He blinked blearily and noticed a tiny smile on Granger’s face. “Go back to sleep, sir.”

And so he did.

When he woke back up, it was the next day – and Granger was in pain.

Pain pain.

She was lying curled up in her bed, breathing in and out labouredly, her hands looped around her side rail, her gaze focused on a spot on the floor. 

When he snapped his fingers, her eyes twitched up and met his, and Severus grimaced from the agony written into the hazel brown of her irises. 

“I-I’m … I’m … fine, I’ll be … fine,” she mumbled, ending in a hissing sound when a brutal shiver rippled through her body. “Bli-imey …” she whispered, pulling her legs up higher. 

“Potion?” Severus croaked, twisting his face from how much it hurt.

“D-Don’t work,” she breathed, “but it-it’s fine, I’ll … be … fine …” Then she sank back into her haze, into surviving what those curses were doing to her, and Severus was reduced to watching. It was the only way of not leaving her alone he could offer.

She slumbered away the whole day after the pain had subsided, totally spent and frighteningly pale. But the mediwitch coming to look after them every couple of hours didn’t seem concerned, only crestfallen. She brushed some sweaty strands of hair from Granger’s face before she carefully cleaned her with a quick spell and tucked her back in.

“And how are you, sir?” she then came over to him.

“Better,” he lied, his voice a harsh whisper.

“I see.” She checked his temperature (still too high) and his wounds (still not closed) and helped him to another dose of pain-relief potion.

“Why does she get no visitors?” he croaked when the mediwitch was about to leave them alone again.

She glanced at Granger. “She … doesn’t want them.”

What? “Why?”

There was an edge on her face when she met his eyes again. “Because she shares a room with you and wants to spare you the humiliation of being seen.” Then she was gone and left him alone with what suspiciously felt like a guilty conscience. 

Chapter Text

Granger was picking at her supper that evening, pushing some mashed potatoes across her plate, only pretending to eat some every now and then. It was hard to watch, but there was little else he was able to do since he’d been laid on his side to avoid bedsores and as pathetic as it was, he wasn’t strong enough to turn around on his own. So he watched her picking at her supper and felt lucky that he was still nourished by potions that were charmed right into his stomach to protect his throat. The constant changes between high and low fever were draining him of his appetite, leaving him either shuddering under several blankets or drenching his hospital gown and bedsheets within minutes.

Right now, he was in a high but constant fever phase, making him feel light-headed and ill, like suffering through a bad case of the flu. But at least he wasn’t shivering or sweating; his muscles needed a break, and he preferred not lying in a damp bed.

“Let your friends come visit you,” he whispered eventually. As long as he was careful about it, he could do that almost painlessly already. 

Almost.

She looked at him. “Are you sure, sir? They don’t have to -”

“I am,” he interrupted her, “you can close the curtain and …” He exhaled slowly. “And cast an Imperturbable charm so …” He grimaced, reaching the end of his speaking abilities. 

Granger mirrored his grimace. “Thank you, sir.”

He attempted a nod. He didn’t know how long Granger would have to stay here, how many more approaches they'd try to heal her, but he was probably in for a longer stay than she was and the way she was treating him, it was the least he could do to let her friends come and visit her.

“Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were here to visit you as well,” she said after about a minute of silence and seemed to give up on her meal since she put her cutlery away and the cover back over the plate.

“Were they?” he mouthed.

It was enough for her to understand. “Yes. They are … terribly sorry for what they’ve done. We all are.” She lowered her eyes. 

Ugh, dunderheads, all of them … Nobody seeing through his act had been the whole purpose! Bloody Gryffindors. 

And Ravenclaws!

His thoughts seemed to reflect on his face, for Granger smiled when she looked back up. “Thought you’d find it ridiculous. Still …” She rubbed her face, her fingers still trembling slightly.

Severus tapped the side rail to get her attention back. “Is there anything helping you with those attacks?” It was half whispered, half mouthed. Merlin, he missed being able to speak … 

She shrugged her shoulders. “No potions, unfortunately. But they are easier to manage when I succeed in keeping myself from spasming.”

He frowned.

“You see, if I … breathe slowly and as calmly as possible, not move, not tense up too much, then … I sometimes can avoid the spasms.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Then I …” She sighed, visibly fighting some form of uneasiness with this topic. “Well, I guess you’ll witness it sooner or later anyway, so …” She took a deep breath. “If I start spasming, I get terribly nauseous. More than usual, that is. And then I … throw up. And then I spasm even more. And then I throw up more. And … Well, you get the gist.” She let her head fall back. “If I’m lucky, it eventually ends with me passing out, but I’m not always lucky, so … I apologise in advance for everything you’ll probably witness while we’re forced to share this room, sir.” A soft pink was covering her cheeks; it made her look healthier than he’d seen her here so far. 

“I’m sure I can manage,” he whispered. He’d seen his fair share of students throwing up during his time at Hogwarts. And he wasn’t a stranger to that predicament either. Too much pain, too much exhaustion, too many potions, migraines, and occasionally too much alcohol – the list of his triggers was long, and this new condition of his certainly wouldn’t have shortened it. He was lucky he was tolerating the nourishing potions so far. “But I assume I should get my magic back under control soon.”

She chuckled. “Well, I’ll try my best to get to the loo or at least clean up after myself.”

He arched an eyebrow, unnoticed by her. The way she’d curled up in bed last night, she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, let alone stay in the bathroom for several hours. But he had no doubts that she would try. 

Bloody Gryffindor.

He couldn’t blame her, though. He certainly wasn’t her preferred person to share such vulnerable moments with. Merlin knew he would switch rooms in an instant if only he could! 

But the only thing he actually could do was be as little of a bastard about this situation as he was able to manage. And since he was interested in her keeping her mouth shut about everything she witnessed him going through, he was adamant to try his best and …

… and … 

…

He winced from a sudden sound, only then noticing that he’d failed to keep his eyes open. Granger went into the bathroom, and when she returned shortly after, she brought back the wet, cold flannel she’d soothed his fever with several times already.

“You don’t have to -”

“I know.”

“You should eat your supper instead.”

“No appetite.” 

He sighed, both from her stubbornness and from the glorious feeling of the cold flannel against his forehead. Not that it was doing a lot about his fever; his body had its own ideas of what his ideal body temperature was at the moment, and a wet flannel wouldn’t convince it otherwise. But it was one of the best feelings he was momentarily able to experience, only surpassed by sipping cool water instead of having it charmed into his stomach. 

“Thank you,” he whispered before he finally let go and drifted back to sleep for good.

The next day, Granger was picked up to be brought to another examination and another attempt to cancel the curses. “Good luck,” he mouthed when she glanced at him before following the mediwitch. 

“Thank you,” she whispered back, her smile remaining a fleeting one; she was too clever a witch for any more high hopes.

But she’d received a letter from Weasley announcing his and Potter’s visit this afternoon, and for at least a couple of minutes, there’d been happiness lighting up her tired eyes.

Now, however, they were back to blank and tired.

Severus sighed when the door closed behind them and slumped back into his refreshed bed. The silence in the room was pressing onto his ears, so much so that he thought he could hear a distant humming. 

He blinked. 

And frowned.

But before he could make sense of what all of this meant, his body made him aware of a need. 

Oh boy … 

All the water they were charming into his stomach needed to get back out somehow, and even he couldn’t sweat enough to completely circumvent his kidneys. 

Grimacing, he shifted in his bed. Since he wasn’t able to use the loo, they were casting a charm on him. A kind of … well, nappy charm. It instantly vanished everything that left his body down there, which was discreet and neat, but it took him a lot of (silent and ashamed) effort to get used to. He was usually waiting for Granger to disappear into the bathroom herself before he was able to let go as well, and in the meantime, he pushed the thought away as best he could. Not thinking about it was the way to get through this phase of his life. Not think about it and be grateful that nobody had to change him or clean him up the Muggle way.

And that he didn’t have to use a bedpan.

While Granger was sharing a bloody room with him!

Ugh! The thought alone gave him the creeps. 

So, he wouldn’t complain and would just get it over with.

The thing was: the charm needed to be recast every morning.

And as it seemed, the mediwitch forgot to recast it today.

“Fuck!”

His heart skipped a beat when he felt some drops of his urine leak into his hospital gown, then it thundered away, making him feel dizzy and breathless.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

His gaze was darting around the room. He dug his fingers into the sheet covering his mattress and his teeth into the soft inside of his lip, finding a moment of clarity in the sharp pain. He needed … 

“Help!”

But nobody heard his rasped whisper, and even when he reached over to touch the spot on the inside of his bedhead that was supposed to alert someone, his hand trembling and his pulse splitting his skull, nobody came. Not even after long, agonising minutes. 

He pinched his eyes closed, trying to quell that telltale burn. Then he blinked.

Okay. The loo it was, then. 

He needed some minutes until he found the mechanism to lower the side rail, keeping him from tumbling out of bed. And when he succeeded, he needed some more minutes to turn onto his right side, inching his wailing body around like a bloody snail on bloody tranquillisers. Pain was shooting across his body like the ball in a ruddy pinball table, and his sore muscles were trembling pathetically.

Eventually, he slumped down panting, short of passing out, and realised that he wouldn’t make it. His bladder felt like it was about to burst, he hadn’t even sat up, and the bathroom was an infinite ten metres away. 

This cannot be happening … 

Once again, he reached for the alert spot, tapping it repeatedly, once again, nothing happened. 

He whimpered, his breath and body shuddering from sheer exhaustion. 

Still, he pushed himself up, slowly dragging his feet over the edge of his bed. 

And when he finally succeeded, the momentum was so strong that the rest of his body almost followed suit. He had to claw his hands into the mattress and heave his upper body up as quickly as possible to not end up in a shattered heap on the floor, and honestly, he himself couldn’t tell how the fuck that worked. 

But it did. And he came to a halt, just about sitting on the edge of his bed. And with a little push against his feet, he slid back up enough to find some purchase. 

But it cost him. His back was creaming, his neck felt like it was torn open all over again, and it was a miracle that he didn’t pass out, considering the intense dizziness that overcame him, deafening and blinding him for a moment. 

Fuck … 

He clung to the edge of his bed, once again tensing up against the need that had forced him to attempt such acrobatics in the first place – and realised that he had to concede defeat. He couldn’t … He could do nothing! He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t go to the loo, he couldn’t even hold it any longer!

The only thing he could do was lift his hospital gown before his body gave in.

One hand cramped around the gown, he pressed the other one onto his eyes as if he could keep them from popping out of their sockets from the sheer pressure building up in his skull. And to hide from this humiliation. The splattering sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard in his ears, and when the growing puddle reached his feet, he winced and failed to suppress a sob. 

It was at that moment Granger returned.

“Get out!”

That was what he wanted to scream.

But his voice failed him, his mouth failed him, his whole bloody body failed him. He just sat there, staring at her like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh!” she mumbled. Then she whirled around.

Closed the door and waited until his bladder was empty, until silence pressed down onto the room again as if it were a physical force. A silence that was split into the tiniest moments of burning shame by the frantic beating of his throbbing heart. 

Eventually, she peeked around and pointed the tip of her wand at the puddle. “Evanesco!” And everything vanished.

Everything but that unbearable feeling knotting up his stomach until he thought he would throw up as well. 

Not that that could have made this situation any worse. 

Gods, I wish I were dead … 

But he wasn’t. 

And Granger was too much of a Gryffindor to just leave and give him the break he needed. Instead, she came to him. “You need to lie back down, sir.”

“Go away,” he wheezed.

“I will – as soon as you lie back down.”

So he did. 

Not that he had a choice. He had to let her help him. And had to ignore the second charm she cast to clean the wet spot on his mattress. 

“They … they forgot the charm,” he mumbled, Merlin knew why.

“I thought as much,” she assured him, “It’s not your fault. Out there is chaos, nobody’s here at the moment, they even sent me back because of it, postponed my exam.” She helped him lift his legs back into the bed, helped him to find a position that wouldn’t pain him, helped him to tuck himself back in. 

And that was the moment when he inevitably had to meet her eyes and the abundance of emotions reflecting in them. The only emotion he didn’t find, though, not even when he mustered the last of his strength and cast a glance into her mind, was pity. She was angry, but not at him, she was embarrassed, and she was determined to undo all that had just happened as best she could – but she was not pitying him. 

Fuck, he wished she would! It would be so much easier to latch onto his anger if she would pity him, and anger was so much easier to bear than this.

“Try to get some sleep, sir. I’ll recast the charm, you’ll be fine.”

He clenched his teeth, hard, and gulped, wincing from the pain it caused him. Then he closed his burning eyes.

Everything if only he didn’t have to look at her any longer.

Against everything he’d expected, he’d eventually fallen back asleep, his body robbed of every little spark of energy he’d managed to build up during the last days. And when he woke up later, he found himself buried underneath several blankets (and yet feeling slightly cold). The curtain between their beds was drawn closed, no sound reached him from outside the fabric.

He needed a moment until he remembered why that was. Right, Potter and Weasley.

Bloody perfect day for a visit like that … 

He sincerely hoped that the brats would refrain from peeking through a gap or something. He might not be able to use his wand, but his mood was rotten enough that he wouldn’t put it past him to murder them with his eyes alone.

And really, everything he’d been through would have been for the Bowtruckles if he murdered them now. 

Rubbing his eyes, Severus exhaled slowly. He could do nothing against reliving the moment earlier today. Good grief … He’d experienced a lot of humiliating situations throughout his life, but being forced to empty his bladder on the hospital floor and getting caught by a former student … That was a new low, even for him. 

She was probably telling her daft friends this very moment. Making them promise to keep it secret, probably, but of course, they wouldn’t. That was too delicate a story to not spread it around and give everybody a good fucking laugh!

He shuddered, shivering underneath his blankets, although he had a fever again; he didn’t need to feel his forehead to know that. Well, not high enough as it seems … 

He should top himself as soon as he could. Wasn’t worth living anyway, the life he’d have from now on.

Maybe … Maybe he could jump as soon as … 

No. 

He wouldn’t force Granger to witness that. 

But he probably would be here longer than she anyway. Maybe he could do it after she’d been discharged?

Or he’d do it when he was back at home. He'd hidden some doses of a poison, maybe -

He flinched when the curtain was drawn back, and when he jerked his head around (bloody mistake!) and met Granger’s eyes, he felt like she could read in his what he’d been musing about. His expression hardened. “Had fun?” he hissed.

She frowned. “What do you mean, sir?”

He scoffed, not bothering to answer that silly question. Instead, he turned his head away again. 

She huffed. “If you think I’d tell Harry and Ron anything about you after I forbid them to come here for a full week, you’re being absolutely ridiculous!”

He heard her draw the curtain back closed, the rasping sound making him flinch, and silence once again surrounded him.

Well, wasn’t he doing his bloody best to be as little of a bastard about this situation as he was able to manage?

Chapter Text

It was several hours of being alone with his simmering fever and exhausting pain, drifting in and out of nightmare-muddled sleep, before somebody opened the curtain dividing his and Granger’s bed from each other. And said somebody was a mediwitch. “Good evening, Mr Snape,” she said and lined up some potions on his bedstand that he needed to have administered.

He harrumphed his greeting and tried to peer between her and the curtain, blinking against the haze the fever was clouding him in. Blearily, he could make out Granger, curled up in her bed, but he couldn’t tell whether she was facing him or not. 

“How are you feeling?” the mediwitch asked while she was charming the first potion straight into his stomach.

He grimaced from the sudden sensation of something cooler than usual popping up inside of him. “Splendid,” he rasped, “What’s with her?” He carefully jerked his head in Granger’s direction.

The mediwitch cast her a casual glance. “Don’t worry, Miss Granger won’t catch anything we say. She had an attack and is now sleeping.”

An attack? 

His gaze refocused on the mediwitch. Well, as best he could, that was. “When?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

He scowled at her, only then realising that she as well had been one of his students. But a while ago, she was at least in her thirties now. Her name didn't come to his mind, though, and he couldn't decipher her name tag. Blinking, he forced his thoughts back to the topic at hand. Granger. “When did Granger’s attack begin?”

“Oh … That … Shortly after her friends left, I think. Are you ready for the second potion, sir?”

He harrumphed again and tried to make out Granger’s face, but his eyes refused to focus. He groaned when the second potion filled his stomach, grimacing from a sudden jolt of nausea. 

Was that his fault? Had his nastiness caused this? She had been rather annoyed by him … 

His heart began beating faster than it did anyway, causing his head to feel like it was visibly throbbing, and he wasn’t sure what was causing him that kind of discomfort, his guilty conscience, or the potions straining his body.

Granger was, in fact, curled up facing him, as he figured out after the mediwitch – Miss Harlow back in the day, as he'd happened to remember, Mrs Persimmons today as per her name tag which he'd eventually been able to read – had left and one of the potions had forced his body to take that fever down a peg or two. He was back to sweating and had two blankets peeled aside already, his pain thankfully kept at bay by another potion. 

Merlin … Would he ever be able to have some quality of life without a battalion of potions?

Then again: Had he before Nagini’s attack?

Hardly. It had only been potions carrying him through that … that … through … 

… 

Anyway. 

He carefully manoeuvred his body around until he was back lying on his side, panting as if he’d sprinted up from Hogwarts’ dungeons to the Gryffindor Tower in under three minutes, and then he was watching her. Well, actually, he was waiting for her to wake up, but that could easily take another couple of hours or so. 

Her face was ashen, the circles under her eyes almost black. Her usually bushy and bouncy hair was dull and heavy from oils and one or two cleansing spells too many. And judging by the fact that they hadn’t brought supper for her today, he assumed she’d had one of her ugly attacks, leaving her not only exhausted but probably excruciatingly nauseous as well. 

And that was likely his fault … 

While Severus kept on drifting in and out of sleep, the bright light of a nastily sunny spring day was fading before their windows. Still, when Granger eventually woke with a slight wince, she was rapidly blinking against the dim light. She grimaced and groaned softly, disentangling her hand from under her two blankets to rub her forehead. 

“You should drink some water,” Severus whispered. His neck wound was pulsing with pain, causing him to feel as if he was short of a solid migraine. 

She sighed and peered at him, one eye closed. “You don’t say.” Her voice was almost as raspy as his.

A muscle underneath his eye ticked. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” she whispered back, still not moving any more than strictly necessary.

“About causing your latest attack.”

She huffed. “’s not your fault. I felt it comin’ even before Harry and Ron left.”

Hm. 

“Jus’ get punished for every little joy …” She brushed her eyes before cracking one open again. “You’re still an arse, though.” And as an afterthought, “Sir.”

“That would have been … thirty points from Gryffindor, at least,” he snorted and - Fuck! - regretted it instantly. 

As did Granger when her tiny laugh turned into another ripple of spasms convulsing through her body. “Ahh!” she cried, “… mmhhh … ouch …”

It was the typical Cruciatus aftershock, as he noticed, focusing back on her. He’d experienced some of them himself, and they were no fun. “Do you need help?”

“No.” Her hand clawed into her blankets, and she lay still, panting for at least a minute before she blinked again. Her eyes were veiled with tears when she said, “I wish we were still at Hogwarts …”

He gulped, pain be damned. And even though he would prefer any place on this godforsaken earth over bloody Hogwarts, he nodded.

“I want to speak with Healer Sanders,” Severus demanded the next morning when yet another mediwitch was doing the daily routine of cleaning him, his bed, his wound, and administering him his potions. 

He was paying extra attention that she was actually recasting that damned nappy charm!

“Healer Sanders is off today.”

“Then send another healer,” he rasped, causing himself more pain than necessary, only for an annoyed glance.

“I cannot promise you anything, Mr Snape,” the woman who wasn’t wearing a name tag said and disappeared.

He literally hissed after her, surprised that his scowl didn’t burn a hole in the door. 

“What do you want from Healer Sanders?” Granger asked groggily. She’d had the pleasure of being helped to the same treatment as he today, minus the wound cleaning. 

None of your business, he wanted to say, but since they were sharing this bloody room, she would find out anyway. “I want physical training. I want to get up and walk as soon as possible.” He wouldn’t piss on the floor ever again!

“I see,” she mumbled.

Oh, do you?!

But when he looked at her, fully prepared to go into a nasty discussion to vent some of his frustration, he found her eyes closed. 

Bloody perfect … 

But it was no surprise. She’d had a fitful night, had been woken by Cruciatus aftershocks several times, one of them bad enough that he’d heard her throw up in the bathroom afterwards. And while he’d listened to see if she would be able to return to bed on her own, he couldn’t help wondering if those aftershocks would leave her with a damaged nervous system as well. 

Because he had that. A damaged nervous system. But considering that he’d been stupid enough to let himself be lured into the Dark Lord’s ranks, he felt like he deserved those ailments. The numbness in his fingers, the regular migraines, the burning pain in the soles of his feet – he deserved those for all the pain and destruction he’d supported, if only during the first war. 

But Granger?

He studied her slack face. 

She was too young for that kind of rubbish. 

Alas, when she later returned from the examination that had been cancelled the day before, she looked so crestfallen that he didn’t even need to ask her how it had been. No improvement, as it seemed. 

“Do they have more ideas?” Severus asked when she’d settled back into her bed.

“Dunno.” She turned onto her side, back facing him, and fell silent. 

Bloody hell.

The healer that eventually came in was a woman called Oliver, M. Oliver, and she had a mediwitch in tow carrying some charts and taking notes for her. “Mr Snape,” she greeted him, putting on a friendly mask that was as genuine as his patience, “What can I do for you?”

“I want physical training,” he croaked, hating his voice for betraying him now of all moments. 

Naturally, she barked a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”

He scowled at her. “I … want physical training. I want to be able to get up and walk again, as soon as possible!” Merlin, he sounded like he was going through his puberty vocal change all over again!

And yet her burst of joy faded. “Mr Snape, you still have an open wound, and you still have temperatures up to 40°C on a regular basis. You are lucky you’re not dead!”

Am I? 

But he didn’t dare say that out loud, else they would put him under constant observation or something like that. Granger was observing enough as it was already, thank you very much.

“Well,” he said instead, attempting his nastiest teacher tone although he’d never taught this woman, “then maybe you should try harder to get the wound closed and my fever down. That is your job, isn’t it?”

“It is also my job to not let you hurt yourself in a rash attempt to get out of bed! Why are you so adamant about that anyway?”

He clenched his teeth. “I want to be able to use the bathroom.”

“Why? You are well provided for those matters!”

“Yes,” he hissed, “as long as your dunderheaded mediwitches remember to recast the bloody charm!” His face was positively throbbing when he spat those words, as was his throat, but he couldn’t mind that right now. He had to watch this woman, had to see every little twitch of her eyes, every shadow of an emotion flickering through them. 

“What do you mean?” she eventually asked, for the first time neither amused nor exasperated. 

“They did forget it yesterday, and nobody came when I called. That will not happen again! I demand to get out of this bed.”

She rubbed her forehead, gesturing at the mediwitch – who had gone suspiciously pale during the last half minute or so – to give her his chart. She leafed through it. “I cannot give you physical training yet, Mr Snape. I am sorry about what happened yesterday, but your wound -”

“Have you tried a mix of dittany and murtlap?” he cut in, his throat feeling like it was on fire.

She glanced at him, annoyed. “Yes, in fact, we did. That’s why you’re still alive.”

Damn. “And did you repeat the treatment before I woke up?” Because they hadn’t since then. They were using a salve now, judging by the colour and the scent, one heavy on marigold and dittany.

The healer pursed her lips. “We stopped since you showed the first signs of regaining consciousness. It would be barbaric to use that mix of agents on a conscious patient.”

“I don’t care, try that again. Daily rinses, half dittany, half murtlap, and blend in …” He swallowed down an urge to cough. “… blend in some antivenom as well.”

“You don’t know what -”

“I do know!” he cut in, so vehemently that he got dizzy. “I do know that it will bloody hurt, but I assure you, this hurts as well!” He pointed at his wound. “I can deal with the pain.”

She scrutinised him, pondering his suggestion for some seconds. “Very well,” she conceded eventually. Then she went back to consulting his chart. “How do you tolerate your potions, Mr Snape?”

“Good,” he lied. He was nauseous for almost an hour every time they administered them, but that she didn’t need to know. He would cope.

Another sigh, then she leaned to the mediwitch. “We will increase his pain-relief by half, adding another dose of it at noon. And change this against Edgar II, he will need it.”

“Yes, Healer Oliver.” The mediwitch jotted down the instructions.

Edgar II … Severus grimaced. It was a highly potent nourishing potion, named after its inventor, Fern Edgar. They were currently giving him Edgar I, and it already turned his stomach. Edgar II, however … He gulped. 

The healer turned back to him. “We’ll give it a try and see how you will cope. But don’t expect too much, Mr Snape. You’ve been on the brink of death for almost a week, that you’re able to argue with me now is more than anybody here dared hope for.” And with another intense gaze, she was gone.

Severus slumped back into his bed, exhausted, as soon as the door clicked shut behind the healer. 

Next to him, he heard Granger exhale as if she’d held her breath for the entire time of the conversation. But he couldn’t deal with her right now, so he ignored he,r and she said nothing either.

He must have fallen asleep, for when he drifted back up to consciousness, there was a voice that made him wince.

“… not be necessary, Miss Granger. If he’s sleeping so deeply that we talking doesn’t wake him, he obviously needs it.”

Minerva.

Severus fought the urge to gulp, both because it would give him away and because it would bloody hurt. 

“How are you, though?” Minerva added then, apparently directed at Granger.

“Um … Not that … I mean, it’s -”

“I see,” her Head of House interrupted her, her voice heavy from regret. “If there is anything I can do for you …”

“Thank you, Professor.”

There was a moment of silence, amplifying the volume of his own pulse so much that he was afraid the women would hear it as well. 

But apparently, they didn’t, because eventually, Minerva said, “Well, I guess I should be going again. There’s chaos at Hogwarts, and somebody has to make sure that they don’t connect the West Wing with the Great Hall. I will try my luck another day.”

“I’ll tell him you’ve been here,” Granger assured her, and after they’d said goodbye, Severus exhaled carefully. “She’s gone, you can stop pretending,” the insufferable know-it-all added after the door had been shut, and although the temptation to act as if he hadn’t heard her because he was still bloody asleep was huge, Severus blinked. Granger lay on her side, a book open on the mattress, and her eyebrows arched in his direction. “Why do you avoid speaking with Professor McGonagall?”

“None of your business.”

It was harder than he’d anticipated.

Severus prided himself on exceptional pain tolerance, having been through his fair share of Cruciati and even more teaching with a migraine. His father had prepared him, the war had honed him.

But there was one detail he’d forgotten: Occlumency was his secret trick - and he was too weak to use it. 

Fucking hell!

He clenched his teeth while a mediwizard was slowly pouring the hellish mix of dittany and murtlap over his exposed wound, causing the flesh to sizzle and produce wisps of smoke that smelled burned.

It felt like that as well. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck … 

Curling his fingers into the mattress, he blinked, trying to find something he could focus on, but the only thing in his field of vision was Granger’s pale face and her huge eyes, watching in horror what he was going through. 

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to stop it, but a single glare from his black eyes stopped her. Don’t – you – dare!

He wanted that wound closed, whatever the cost!

And so she folded her mouth shut again and gnawed on her lip instead until the last drops of the tonic fell onto the wound.

Severus exhaled slowly as the brunt of the pain subsided, leaving behind an intense, hot throbbing. 

Blimey … The mediwizard had given him the pain-relief before he’d begun, so this was what he would have to deal with.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Splendid,” he wheezed. 

When he was finished bandaging him up again, the young man circled the bed so he was able to look Severus in the eye. He seemed paler than a few moments ago. “I,” he began, but then he faltered. 

“You …” Severus couldn’t help but mock him. He was beyond caring with his neck being on fire and all. 

The mediwizard put on a fake smile. “I’ll be back later for the nourishing potion. You should rest for a while first.” And then he was gone.

Severus blinked after him, confused. Not that he would have been keen on having the nourishing potion administered now; he was nauseous enough as it was with the pain emanating from his wound and washing through his head, his chest, his left shoulder, and his arm. But the vial with the potion was already on his bedstand. He'd clearly planned to administer it right after the treatment - only to then decide not to do it.

What the hell … 

“Huh,” Granger muttered after about ten seconds of silence, “I guess they have something to make up for …”

“So it seems,” he whispered, slumping back into his pillow. Goddammit, he’d forgotten how painful that mix of essences was … It felt like it was gorging its way through his flesh, increasing the wound instead of healing it. 

His eyes closed, he tried to breathe as calmly as possible, hoping that his exhaustion would soon overpower the pain and make him fall asleep.

But before that happened, Granger once again fetched the flannel from the bathroom and dabbed the sticky sweat off his face, sighing unhappily. 

Chapter Text

In hindsight, it had been a lucky decision to administer him the nourishing potion later that day. Not only did it save Severus from throwing up, it also saved him from having Granger witness another side effect. 

After he’d suffered through a couple of hours of intense nausea and a frenzied pulse, both due to the fact that the potion made him feel like he’d vastly overdone it on food, it finally left his stomach and travelled down his intestines. But what Severus thought was a relief at first turned out to be quite the opposite. 

It was around ten o’clock in the evening when the cramps began. And luckily, Granger went to sleep around the same time. So he lay in his bed, trying not to groan out loud during the half-hour or so his guts needed to make up their mind. And when they finally did, he was doubly lucky that the fucking nappy charm was in place because he couldn’t have held any of what was forcing its way out of him this time. 

The gurgling and bubbling were halfway muffled by the three blankets he’d covered himself with as soon as he’d anticipated what his body was up to, causing him to sweat profusely. Yet he was trembling, probably exhausted from what he was going through with Edgar II. 

What a bloody joke … Apparently, he could choose only between being exhausted and being exhausted by the side effects of the potion that was supposed to cure his exhaustion. 

Unfortunately, Healer Oliver was right; if he wanted to get up anytime soon, he needed Edgar II. 

And so he dealt with it, silently grimacing and groaning through the daily cramps and diarrhoea befalling him around ten every evening, clinging to the pious hope that Granger would be asleep when it happened. 

So far, she either always had been – or she was polite enough not to let him know she hadn’t. 

One night, when she was definitely out after being in pain for the better part of the afternoon again, Severus allowed himself to vocalise some of his agonies, wondering if the potion would really torment him the whole time he needed to take it or if he would eventually get somewhat used to it. 

But the latter would require a sliver of luck, and he didn’t have that.

Another, and as far as he was concerned, even worse, side effect, however, only showed itself after five days of taking Edgar II. And technically, it wasn’t even a side effect but the desired effect. The effect of his strength slowly returning – and thus his body deciding to reactivate a part of itself that bloody well could have stayed inactive for as long as he was sharing a bloody room with a bloody student!

But that was not how his life worked at the moment.

And so he did wake up with a hard-on and the only saving grace about that situation was that he woke up before Granger did and could shove down his impertinent penis to clamp it between his thighs, putting on a mask of indifference while he waited for it to go down again. 

This … was humiliating. Everything about his current situation was humiliating, but this was in particular. 

Unfortunately, the new treatment was working.

“Your wound looks good, sir! I think you’ll only need one or two more rounds for it to close up completely, and then we can remove the stitches. But I’ll send Healer Sanders to take a look at it later today,” Mediwitch Persimmons said when she took off his bandages.

“It’s about bloody time,” he muttered. Yes, the pain during the rinses was lessening the more his wounds were closing up, but it still wasn’t a pleasure. “When will I be able to eat on my own?”

“Mmhh,” she mumbled, pondering. “I’m afraid it will take some more days before you can strain your throat regularly. The wounds are closing up, but the tissue is still fragile, and with traces of the venom still in your body, it will take a while to strengthen, even with salves.”

He bristled. 

“I know, Edgar II is no fun,” the woman said, preparing the next rinse. “We won’t bother you with it any longer than necessary, I promise.”

And to that, he harrumphed. 

So he kept on stuffing his rebelling penis between his thighs every time he went to sleep, hoping that Granger wouldn’t notice any telltale tenting when he was unable to control it. 

The problem was: Granger even haunted him in his sleep.

Or rather, a twisted, sick version of her. 

His mind took him back to the afternoon he’d had to relieve himself on the floor but instead of just vanishing his mess and helping him back to bed, Granger kneeled down between his thighs and took his pulsing cock into her warm mouth. 

Severus woke up as he came. It was an intense climax, rippling through his wrecked body, making it twitch and shudder. He couldn’t fully suppress a moan, it just felt so good … And it was one of the first really good feelings he experienced since he’d come back to after Nagini’s attack. 

Bloody hell … 

“Are you all right, sir?” Granger mumbled sleepily, “Or do you need another blanket?”

“No. I’m … I’m fine,” he replied, blushing fiercely, “go back to sleep.”

Oh God … How was he supposed to look her in the eye after that?! 

He could still feel her warm mouth around his cock … 

And he didn’t even know how it felt to get a bloody blowjob!

His teeth and eyes clenched, he waited for Granger’s breathing to even out again. 

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t risk that happening again! What if it happened when he was falling asleep during the day? She wouldn’t let herself be deluded then!

He needed his own bloody room! Hadn’t Granger mentioned something about a couple of days when he woke up? That had been almost two weeks ago, and nobody had mentioned it ever again since then!

Rubbing his still blazing face (not due to a fever this time), Severus let the only other way to prevent that from ever happening again slowly seep into his mind: He would have to do it himself. If they didn’t have a single room for him, he would have to do it himself.

Oh, come on … 

But what else was he supposed to do?

And they indeed didn’t have another room for him, as he was informed by the mediwizard who tended to him the next morning. “I’m sorry, Mr Snape. But we’ll move you as soon as that changes.”

He sighed.

And reluctantly welcomed the revival of another not-missed experience of his youth: wanking. 

Every time Granger was showering, he quickly rubbed himself off, forbidding himself to think of her naked body underneath the spray (and failing). Every time she was away for some examination or futile attempt to free her of her curses, he rubbed himself off, forbidding his mind to wander back to that twisted dream (and failing). And every time he woke at night, his cock rock-hard and pulsing from too much pent-up energy, he rubbed himself off holding his breath, forbidding himself to -

Well. 

Good thing the nappy charm also vanished that kind of mess. 

Still, it was high time they began mobilising him; he needed another way of using his newly acquired energy. 

But before getting out of bed was getting up in bed. 

“You’ve been lying down for two weeks now, your body needs to get used to being in an upright position again, Mr Snape,” the older mediwitch designated to do the physical training with him told him the first time she stopped by later that morning. A. Gerble said her name tag, and he was pretty sure that he would curse her pretty frequently during the next weeks. “Plus, your wound is still tender, and I won’t be the one responsible for tearing it back open. So, we’ll start with some stretching, and then you will spend your days sitting up in bed.”

And as much as he loathed to admit it, she was right. His muscles were so stiff that she couldn’t even bend his leg the whole way up to his chest. And when she instructed him to put them up and let his knees fall to one side, his back screamed in protest.

“We’ll have some work ahead of us,” she determined when she left half an hour later, the head section of his bed tilted up enough for him to sit up. 

It took him several hours to not feel dizzy anymore. 

But to look on the bright side of things: His voice was getting considerably stronger.

A fact Granger profited from when the next attack troubled her that afternoon. 

“P-Please, can you … can you t-talk … to me, s-sir?” she mumbled, her arms wrapped around her legs, a position he was getting a bit envious of lately.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don-n’t care, jus’ -” She interrupted herself for a throaty gasp. “Jus’ talk to me, please …”

And so he began explaining the preparation process of Wolfsbane Potion to her, as detailed as possible, every now and then interrupted by one of her stuttered questions.

Halfway through the lecture, though, she closed her eyes, completely stopping any interaction with him whatsoever. But since her body was still as tense as a violin string and trembling like a house-elf after being reprimanded, he went on and on, talking until his freshly recovered vocal cords got sore again and Granger finally relaxed, seamlessly drifting into an exhausted sleep. 

He let his head fall back, sighing, closing his eyes against the dizziness that made him nauseous again. He had about an hour left before they would come back with another dose of Edgar II. 

Merlin, he’d never hated that man more than now. Had he ever tried his own invention?!

Bloody idiot … 

But his constructed bout of anger didn’t distract him from the misery lying panting in the bed next to his for long. Once again, he was wondering who’d cursed her. Who of those brutal bastards he’d once called friends had exchanged glances with each other, deciding that Harry Potter’s Mudblood friend deserved to regret what she’d been supporting for the rest of her life? 

He simply refused to believe that it had been an accident. Nobody got hit by about three curses at once by bloody accident! 

If there was any justice in this world, they were now all either dead or rotting in Azkaban. 

Granger gasped softly, haunted by the first aftershock. She cried, pressing her forehead against her knees as if she was trying to hide from the pain or … trying to compress it, to make it as small as possible. 

He remembered all of those urges – and how futile they were. Nothing could stifle that pain. It was merciless like Fiendfyre, eating away your hope, making you forget that there even was a world without pain. 

Although there probably wasn’t for Granger. 

Severus turned his face away from her, fighting the urge to cover his ears not to have to hear her whimpers anymore. 

I’m so sorry.

The next two days, Severus spent either reading through books he was borrowing from Granger – painstakingly slowly compared to what he was used to – or practising his magic. Since he was sitting up in bed now and Edgar II was doing its job, napping was getting harder so he needed something to do to not lose his mind in this damned hospital room. And even though Granger did like to chat, she couldn’t entertain him all day long. Plus, she had a tendency to drift to topics he’d rather avoid. 

But to be fair: sometimes that was his fault. It had been him asking, “Do the attacks harm your nervous system?” It was the day after her last attack, and when she was fumbling to button up her shirt to meet with her friends down in the cafeteria after she’d had to cancel their meeting yesterday last minute, he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

She looked up at him, her hair still damp from showering. “I um … don’t know. I didn’t notice anything so far.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze twitching back down to her fingers. 

“Did it … harm yours? Cruciatus, I mean. You’ve suffered that curse as well, haven’t you?”

He gulped, rather involuntarily. “I did,” he mumbled, his pulse speeding up. The Dark Lord didn’t differentiate between his friends and foes that much anymore after his … resurrection. Being betrayed by almost all of his followers had made him considerably less lenient with their excuses. And since it had been Severus’ job to make both sides believe he was loyal only to them, he’d had the misfortune of attracting the Dark Lord’s disdain more often than the others. At least as far as he knew. It was only after killing Dumbledore that Severus had suddenly become the “good kid” and nearly infallible. But then others had suffered his curses, and not all of them had deserved them.

He blinked out of his burst of memories when Granger mumbled something he didn’t catch. “You don’t have to tell me,” she added now, busying herself with putting on her shoes. 

He rubbed his eyes, feeling as if cobwebs were sticking to his skin, dirty in a peculiar way, dirty in a way that no shower could wash off. Until he felt ready to phrase a coherent sentence again, Granger was almost out the door. “I’m sorry,” he said and caused her to freeze.

She glanced back at him. “Sir?”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

Her mouth twitched under the ghost of a smile. “No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.” Then she was gone, and he gasped for air as if he’d just broken through the surface of a very dark and muddy pond that was viciously trying to drag him back down. 

“Lumos!” he whispered, forcing his thoughts to focus on the faint buzz of magic that was slowly building back up in his body.

The tip of his wand flickered, then it died out again

It was several hours later - a mediwitch had just been here to give him his daily dose of Edgar II (that he had been allowed to drink himself for the first time instead of having it charmed into his stomach) - when the door opened a crack and Granger slipped in. “Wait, okay? Just a moment!” Then she pulled the door back closed and turned around to him, her cheeks glowing. “Is it okay if Ron and Harry come in quickly?”

“Sure,” he mumbled groggily, “Just -”

“I know, the curtain.” She hurried to pull it closed, but faltered right before closing the last gap. “Are you all right, sir? You look …”

He grimaced. “It’s just the potion.” Drinking it himself interestingly seemed to make it even worse.

“Okay,” she mumbled and gave the fabric a last twitch – distracted enough to forget to cast the Imperturbable charm. He only noticed when he heard her hurry to the door, and before he could call her back, she’d already let the boys in. “You can put them on my nightstand.”

“Bloody time,” he heard Potter mutter, “I don’t even feel my arms anymore.”

“How long d’you think you’ll have to stay that you need that many books?” Weasley added, followed by a thump of something heavy being put down.

“I don’t know. But you can never have too many books. And I offered you to cast a feather-light charm!”

Severus had to suppress a snort when her reminder was followed by unintelligible mumbles. But his bout of amusement was ended by another lurch of his stomach. Ugh … He held his breath, waiting for the turmoil to calm down again, as it always had during the last week or so. But in vain. Instead, he was breaking into a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his ears.

Fuck.

He would be sick. And Granger had forgotten that damned charm!

Honestly, that is such a lousy running gag!

A faint groan escaped his clamped lips while he tried to keep his urge to vomit down and fumbled for the emergency call, and maybe Granger heard it because she suddenly buzzed into action. “Thank you for helping me with the books, but you have to leave now.”

“But -”

“Next time, Harry, okay? I … I’m not feeling … I’m tired. I need a lie down.”

“Okay,” they mumbled in unison and thankfully said goodbye.

Thankfully!

“I forgot the charm, I forgot the bloody charm,” Granger mumbled away right after closing the door, followed by a louder, “I’m so, so sorry!”

“Just shut up,” Severus breathed, not sure whether she’d heard him and not the least bit interested.

He doubled over, grasping his hair and preparing to soil his blanket because he wasn’t all that positive his call would be answered in time. His mouth was already watering, his whole body tensing up in preparation for what was about to happen.

But then Granger pulled the curtain aside, and the next thing he knew, there was a vomit bowl on his knees, right when his stomach clenched, forcing him to heave up the potion he’d needed almost five full minutes to get down in the first place. 

It didn’t taste the least bit better this way.

Granger winced beside him, nervously twisting her wand. “I knew you looked different today,” she mumbled, emptying the bowl with a casual flick.

Bloody smartarse … 

But he didn’t get a chance to tell her because he began retching again, shuddering under the force of his heaves. “Fuck,” he whispered when what felt like the last three doses of the potion had finally left his body, some of it unfortunately through his nose. Ugh … 

“Wait,” Granger said softly and cleaned first his face, then the bowl with two more softly muttered charms. “Do you want some water, sir?”

“Yes, please,” he panted, slumping back against his pillow, defeated, just when the door swung open.

“What – Oh!” 

“He threw up,” Granger explained unnecessarily. 

“I see,” the mediwitch said and began checking his vitals while Granger gave him a glass of water. “Edgar II is a pest,” the woman commented, “I’m surprised you only got sick now.”

“What a lucky man I am,” he retorted flatly. But to be fair, he did feel better now.

The mediwitch smiled sympathetically, cleaning him, the bed, and the air again for good measure. “Do you want a potion to settle your stomach?”

“No.” Chances were that it would only make things worse, he had no good experiences with that potion when he was already sick from taking too many potions. “Just stop making such a fuss, both of you. I’m fine.” Then maybe he would someday even be able to live this down.

“Okay.” The mediwitch slightly lowered the head section of his bed, not all the way down, just enough that he could maybe sleep a bit. “Just call me if anything else comes up.” She huffed at her own probably unintended pun, then she was gone again, and silence settled on the room.

Holy hippogriff … 

As if pissing in front of Granger hadn’t been bad enough.

“I’m sorry.”

Granger, who had already taken off her shoes and was sitting on the edge of her bed now, sorting through the stack of books she’d brought, looked up. “Oh, no, no! I have to apologise! I shouldn’t have forgotten the charm and -”

“I wasn’t sick because of the missing charm,” he reminded her. And had she remembered it, Potter and Weasley would have witnessed decidedly more of it; a mediwitch buzzing into the room and finding him throwing up on his duvet would certainly not have gone unnoticed, Imperturbable charm or not. “It’s okay,” he reinforced when Granger took a breath to apologise some more, “thank you for helping me – again.” He had a hard time saying those words out loud, but seeing her smile in return somehow made it worth it.

God, he had to stop that … that fixation on her! Gross enough he was wanking thinking of her … 

“Never mind,” she said, her voice being unusually soft, “It’s not as if I’m any better.” 

He grimaced. They really were an exceptionally pathetic lot. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry you had to send your friends away.” 

She shrugged. “It’s fine. It was about time that Harry and Ron left anyway, they were chewing my ear off with their Ministry thing …” She returned to her books.

Ministry thing? “What Ministry thing?”

“Oh, they …” She sighed. “They won’t return to Hogwarts for their last year and will begin Auror training instead. Kingsley somehow got them in without them graduating first …” 

My, my … Potter must have been over the moon, once again having it his way without having to bother with homework and exams. 

But this bout of annoyance faded quicker than his nausea. At least the boy is alive.

“I’m sure the Ministry will have a job for you as well as soon as you are out of here.”

Granger looked up at him. “Yeah, probably. But I cannot afford to accept that kind of special treatment, can I? Who will ever take me, a Muggle-born witch, seriously if I only got a job in the Ministry because I was friends with Harry Potter?” She brushed the cover of the book she was holding like it was a loved one’s face. Then she blinked. “I will graduate first. If I ever get rid of those curses, that is. Anyway, I brought some books for you as well, sir. I hope you don’t know them already.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” he mumbled, even though he hadn’t seen a single title. His eyes were glued to Granger’s gaunt face until he forced himself to close them. 

Chapter Text

Two days later, it finally happened: they removed his stitches. 

Severus had to force himself not to claw his hands into the bedspread while he lay there, his heart thumping and his face turned so he was forced to look at Granger.

Ah, wrong. 

To look in Granger’s direction. He could also have looked at the bathroom door, another bland landscape painting, or the bright circles the sunlight was painting on the ceiling because it refracted in his and Granger’s water glasses. 

But he did look at Granger.

Who was sitting on her bed, reading, acting as if she wasn’t noticing what was happening. But she was a lousy actress and actually so aware of him and the healer and the mediwitch that during the last five minutes or so she hadn’t flipped a single pa- 

Ouch!

“I’m sorry,” Healer Sanders mumbled, “that last one is stuck …”

Severus closed his eyes, trying not to clench his teeth too hard. He would get a headache if he overdid it. 

Bloody stitches. That they'd used that Muggle method in the first place was a testament to how desperate they’d been – that it had worked, a testament to how bloody stupid he was. Too stupid to die, even when a snake was ripping his throat into shreds.

“Done,” the healer eventually said and straightened up, looking almost as relieved as Severus himself, who was wondering if that was something he should be worried about. 

“I want to see it.”

“Oh, sure! Just … remember that it’s still healing. It won’t stay this way.”

Yes, he definitely should be worried. 

Not taking his narrowed eyes off the healer, he reached for the mirror the attending mediwitch gave him. And after taking another deep breath, he looked at himself for the first time since he’d failed to die.

Well, his complexion wasn’t reflecting the ‘failed’ part, that much was for sure.

Gaunt, bruises under his eyes, a stubble on his cheeks, his skin noticeably yellowish, even more than usual, his eyes bloodshot, and his face framed by stringy thin hair. He looked like he’d aged ten years during the last three weeks. 

And underneath his face … 

Scars. 

Well, just about. He didn’t have a hard time imagining how the wounds had looked a week ago. The fragile layer of skin covering them didn’t hide much of the devastation underneath it. 

(… extraordinary magic …)

Bulging, angry red tissue that was branching out all over the side of his neck. One line even went almost up to his ear. 

(… no difference …)

But the thinner parts were healed for a while already, they didn’t seem as irritated anymore as the main part of the scar. Still red, though, and probably would be for a while to come. 

(You have been a good and faithful servant …)

And all of this was surrounded by tiny irritated holes where, until minutes ago, suture had held the edges of the wound closed. 

(… and I regret what must happen.)

He gulped. 

Fuck … 

His heart was pounding, and the edges of his vision were flickering as if he were about to pass out. He gulped again, trying to reach for his Occlumency – and failing.

“I think we should proceed with the rinses for another couple of days, only to make sure the wound doesn’t open back up,” Healer Sanders explained, his voice sounding distorted and far away. “It shouldn’t hurt that much anymore at this point. Or does it?”

Severus gulped again. “No,” he mumbled, not quite sure what exactly he’d just denied. 

Occlude, I need to … occlude … 

But he couldn’t focus. The smell of dust and mould and … and fear … 

The desperate fluttering of adrenaline in his veins and … 

… the metallic scent of … 

Oh god, no … 

His eyes were trained on the trembling image of his scarred neck the mirror was showing him as something rushed towards him with the force of a bludger. 

Fangs.

A sharp hiss.

And … 

The faint smarting and soft pulsing of pain that he’d got so used to during the last two weeks swelled underneath his stare, becoming a fiercely burning pang ripping through his flesh. 

Hot blood … 

… sloshing down his chest … 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Through a high-pitched scream echoing in his head, he heard something clatter and crash, and then there were hands and voices and Potter pressing his fingers right into the pain and -

Look … at … me …

He gagged, struggled for air, and a single – clear – thought, but his body was exploding with … 

Oh god!

He couldn’t breathe!

He would die!

He couldn’t breathe!

He would die!

He couldn’t breathe!

He would die!

He would die!

He would … 

… 

… 

When he came back to the sun had wandered around the building and left the room bathed in an indirect golden sheen. Severus sighed, his forehead crinkling under the first hum of an approaching migraine. 

“Do you need something?” Granger asked softly when she became aware of him stirring.

A rope, he thought, and enough strength to hang myself with it.

But all he said was, “No.” He didn’t need anything but to be left in peace. His head felt sore not only from the migraine but from … from the panic attack as well. 

Not think about it …

But he could just as well have told himself not to think about pink dragons, his heart began thumping faster anyway.

Breathe … 

Don’t fall back into -

Just breathe.

He exhaled slowly. 

Better.

It’d been a while since he’d last had a panic attack, and he hadn’t missed them. He had to get back into the habit of constantly occluding as soon as possible. 

But now was not the right time for anything brain-related. Fuck, that migraine will be bad … He probably should call for a medimage to stop that at once. 

If only his body weren’t so heavy … 

He just wanted to go back to sleep.

At least an hour ticked by with him feeling indescribably heavy, as if a giant were sitting on his chest and pressing him into the mattress. Every now and then, he heard Granger turn a page, sigh, or shift in her bed, and every single one of those sounds made him wince because he kept forgetting she was even there. The fog clouding his brain was thick, no thought strong enough to pass through it. Thankfully! If he couldn’t think, he couldn’t remember either. What a relief. 

If only it wouldn’t hurt so much. The churning pain in his head had balled up behind his left eye but clawing its fangs into the whole left side of his face. His eyes were watering and leaking tears down his temple. As if a fucking leech was eating through his brain.

Ugh … Trust his body to make a bad situation worse.

He really should … 

… 

What was it again?

Call someone, right. 

But why?

… 

Ah, yes. A potion. A migraine potion. 

… 

Bloody hell … 

… 

It was only the intensifying nausea that gave him the mental kick he needed. After exhaling slowly, Severus let a couple of seconds tick by without inhaling again, accepting that he would have to do something if he didn’t want to throw up again soon, and contemplating what it was that he could do. He needed shockingly long to get his brain to work again and connect all the bits of information he had. 

Was his stomach even strong enough to manage a migraine potion?

Well, not when he was supposed to take Edgar II as well.

Then again: without a migraine potion, Edgar II was out of the question anyway. Everything was out of the question without a migraine potion. He probably wouldn’t even be able to keep water down soon. 

So he took a deep breath, blinked – ow, fucking hell! –, and fumbled to call someone. Granger squirmed, he winced – he’d forgotten she was there yet again! –, but to his surprise, she didn’t comment on his doing; probably knew him well enough to know that she couldn’t help him anyway when he decided to -

Mh. 

He clenched his lips against an intense urge to heave. There wasn’t anything in his stomach anyway, he’d been asleep for at least … three hours? Four?

How unusual for him to sleep so long after a panic attack as intense as that … 

He groaned when the realisation dawned on him. They’d given him the Draught of Peace. Bloody idiots. No surprise he had a migraine then!

But it was his fault. He’d had more than two weeks to inform them about his intolerance, and yet he … had not. 

He flinched when a mediwitch entered their room. “How are you, Mr Snape?” she asked, her voice so cheerful that the resulting peak of pain blinded him for several seconds. 

“Migraine,” he breathed, squinting his eyes tightly. 

“Oh.” She disappeared again, and he focused on breathing and not throwing up until she returned, what felt like ages later, but probably only were a couple of minutes. “Here,” she whispered, putting a hand underneath his head and helping him to slowly sip the potion she’d fetched. 

After about half of the dose, he was able to open his eyes again, and when he’d ingested the whole thing, the pain subsided to a low thrum echoing his pulse. 

“Better?” the kindly smiling woman asked and withdrew her hand from the back of his neck. She couldn’t be any older than nineteen, so he must have taught her not long ago. Yet he couldn’t for the life of him tell if he’d ever seen her before. Probably a Hufflepuff. He tended to forget most of them as soon as they’d graduated. 

“Yes,” he replied, refocusing on her question, and his lip curled on its own accord. “But would you be so kind as to note down in my chart not to give me Draught of Peace ever again?” His voice sounded like acid, even he heard it.

She gulped. “Um … sure. I’m sorry about that, sir, we didn’t know -”

“I’m well aware. And while you’re at it, cancel today’s dose of Edgar II as well.” She nodded, a hint of fright tinting her blue eyes while she stared at him like a deer in the headlights. Severus arched his eyebrows. “You may go now.” And she did. 

Well, actually, she was taking flight.

Turning his head on his stiff neck, he groaned softly just when Granger chuckled. He cracked an eye open at her.

“She might have a cry on the toilet now.”

“Not my fault,” he muttered. He’d been astonishingly calm and gentle, given the fact that his head still felt like it’d been put through a mincer. Hufflepuffs … “What time is it?”

“Half past five.”

Half past … What the fuck?! “They’ve dosed me high enough on Draught of Peace that I slept for six hours?”

“Five and a half but … yeah, basically.” 

He huffed. No fucking surprise he still felt the echo of that migraine then! 

“It was a pretty violent … attack,” Granger added tentatively, “You almost tore your wounds back open and were completely unresponsive. They had no other choice.”

No other choice … sure. “Next time, tell them to just stupefy me.”

She snorted a tiny laugh. “Will do.” Then she eyed him, brows furrowed. “Why did you wait for more than an hour to call for a medimage when you had a migraine, sir?”

None of your business. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that for reasons he didn’t want to elaborate on any further. His brain still felt like jelly, he would kill for a decent whisky (knowing that he wouldn’t get one even if he did), and when he wasn’t very careful not to think about what he’d seen in the mirror earlier today, the next panic attack wouldn’t be long. “Couldn’t be bothered,” he muttered eventually and turned his back on her, trying to fall back asleep.

Unfortunately, he did. 

Because the fact that he fell back asleep caused him to dream. And that dream turned into a nightmare. And in that nightmare, he was stuck in a vortex of red eyes and green eyes and fangs and blood and pain and dying, dying alone in an old shack, haunted and caught by his mistakes, suffocating on his own blood and regret and the desperate wish to at least do one fucking thing right and -

“Professor Snape! You need to wake up!”

His gasping for air sounded like an earth-shattering sob, even to his own ears, and oh god! Did he wish he could go back to surviving, to open wounds and fevers and exhaustion! Back to a place where he’d been unable to string two coherent thoughts together and where his sleep had been fitful but devoid of any kind of dream, and the sight of scars didn’t prompt him to remember their origin!

“Look at me, sir! Look at me! Please!”

Look – at – me.

No!

That wouldn’t happen!

He wouldn’t be allowed to go back. He himself had wanted to escape that place, and now he had to pay the price. Now he was forced to die over and over again, choking on his own blood and haunted by his own mistakes and -

“Sir! Look at me or I promise, I will stupefy you!”

Bloody witch!

He trained his watering eyes on her.

“Good! Now breathe!” She demonstrated to him what she meant, inhaled deeply and exaggeratedly loudly, then she breathed out again. “Once again!”

And surprisingly, he found himself listening to her. 

“In and out,” she said, “in … and out. Hold out, sir, this will pass, I’m here, we will get you through this.” 

Another inhale that sounded like a sob (and probably was).

He gulped, his heart still thundering, but his mind was slowly clearing. 

Which prompted him to realise that Granger was holding his hands. She let them go, though, the moment they twitched in hers, just as if she’d burned herself on them. 

Pinching his eyes closed and mustering every little ounce of Occlumency he was able to use, he shoved Nagini and her fangs and the sensation of choking on his own blood away until he could no longer feel it. The blood. And the choking. And the pain of fangs ripping into his flesh. 

Occlude … 

… 

Fucking hell … 

“Are you all right?” Granger eventually asked, cutting through his trying to focus. 

He nodded, blinked. And it was only then that he realised he was sitting upright, his legs dangling over the edge of his bed. Yet it took him another minute to actually feel the rest of his body and to be able to move it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Judging by the darkness in front of the windows and the nightgown Granger was wearing, it was the middle of the night, and his dramatics had woken her.

“Never mind.” She retreated to her bed and climbed back in. “Do you want me to leave the light on or …”

“No.” He heaved his legs back into bed as well and lay down. When darkness enveloped him like a blanket of salvation, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “How did you know what to do?”

“I um … have panic attacks myself. Sir. Since …” She faltered, and he thought he could hear her gulp. “Since being on the run and all … But especially since um … Bellatrix tortured me. I … sometimes I … Well … you know.” 

Bellatrix. Bloody wench.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she mumbled and probably turned around in her bed; there was the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric. And after a moment of silence, he heard her take a breath as if she was about to say something else, but then she changed her mind and remained silent.

Thank God.

He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to hear her say that it was all right. He just wanted to breathe and keep the burning in the corners of his eyes under control that he didn’t know where it came from. That and the twitching pressure that was balling up in his chest. 

What the hell was that? Was he slithering straight into the next panic attack?

But it didn’t quite feel like that … 

He actually needed the better part of an hour to understand. Granger had long since fallen back asleep, and the soft puffs of her breathing were a strange kind of soothing. Soothing in a way that told him that … he was not alone. 

Unfortunately!

Luckily?

And that was when it finally clicked: He was not alone. That … That had been the first time he didn’t have to manage his panic alone. The first time someone had been there to tell him what to do and to remind him it would pass. 

Fuck … 

The twitching in his chest worsened. 

Because he always forgot that it would pass. Regardless of how many panic attacks he’d gone through already, he forgot – that it – would pass. That he wouldn’t die. That there would be an afterwards. 

That was why he tended to occlude hard enough not to fall into a panic in the first place. He couldn’t deal with any more dying … Not when he was doomed to survive and go through it all over again sometime soon.

He reached up to brush some dampness from his face, holding his breath until he’d quieted down. 

Well … when he was dying the next time, he would see to it being for good. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Severus didn’t reach for his wand to train his magic as he’d got used to during the past few days. Instead, he focused on his Occlumency. He needed his mental control back, he wouldn’t go through another panic attack, not here, not if Granger would notice it and feel obliged to help him.

Granger … 

That was another thing he had to get back under control. She’d been his bloody student! She was not … He couldn’t … 

He had to get a fucking grip! Now! Latching onto that little bit of kindness she was offering him out of necessity like a bloody leech … What an abhorrent and disgusting thing to do to someone.

So, when she woke up about an hour later and mumbled a bleary, “Good morning, sir,” he just harrumphed, not even bothering to look up from the book he was feigning to read. And while she normally would involve him in some small talk before she got up to use the bathroom, she didn’t dare approach him today. 

Good. 

That morning didn’t hold surprises only for Granger, though, but for him as well. When a mediwitch bustled into the room to bring Granger her breakfast, she placed a tray carrying a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea in front of him as well. “Healer Sanders decided to slowly wean you off your nourishing potions,” she explained, “so you will begin eating one meal per day now, and we will combine that with Edgar I until you can fully nourish yourself again.” She smiled brightly, but it faltered being met by his scowl.

“Fine,” he muttered and reached for the spoon lying next to the bowl before he slowly began eating his first normal meal since … 

Hush!

But it was a disappointing experience. Bland porridge, no nuts, no fruit, no nothing. Ugh … Yet he ate it with a grim kind of determination, reminding himself that drinking Edgar II had been worse. 

Way worse!

The problem was: occluding not only rid him of his panic, it also numbed a lot of his bodily sensations. And so, when he let his Occlumency slip a bit after Granger had disappeared into the bathroom, he groaned. Maybe he should have taken it a bit slower with that porridge … 

Well. There was nothing that could be done about it now. 

And so his day went on. He occluded through the physical training, he occluded through the long and silent afternoon, he occluded when they brought and watched him take his dose of Edgar I (then even a bit harder actually), he occluded until his head felt like a sore muscle. 

He only let go when he was sure that Granger was asleep late in the evening, and when he did - Fuck … - it wrought a gasp from his throat. It felt as if he were finally allowed to put down a glass of water he’d been forced to hold all day long. And when his bodily sensations flooded his perception, he not only noticed that he was still a bit nauseous but that he was also having a fever again. 

Well, a higher fever. He hadn’t had a single day with a normal body temperature so far, only days with not as high a fever as he used to have. And now he was apparently returning to square one with that issue.

Bloody brilliant.

Luckily, nobody checked his temperature that evening. They probably would have forbidden him to use Occlumency again any time soon because of some healer blah blah and whatnot… But he didn’t plan to take the hospital’s medical advice any more seriously than he’d ever taken Poppy’s. His body would either deal with that, or all of his problems would suddenly sort themselves out. First win-win he was presented with since … He couldn’t remember.

So he carefully turned to his side, his back facing Granger – so fucking good he could finally lie on his left side again! – and tried to sleep. Maybe the fever and exhaustion would at least save him from another panic-inducing nightmare.

And they did. Save him from another panic-inducing nightmare.

They also saved him from witnessing another one of Granger’s attacks, as he assumed when he woke up to a drawn curtain the next morning.

He eyed it frowning, contemplating whether he should open it or not. Had it been her decision? Or the decision of some medimage? 

Did he even want to open the curtain?

He closed his eyes, focusing on quieting down his mind again.

No. No, he didn’t want to open it. 

After he’d got his rinse, magical clean-up, and breakfast, he read some more and waited for Mediwitch Gerble and his physical training. She’d ordered him to do some exercises on his own in the afternoon to intensify the effect, and he’d meticulously stuck to her instructions. He wanted to leave this bloody bed! He wanted to piss into a toilet, he wanted to take a fucking shower, and he wanted to put on some clothes that actually required underwear! 

And this day turned out to bring him one step closer to those goals – literally. 

“Ready to walk?” she asked with a mischievous twitch of her eyebrows when she pushed a wheeled walker through the curtain. 

“Hell yes,” he muttered and set his duvet aside. 

But all his imagining of how he just needed to get up and go wherever he wanted to go, just as he’d always done, was shattered by the realisation that his muscles were bloody gone. 

They were gone so thoroughly that Mediwitch Gerble called for a young mediwizard to assist her. While she went backwards ahead of Severus, the young man followed him with a wheelchair he could collapse into if he needed to. 

And no amount of Occlumency could make his muscles work for longer than they were able to. 

Still, he made it past the curtain, to the door, and when he slowly turned around, he caught a glimpse of Granger. She was asleep, curled up under a blanket that was unable to hide her emaciated body. He stumbled because he didn’t manage to take his eyes off her quickly enough and collapsed into the wheelchair. 

“Enough for today,” Mediwitch Gerble decided and motioned for the mediwizard to push him back to his bed. Then they were gone again, but they left the wheeled walker and the wheelchair beside his bed, like a reminder that he was indeed making progress, even if it didn’t feel like it. 

Because what he felt being back in this ruddy bed was an aching body, flickering Occlumency, and eyes that wanted to droop closed. He apparently had the energy level of a newborn at the moment, and because his days were too long anyway, he gave in. 

It was a knock that woke him.

And before he even got his bearings, someone was entering the room. Someone who wasn’t medical personnel, because those only knocked out of habit before bustling in, being either too cheerful or too moody to bear without a groan. But that person did wait after knocking, and Granger did call them in, and Severus’ brain was too sleep-muddled to straight up understand what that meant. Precious seconds ticked by until he realised.

The fucking Imperturbable charm … 

It must have collapsed when they’d come in for his physical training, and since Granger had been fast asleep then, she didn’t know that. And now there was – “Hullo, Hermione!” – Harry fucking Potter on the other side of the curtain greeting his friend – “Harry … Didn’t they inform you?” – and Severus was in a bit of a bind.

He could cast the charm himself, and that probably would have been the polite thing to do given that Granger was thinking it was still in place. But he would have to do it aloud because non-verbal magic was still out of the question, and he didn’t even want Potter to hear him mutter a bloody charm anymore at this point. 

“No, they didn’t. Do you want me to leave again?”

Yes!

“No … No, it’s fine, I’m just … Well, actually, I’m happy you’re here.”

Or … he could just do nothing and listen to what was going on on the other side of the curtain because … Oh, who did he try to fool? He was a former spy and a former teacher, and those were two of his former students whom he’d called the bane of his existence more than once. Of course, he wanted to know what they were talking about if the opportunity offered itself up like this!

So Severus lay back and listened. 

“Did you have another attack?” Potter asked, dragging a chair across the floor.

“Yeah, last night,” Granger mumbled back, “But it’s all right, I’ll manage for a while.”

No, you won’t. Or at least she would regret it. That didn’t make her send Potter away, though.

“Where’s Ron?”

“Burrow. He wanted to come but …”

Granger hummed softly. “I’m so sorry I can’t be with him …”

“I know. And Ron knows as well. He’d also rather be with you, but George is …” He faltered. “And Mrs Weasley …”

“I can imagine.” It was barely more than a whisper. 

“Anyway, how are things here? Did they find out anything new about the curses?”

Obviously not! She had a bloody attack about twelve hours ago, Potter! 

“No. I think they don’t even know what to try anymore. I haven’t been called to any examination in four days and …” Granger’s voice broke. 

“They will find a way to help you, Hermione!”

No, they won’t.

“Yes, I … I’m sure they will.” She sniffled. “So, how’s it going with you and Ginny? Tell me about what I’m missing, okay?”

And Potter did, making Severus wish he’d have been quick enough to cast the bloody charm after all. Honestly, being forced to listen to Potter talk about what was going on outside of these four walls needed to be regulated in the Geneva Conventions …

But a few minutes of Potter talking about some nonsense later, Severus pricked up his ears again. 

“Well, erm … I don’t want to get on your nerves but … did you … you know.”

“No,” Granger replied softly, which was followed by a tiny sigh. “Listen, Harry, I know this is important to you, but … He’s miserable, okay? He will not allow you to meet him as long as he’s in such a bad state. I’m not sure if he ever will, to be honest, but … definitely not now. And if I ask him about it now, you will probably lose the tiny chance you might have as well.”

What tiny chance? He didn’t want to talk to Potter ever again. Fuck, he didn’t want to look him in the eyes ever again! He’d done his duty. He'd sent him to his death as Dumbledore had told him to, and somehow, mysteriously, he’d survived it. Somehow, mysteriously, he'd helped Severus to fulfil the last promise he’d made in Lily’s … in her name, and that had to be enough. 

He was glad Potter was alive, but he didn’t want to cross paths with him ever again, not with everything the boy knew about him and that he would never have shared if he’d known that he would survive! 

“I see,” the boy mumbled now. “And what if I write him a letter?”

For goodness’ sake!

“I’m pretty sure he’ll burn it without opening it.”

Hell yes!

Potter sighed again. 

And Granger mimicked it. “You need to give him more time, Harry. I think he …”

“What?”

Yes, Miss Granger, I what?

“I think he didn’t want to survive this,” she whispered, and Severus gulped when his pulse suddenly shot up, his annoyance vanishing within mere seconds and leaving him feeling peculiarly naked. “He doesn’t want to know about anything that has happened. He hasn’t asked how he survived, he hasn’t asked how you survived, he doesn’t even want to talk to Professor McGonagall …”

“Do they know this?” Potter asked in a hushed voice, and Severus could only assume that he meant the healers.

“Guess so.”

“But you’re still worried,” he concluded from something that Severus couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe Granger’s expression.

“I am,” she breathed, “I know it’s weird, he’s Snape after all, but … Dunno. He helped me. Like … a lot! I’d have already lost my mind in here if I had to go through all of this alone.” Once again, her voice trembled.

“We could pop by more often, Hermione! Just tell us and -”

“No! That’s not what I mean. You can’t be here all the time, Harry. You all have a life to live and things to do and other people to help, and that’s fine! I don’t want you to be here all the time, and Snape wouldn’t want that either.”

Damn right!

“This isn’t about you being here and entertaining me. It’s about … the days are long in here. And lonely. And they feel less lonely when someone else is … just there. Even if nobody says a word. But sometimes, when I’m in pain, he talks me through it, even at night, and … that makes such a difference!” She sobbed softly, and Severus closed his eyes. “I just want to give him back a bit of what he’s doing for me, you know? I cannot not care about him anymore, so … yes, I’m worried. And I don’t know what to do. I mean, I’m me. A fact he did not forget.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled and sniffled again. 

“You’re a bad liar, Hermione.”

“I know. Could’ve been so polite to let it slip, though …”

“Fat chance. So, spit it out! I’ll tell nobody.”

Granger took a deep breath.

Don’t you dare … 

“Well, I … witnessed something the other day and … overstepped the mark, I guess. He’s all back to being Professor Snape again if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. He can be such an arse …”

“That’s not …” She faltered. “He’s not an arse. He just ignores me. It’s all right, really. It’s just …”

“Lonely,” Potter completed the sentence she’d left unfinished.

“Yeah. I’ll manage, it’s fine. He’s not obliged to … It’s fine.”

Potter sighed again. “Maybe you can switch rooms soon.”

“Yeah, maybe.” But she didn’t say it as if that would be a good thing.

His teeth clenched, Severus stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore what they proceeded to talk about after that. He’d heard enough and had a hard enough time keeping still as it was already. And when Potter finally left and Granger struggled out of bed to use the bathroom a little while later, he snatched his wand and cast the charm before rubbing his face fiercely.

Bloody hell.

His pathetically flimsy attempt at an Imperturbable charm collapsed somewhere around two o’clock in the morning when it was hit by a stray ripple of distraught magic. 

“… potion!”

Severus jolted up in bed. There was a flurry of voices and actions, nothing of it distinguishable to him. He fumbled for his wand and tore the curtain open, blinking against the bright light that was emanating from the bathroom. He saw Granger’s empty bed, a glimpse of a mediwitch’s cloak, heard some more mumbling, and then a vial darted through the room and disappeared in the bathroom.

A couple of seconds later, more medimages came rushing into the room – “What’s happening?” –, but they were paying him no attention.

What the hell … 

“Get Healer Oliver, room two, now!” somebody bellowed, and a young witch set off.

His heart thumping wildly, Severus watched as a seemingly unconscious Granger was loaded onto a stretcher and hurried out of the room. “What …” The door almost crashed against the wall, remaining wide open behind them, and when he looked back at the still-illuminated rectangle that was the bathroom door, he saw a trail of blood marking the way they’d gone.

Chapter Text

He was sitting upright in bed, the bustle of the emergency fading and leaving behind an empty silence that felt like a vacuum. He had trouble breathing, and Occlumency was useless to -

He tried to call someone, but nobody reacted. 

That didn’t bode well … 

What the hell had happened? Had she tried to … 

No!

That wasn’t like her! Granger was too strong a person to just … 

He tapped the emergency call harder, unsuccessfully.

Nothing of what she’d said to Potter earlier had hinted at her harbouring such thoughts! On the contrary, she’d hinted at him harbouring such thoughts and explicitly expressed her wish to somehow help him. She had not been thinking about ending her life!

Right?

Leaning to the left, he tried to peer out the door and catch something, his heart beating against his ribs so hard it felt like a war drum. But all he could see was a light-green wall, all he could hear were faint voices. Minute after minute dragged by and … nothing. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled and used his wand to order the wheelchair closer. Getting into it was not that huge of a problem for him anymore, directing it, however … It looked easier than it was, pushing the rails hard enough to actually move forward. He used his naked feet to support his efforts, and that made it marginally easier. Bit by bit, he inched closer to the open door, hoping that somebody would pass by he could stop and -

But their room seemed to be at the end of a corridor. Nobody passed by, nobody came to answer his repeated calls. 

Only when he’d finally reached the door, a cleaner turned around the corner and almost ran into him. “Oh!” he mumbled, “Hello!”

Severus scowled at him. “What happened with Granger?” Severus asked briskly.

“With whom?”

“Hermione Granger! You’re here to clean up her blood!”

“Ohh! Don’t know, sir.” He peered past Severus. “But it looks bad if you ask me …”

Well, I’m not! Not anymore, that was. Not if that was the answer. “Can you ask someone who knows?”

“They won’t tell me anything, medical secrecy.” He kept standing in front of Severus, his lips pursed. “So … will you let me in or …”

Severus harrumphed and manoeuvred the wheelchair around until the chap could pass him by, then he pushed forward and peered into the corridor. Nothing. Nobody was to be seen, nothing was to be heard. As if they’d disconnected this ward from reality. 

A couple of minutes later, the cleaner returned. “Do you need help before I leave?”

“No,” he growled.

“Suit yourself.” And off he was, leaving Severus alone again. 

His heart still thumping wildly, also from the physical exertion to get here, he pondered his options. There was a faint possibility that he would make it to the medimage’s room – but a much likelier possibility that nobody would be there. They probably hadn’t answered his calls for a reason. 

And if he tried his luck and went (or rather rolled) to find someone who could tell him more about what was wrong with Granger, he probably wouldn’t be able to make his way back here if he wasn’t successful. 

Fuck!

Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He had to get himself back to bed, and then he would have to wait until … until someone stopped by to update him.

He slowly turned around and gulped as his eyes landed on Granger’s abandoned bed and the crumpled duvet. He had to force himself to look away and focus on his own bloody bed. And when he finally reached it and climbed back underneath his duvet, he virtually collapsed, his pulse galloping so wildly that it made him dizzy.

Bloody hell … 

Maybe he would pass out. He felt oddly warm, shaky, and light-headed. But he didn’t dare call for a medimage again. If they were busy helping Granger, he didn’t want to … 

Fuck.

What if she’d tried to end her life? And what if it’d been because of his behaviour? 

Like Fang on the frozen Black Lake, he slithered - though not into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness but into a cold-sweated panic attack of hot-wired dread, out of control and utterly unstoppable, Occlumency or not.

Don’t do this to me, Granger. Don’t you dare do this to me!

He didn’t sleep a single minute until the morning dawned, was just slipping in and out of bouts of dread and different variants of learning about Granger’s passing that his fever-dazed mind was making up. Her empty bed felt like a black hole slowly widening beside him, sucking the air from the room. It was the same feeling he’d had every time he sat down behind Dumbledore’s desk, acting as if that was the place he'd been supposed to be.

Even when faint sunlight was finally dampening the past night’s horrors, he had to wait for another two hours until someone came in to bring him his breakfast. 

“What happened with Miss Granger?” Severus asked before the young girl even had a chance to greet him.

“Um … I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you, sir.” 

Oh, really?! Granger was allowed to witness every bloody moment of weakness his condition was bestowing on him, but he wasn’t even allowed to -

Never mind. “Just tell me if she’s alive, Miss Hammers!” 

His teacher's voice made her flinch; it hadn’t been long since he’d last reprimanded her in Hogwarts’ corridors. But she still thinned her lips, unsure about what she was allowed to say. Eventually, she nodded. “I think they’ll bring her back soon.”

Oh! Thank Merlin! 

So she didn’t try to end her life. They surely wouldn’t bring her back here if she had. She’d need to be supervised if -

“You should eat your breakfast now, sir,” the girl mumbled shyly and put the tray down in front of him before she hurried to leave the room. 

Eating … The last thing he wanted to do now with everything that had happened last night still knotting up his stomach. But the incident with Granger probably wouldn’t stop Mediwitch Gerble from popping by later to torture him a bit more, so he did indeed follow her advice – though this morning’s porridge tasted even more like mashed cardboard than the last. 

Mediwitch Gerble needed only three seconds to notice how miserable he was – and she promptly cast a diagnostic. “You’re running a fever,” she stated, “so no training today.”

He harrumphed, both annoyed and relieved by her assessment. He wanted to go on with his training – but he also felt like he was short of passing out every time he turned around in bed, so she was probably right. 

And while the mediwitch was still jotting down her findings in his chart, the door was opened again and another mediwitch hovered Granger into the room. She was once again lying on a stretcher and once again unconscious, a sight causing his pulse to speed up, but there was no blood anymore, and she did look, in fact, alive, as he noticed when his gaze briefly brushed her face.

“Oh, morning, Agatha,” the young woman said while she lifted Granger off the stretcher and laid her in her bed.

“Morning,” his private torturer mumbled back, “Thought you had the week off?”

“Planned to,” the other woman replied, “but you know how it is. They need everyone.” The stretcher disappeared with a pop, and she draped the duvet over Granger’s still body. 

“Hm. It’s a shame. One ought to think we’d be better prepared for this after the years we’ve been through …” She closed Severus’ chart and finally turned around to her colleague. 

The younger woman’s eyes darted to Severus. “It’s hard to prepare for this, I guess,” she said softly. “Do you want me to close the curtains, Mr Snape?”

“No,” he said, forcing himself not to look at Granger, “it’s fine.”

“All right. She will be asleep for some time anyway.” 

“As should you!” Mediwitch Gerble interjected and gave him a stern look. “I’ll send someone to check on you again later today. That fever worries me.”

“I’m fine,” he growled, not quite hitting the right tone, though. His voice still wasn’t up to the mark.

“That’s hardly your job to discern.” And with a last twitch of her eyebrows, she was gone.

He pulled a mocking face at the closed door and slumped back exhaustedly before he finally allowed himself to take a closer look at Granger. They’d apparently dosed her with a generous amount of Blood-Replenishing Potion, for her cheeks had a rosy tint. And despite everything he’d concluded so far, his eyes twitched to her wrist. Spotless pale skin – unsurprisingly.

Severus exhaled slowly. And before he knew what hit him, he slumbered away.

He woke up again before Granger did and sat up to read a bit, even though he still had a temperature. The mediwizard, coming in later to give him his daily dose of Edgar I, came to the same conclusion. “We’ll keep an eye on that,” he said, and while Severus sipped his potion, the mediwizard went and administered Granger a dose of it as well magically. 

She grimaced slightly, even though she was asleep, and Severus felt that on a cellular level. 

Silence sheathed their room after that, and Severus immersed himself in one of the books Granger had had Potter and Weasley carry up here the other day. They were library books, as he’d noticed when he’d taken a closer look at them, and yes, most of them he’d either read already or were about themes he knew too much about to find something new in publications like these. 

But she’d brought some prose as well, and he definitely hadn’t read anything of that so far. Didn’t mean he would enjoy it, but it would kill some time.

Surprisingly, he got involved enough to be slightly startled when Granger mumbled, “I know you hate me, but … could you please read to me, sir?” She barely managed to crack her eyes open, and he pulled a face remembering how sluggish and icky your brain felt after being dosed high on Draught of Peace – and he had no doubt that that was exactly what they’d done with Granger. There was no other explanation for her sleeping all through the day without waking up even once, not even when they’d administered that blasting nourishing potion.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmured and began reading the piece of pseudo-deep literature called ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ out loud to her.

It wasn’t a long book, and he’d already been halfway through it, so it took him about another hour and a half to finish it, his voice sounding hoarse and scratchy when he read out the last words. 

Granger hummed softly. “Sounded better than it was.”

“Indeed,” he huffed. 

She struggled to sit up in bed and reached for her water glass, her hand still shaking. 

“What happened last night?” he eventually asked and put the book away.

Granger gulped. “They identified another one of the curses,” she whispered. And when she raised her eyes to meet his, they were swimming with tears. 

“Sanguinabis,” he concluded, and she nodded, brushing away a tear. It was a dark curse, virtually turning her into a bleeder, and as far as he knew, there was no way to reverse it.

“I um … got my period last night and …” She gulped. “Well, let’s just say I won’t ever have children.” 

Fuck. 

But now he had an inkling of who had banded together to punish Granger for being Harry Potter’s friend. Cruciatus was – amongst others – Bellatrix’s signature curse, Sanguinabis one of her husband’s favourites. And where Rodolphus was involved, Rabastan wasn’t far. Severus had no doubt that he’d been all too ready to support his brother and his sister-in-law in rectifying Granger’s escape from her righteous way of dying at Malfoy Manor. And what better way to do that than contributing a neat little spell that would make her suffer from their vengeance for the rest of her life if her first fucking period would fail to kill her?!

“I’m sorry,” Granger sniffled, “I shouldn’t have … Just forget what I said, sir.” She put her glass away and turned her back on him, once again curling up under her duvet. 

It’s fine, he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. 

Nothing about this was fine.

Neither was Granger when Severus woke from her strangled gasp around two o’clock in the morning. He took a deep breath and shifted around in bed, fumbling for his wand to provide some light. No blood. He exhaled in a puff.

She, however, pinched her eyes closed, curled around a pain strong enough to make her break into a sweat.

“Do you want me to call someone?”

“No,” she breathed, shaking like a leaf, “I don’t want -” She broke off with a groan. “Bugger,” she mumbled then and groped for the vomit bowl she kept on her bed stand. But she was trembling so much at this point that it clattered to the ground.

Sighing, Severus directed it back to her using his wand.

“Tha-ank you,” she pressed out, grasping it so hard that her fingernails turned white while the shaking grew into spasms. Whimpering, she squeezed her eyes shut, her teeth digging into her chapped lip. “Oh god,” she sobbed and briefly met his eyes. “Jus’-jus’ close … close the curtain, sir, I-I’ll manage …”

“Like hell you will,” he muttered and clicked his tongue before he folded his duvet back and called a chair from beside the door to place it next to Granger’s bed. Then he got up and staggered the two steps between their beds before he collapsed onto it just when she began gagging, vomiting half into the bowl, half onto her chest and the bed. 

She groaned the moment he did, shuddering from disgust, and while he vanished her mess with a muttered “Evanesco!”, she mumbled, “Ugh, tha’s dis-disgusting! What the hell is-s that?”

“Edgar I,” he growled. The stench was awful, reminding him way too much of his own experience with seeing the brother of that potion again the other day.

“Bollocks.”

He huffed and took the bowl from her cramping hand to place it so she wouldn’t miss it when the next bout of spasms hit her. 

“You don’ have to hel-lp me, sir, I -”

“Shut up.”

And she did, more out of necessity, though, for her body began shaking violently again, wringing a sob from her throat before she began heaving anew. He grimaced, slightly leaning his head back. “’m sorry,” she murmured in between violent heaves, her eyes watering either from that or from shame or from the sheer brutality of this moment.

“It’s all right, we’ll get you through this.”

He wasn’t sure where the tears streaming down her face now were coming from, but they hit him hard enough that he preferred looking at the stuff she was retching up. He vanished it again, determined to help her as best he could after she’d done the same for him. 

“Oh god, please …” she wailed about ten minutes later, interrupted by more retching even though everything she was producing by now was bile and copious amounts of saliva, “jus’ Stu-Stupefy me …”

“I can’t.” Besides the fact that he still wasn’t strong enough to do that (even vanishing her vomit was getting increasingly more difficult already), a Stupefy probably wouldn’t stop her from convulsing. She might choke on her own vomit.

The only thing that would be able to knock her out completely was the Draught of Living Death, and there was no way that St Mungo’s would give her that. 

If they even had it in stock.

So she suffered through the most brutal attack he’d witnessed so far, crying and heaving and pleading to be released, and not even his grasping her hand after putting his useless wand away did anything to make it easier, nor did his reading the first half of ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ to her. He did anyway because that book was lousy enough that it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t catch anything of it, and it was better than just sitting around waiting. 

There was a hint of dawn on the horizon when she finally quieted down, silently weeping from the remaining pain and unwilling to let go of his hand. “Let me try to clean you up, Miss Granger,” Severus said hoarsely and disentangled his aching fingers from hers. He flexed them before he grasped his wand, focusing hard on the spell. Well, it halfway worked; she’d still need a shower as soon as possible, but at least she wasn’t reeking of vomit anymore. 

“’m sorry you had to do this,” she murmured. 

“Well, someone had to. And since you didn’t want me to call a medimage …” His voice faded when his gaze fell on something on her forearm. Carefully, he nudged the sleeve of her hospital gown up a bit and couldn't stop his face from twisting into a scowl. Mudblood. Angry red scars, forming the one word he'd never wanted to hear, or see, or say ever again.

Granger blinked sluggishly - and quickly pulled down her sleeve when she noticed his gaze. “They … They hate me … They hate … this. I jus’ … I couldn’t take it again tonight, not after …”

“I’m sure they don’t hate you,” he said dully.

More tears streamed down her face, her chest convulsing from suppressed sobs this time, not the fading attack. “How could they not? I hate me …” She mouthed the words more than she spoke them. 

Yet they made him gulp hard.

“So … thank you, sir,” she breathed groggily, wincing from another ripple of faint spasms.

He blinked. “Never mind. Here, drink some water.” He held her glass to her lips and carefully tilted it so she could take a few sips that hopefully would stay down, until she slightly lifted her hand. “Try to sleep,” he said then. She didn’t answer, so he pulled the duvet up higher and put the vomit bowl back on her bedstand before he tried to get up and return to his own bed. 

Which was easier said than done. His legs were stiff, his feet freezing cold, his back aching from sitting bent forward for too long. He almost collapsed when he tried to get up. Eventually, he shoved the chair closer to his bed, surprised that Granger didn’t even flinch from the noise. 

Pushing himself up on the lowered side rail, he finally succeeded in transferring himself to the edge of his bed - Mhh … - even though his muscles protested. He lay down panting for a minute or two before he drew his own duvet back over his chilled body. When he looked back at Granger, she was just trembling through an aftershock but too exhausted to wake up from it, and his eyes darted back to the scars that were carefully hidden underneath her sleeve again now. He didn't need to ask where she got them. He'd learned enough.

Those bastards are better dead because if not, I will kill them.

Chapter Text

The next morning found him woven into a thick fever haze and gagging only from seeing his breakfast. It got marginally better after he’d slowly sipped his pain-relief potion, but naturally not well enough to do anything else than sleep that day. Actually, he almost fell asleep again while they were rinsing his neck wound; it didn’t hurt anymore, and he was just … so exhausted.

Fortunately, Granger was passed out as well, so she at least couldn’t blame herself for his condition.

They hate me. 

Her words echoed through his mind, and although he was pretty sure that she was imagining that, he couldn’t help but observe the way she was handled by the mediwitch who had come in to care for them closer than usual. But the elderly woman wasn’t one to mollycoddle her patients to begin with. She got her work done, her charm-casting was a bit more on the rough side, but not brutal. He’d never felt particularly hated by her – and if there was someone they had all reason to hate, it was him. 

(Why didn’t they, actually?) 

As expected, he noticed nothing that hinted at her harbouring any aversion against Granger.

On the contrary. “She needs to eat when she wakes up. Would you mind calling us?” she asked Severus when she was finished freshening up Granger and her bed. 

“No,” he mumbled. But chances were that he would be asleep as well, and she knew it. 

“I’d better keep popping by every now and then,” she muttered under her breath and left them alone. 

You’d better do, he thought and finally stopped resisting the heaviness of his eyelids. 

The next time he woke up, another knock on the door was the reason.

Oh, hell no! Not Potter and -

But he didn’t even get to finish his thought before a mediwizard entered. He frowned at Granger (worried, not annoyed) and then turned to Severus. “Good news,” he said cheerfully, “we have another room for you.”

Severus blinked, his brain so foggy that he needed a whole five seconds to understand what the boy was talking about. And when he did, he gulped. 

Another room? 

His eyes ghosted to Granger. She was lying on her back for once, her face turned away from him, and the dread of the other night when she’d been levitated away without him knowing whether she was all right or not, rose in his throat. He gulped that down as well, he couldn’t think about that now. Well, scratch that, he couldn’t think, full stop. 

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he eventually mumbled wearily.

“Are you sure?” the mediwizard probed. “We had you on top of our -”

“I am sure,” Severus interrupted him. “Ask her when she wakes up and tell her I said no. If she wants another room, fine, if not – just go and make someone else happy.”

The boy nodded slowly. “As you wish,” he muttered and finally left.

Severus sighed heavily, closing his eyes again. Had that really been the right decision? Whatever was happening between him and Granger, it wasn’t okay. Borderline unseemly even. No matter how much good it was doing them to not be alone and to have someone to talk to … This was not okay. 

And where would it end? Nobody knew how long they would have to stay in here. How much closer they would get, how many intimate situations they would be forced to share. 

And what about afterwards? What would happen when he went home and … and went through with his plan? How would she cope with that?

Bloody hell … 

Luckily, his brain was too sluggish to think; he’d end up with regrets if he thought about that for too long, and he wasn’t in a position to hurry after the mediwizard and change his decision. 

As he should, really.

But he’d wanted a single room because of his bouts of diarrhoea and because he’d been inappropriately aroused all of the time, and both problems had sorted themselves out by now. Without Edgar II, he had no digestive disturbances anymore, and with him either having physical training or being utterly exhausted from caring for Granger for half the night, his prick was behaving as well. Strictly speaking, he didn’t need a single room anymore. 

And – to be honest with himself for just one second – he didn’t want one anymore either. Spending that one night lying wide awake next to her empty bed … He couldn’t do that every night. He-he couldn’t return to that …  that solitariness that had been his last year. Not without losing his mind, that was. 

Pathetic … 

Pathetic and selfish. 

That was what he was. 

And sooner or later, Granger would pay the price for his weakness.

Because, naturally, she didn’t take the single room either. 

Instead, she eyed him curiously when he was woken up to drink his nourishing and pain-relief potion, nibbling on a piece of toast listlessly. 

“Professor McGonagall popped by today,” Mediwitch Persimmons told him while he slowly sipped his liquid meal.

“Did she?” he muttered.

“Yes. But since you were too unwell to receive guests, we had to send her away. She promised to come by again another day, though.”

“Send her away again, then,” he responded without looking at her.

She faltered. “Are you sure, sir?”

He scowled at her. “Yes. I don’t want to receive any guests. Did I make myself clear?”

“Sure,” she mumbled in a clipped voice, not bothering to hide what she was thinking about his antics. 

He rinsed down the awful aftertaste of Edgar I with some Earl Grey, steadfastly ignoring Granger’s now even more curious gaze that was brushing him now and then before Mediwitch Persimmons gave him another potion to take. Probably for that ruddy fever or whatever, he honestly didn’t care. 

Unfortunately, his stomach did care and reacted as sourly to those potions as he did to learning that Minerva wouldn’t leave him in peace, and so he spent the rest of the evening suffering from a nasty stomachache on top of his fever, waiting until he was finally able to go back to sleep.

He really should have taken that single room.

The next day, Granger was ushered off to another exam right after breakfast, leaving him alone for about ten minutes until Mediwitch Gerble returned to give his physical training another try. “If I ask you if you feel ready for some more walking, will you answer me honestly, or will you say yes no matter what?” she sighed.

“What do you think?” he replied, arching an eyebrow. If he always waited until his body signalled its approval of what he planned to do, he wouldn’t leave this hospital before he turned forty. 

“Very well … But if your wounds trouble you again, it won't be my fault.”

“Noted,” he muttered and scrambled out of bed.

He almost made it to the bathroom door that day, even though he was still so wobbly that he needed someone to follow after him with the wheelchair again. And before they left him alone, the mediwitch opened one of the windows wide to let in some fresh air. 

“It’s warm and sunny outside, hearing some birds and smelling something other than hospital odour will do you good, Mr Snape.”

He wasn’t quite sure about that, but these days, he had to choose his battles, and so he let it go without objecting. 

And it was … all right? Almost nice, even. 

Not being surrounded by complete silence while slumbering a bit gave him a strange feeling of being connected to a world. A world that didn’t consist only of suffering and pain and these ruddy four walls. He heard kids shouting in play and the wind rustling in the trees, and when he blinked an undefined time later, Granger stood at the open window, her arms resting on the frame and her hair offering another toy for the wind to play with. 

She became aware of him being awake only when he stirred and looked at him. “Fancy a walk?”

“Excuse me?” he mumbled, stifling a yawn.

She smiled faintly. “I long for some fresh air and thought … Maybe you’d like to come with me.”

“I don’t even have enough stamina to walk to the bathroom, Miss Granger.”

“True. But you do have a wheelchair. And I have a wand. I got pretty good at disillusionment charms during the last year …” 

“Disillusionment charms?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, well … The press is pretty keen on getting pictures of you. I wouldn’t put it past them to lie in wait out there …”

Excuse me?!

“Why exactly, Miss Granger, would the press be interested in getting pictures of me?”

She blushed, pursing her lips. “Um … In his defence: we all thought you were dead.”

“Potter,” he muttered.

She shrugged, looking utterly miserable. “He’s terribly sorry. But if that helps: this way Voldemort died knowing that you’d been the one who betrayed him.”

He harrumphed, both because that was indeed a pleasant thought and because Granger was the wrong person to be cross with anyway.

“So … Was that a no to the walk or …”

Sighing, he rubbed his itching eyes. He wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of heaving himself out of bed and into the wheelchair – and even less of having Granger push him around some smallish park where maybe a clever enough journalist would look through her disillusionment charm and take a picture of him anyway, enabling Rita Skeeter to weave a whole affair around him being seen with Hermione Granger of all people. 

On the other hand … He couldn’t hide in here forever, and Granger apparently had been able to bring Potter and Weasley through the last year alive, so her wand work seemed to be good enough to get him through a walk in the park as well. 

Plus, she looked like she’d need it. 

“Very well,” he mumbled and put on a cloak before he transferred himself into the wheelchair and let her cast a charm on him. 

“Do you want to check in the mirror, sir?”

“No.” 

Ten minutes later, he actually found himself being pushed around a not-quite-that-smallish park (probably magically enhanced), surrounded by warmth and sounds and scents he’d forgotten existed so thoroughly that it felt as if he was encountering them for the first time. The sun was warming his face, and watching the trees undulate in the bouts of wind was oddly calming, the gentle rushing like a balm on his sore ears. And the air … He took a deep breath. 

Still, his eyes kept darting around, scanning everybody he saw, his fingers curled around his wand as if he were able to use it for more than a quick Evanesco. But so far, he hadn’t spotted someone suspicious. Most of the people around were rather busy with themselves or their relatives, no lenses were flashing, not even in the sunlight.

“I think I need a pause,” Granger mumbled after a while and sat down on a bench, looking a bit pale.

“Will you faint?” Severus asked.

“No,” she huffed, “I’ve just … eaten too little, I guess.” She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, putting her elbows on her knees.

“You look as if you would faint.”

“I will not faint! Just give me a second, okay?”

He hummed sceptically. “Has anything come off your exam today?”

She shook her head. “Well, not yet, that is. They want to contact an expert in the States and need some up-to-date analyses of my condition. That’s all they did with me today. Collect data.” She fumbled with the hem of her jumper. 

Severus watched her for a minute or two, then he said, “You do realise that -”

“Yes,” she interrupted him before he’d even finished, a pained smile flitting over her face, “I know. Sir. It’s been too long already, chances are that nobody will be able to help me and that …” She gulped. “That this will be my life, but … as long as they don’t give up, I can’t give up either, can I?”

He nodded slowly. “Are they aware of that scar on your -”

“Yes,” she interrupted him again as if hearing his whole question was too much for her to bear. “It's got nothing to do with … the rest.”

“Oh, but it has,” he couldn't stop himself from saying and arched his eyebrows when Granger's head whipped around to him. “I think I know who cursed you, and that was not an accident. They used the curse that scar -” He pointed at her sleeved forearm. “- is imbued with to guide their revenge for you escaping from Malfoy Manor, ensuring it would hit you and only you.”

“Bellatrix,” she whispered, suddenly breathless.

He nodded. “And her husband and her brother-in-law, if I'm not mistaken.”

She gulped, and even though he had no visible evidence for that, he was pretty sure that her heart was thundering. “So, the Cruciatus is … thanks to Bellatrix?”

“Yes. Sanguinabis is one of Rudolphus' favourite curses.”

“And … Rabastan? Which um … Do you know which other curse …”

“No other curse, I'd say,” he replied, “Just a trick to … make the Cruciatus flare up regularly.” He felt sick from saying those words out loud alone, he couldn't imagine how it had to be for her.

She stared at him for what felt like ages, then she huffed a mirthless laugh. One of those laughs that would turn into tears if you weren't very, very careful. “Well, then I probably should start coming to terms with this," she mumbled, “Document my attacks and … find out possible triggers …” She rubbed her face fiercely. “Better to do it now, as long as I’m here and can call for help.”

If you call for help, that is … 

“And hope that that expert in the States has another idea.”

He won't. But all he said was, “Yes.”

She lowered her eyes, nodding faintly and worrying her lip so hard that he thought she would start bleeding again any moment. But then she pursed them and looked over to a bunch of children playing with an old Snitch that didn’t manage to fly that high anymore and needed a break on the ground every few minutes, so they were able to catch it without needing a broom. “Astonishing how fast everything seems to return to normal,” she whispered and raised a trembling hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, “as if … the last years didn’t even happen.” Her chin trembled, but she got it back under control.

“Do you really think a bunch of kids playing in a hospital park is normal? They’re probably not here because it’s so nice around here.”

She hummed and looked down at her fumbling hands again. But then she peered at him. “Why didn’t you take the single room, sir?”

Fuck … So, he was absolutely willing to support her changing the topic to get her emotions back in check, he really was! Having to console a crying Granger while they were passed by by people every now and then was nothing he was keen on. But he'd rather she chose another route than that.

Oh well …

Sooner or later, he had to tell her something anyway. “Couldn’t leave you thinking everybody hates you, could I?”

She blushed so hard that she almost looked healthy again. Well, healthy by their standards. “Yeah, about that …” 

He arched his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry about my whinging the other day. It was … a hard day.” Her voice faded to a whisper with those last words, and she brushed her eyes. “But you don’t have to stay just because of me. I’m a big girl, I will cope.”

Sure, you will. But fobbing her off with that half-truth probably wasn’t quite fair, was it? She’d done too much for him already to let her keep thinking he was making some kind of sacrifice only for her sake when he was, in fact, a selfish little bastard who couldn’t deal with the thought of being alone in a hospital room anymore. “I’m not,” he, therefore, said softly, “Staying just because of you.”

She gaped at him for a second, then she quirked a smile.

“So, will you get us back upstairs now or …”

She huffed softly. “Yes. Let’s go.”

If only I could … 

That night, Severus had to force himself to wake up before he slithered too deep into the nightmare slash flashback slash torture his mind was bestowing on him, and yet he needed almost twenty minutes to get a good enough grip on his Occlumency to escape it fully. 

Twenty minutes, he lay panting in his bed, unable to move while he felt blood seep down his burning throat. 

Fucking hell … 

He sat up when he was finally able to do so and peered at Granger’s bed, but surprisingly, his distress hadn’t woken her up. A testament to either his returning to his old self-control or to her being exceptionally exhausted. 

When he’d sufficiently calmed down again, he tapped the emergency call, and thankfully, the mediwitch slipped into the room quietly. “You need help, Mr Snape?” she murmured.

“Could I get a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion?”

She smiled kindly. “Sure. Be right back.”

He rubbed his face and itchy eyes while she was away. Gods, he was so tired … But if he fell asleep again now, he would return straight to the nightmare he’d just escaped, and the next time he’d probably not be quiet enough for Granger to sleep through it. 

Still, her soft puffs of breath almost were his undoing. 

He winced when the door opened again. “Here you go, sir.” The mediwitch gave him a vial.

“Thank you.” She was already turning to leave when Severus mumbled, “Why -” Only to falter when he heard his own muffled voice.

“Sir?”

He gulped, his fingers closing around the slender neck of the bulbous bottle. “Why are all of you so … kind to me?” The thought had been turning in his head like a pigling on a skewer since it had occurred to him this morning.

She frowned. It was dark in the room, but there was a bit of light coming in from the corridor, enough to see her forehead wrinkle. “Why shouldn’t we?” she whispered. “This is our job.” And with a second’s hesitation, she added, “Plus, we owe the lucky end of the war not only to Harry Potter but to you as well, as it seems. If any of us needed another reason to treat you with respect, that should suffice, don’t you think?” It was a rhetorical question because she didn’t wait for his reply but turned around and left the room as silently as she’d entered it. 

Severus looked after her, stunned by the echo of her words for what felt like a couple of minutes until he recollected himself and took the potion that promised him at least one restful night.

That Granger’s puffs of breath had faded, he only realised when he was already being lured into empty darkness.

Chapter Text

“Could I get a pen and paper?” Severus asked the next morning, after the mediwizard had finished attending to him. Well, midmorning was a more precise term. They’d run late today with their rounds, and so Granger had already left.

“Sure.” He smiled non-committally, and Severus watched the man leave, frowning.

That kindness he’d recently become aware of was … unsettling. That had never happened before. He wasn’t treated kindly. At least not genuinely kindly. The best he’d ever got since he’d screwed up things with Lily had been gritted teeth-kindly. Or senile-old-man-kindly. Or my-most-faithful-servant-kindly. And suddenly everybody acted as if he’d single-handedly saved the bloody world?

Disgusting … 

A couple of minutes later, the mediwizard returned to hand Severus what he’d asked for. “Oh, by the way,” he then remembered, “Mediwitch Gerble won’t come in for your physical today. She said you need a rest day.”

Rest day? He’d rested enough! What he needed was to be able to get out of this damn bed! 

“All right,” he muttered nonetheless, and seconds later, he was alone again. He looked down at the pen and paper, then his eyes twitched to the bathroom door. He’d hoped he would reach it today. He felt … quite well, actually. Taking the Dreamless-Sleep last night had helped him tremendously in feeling better. 

That he’d had to ask for it in the first place, though … 

He had to get those panic attacks under control. And to achieve that, he had to confront himself with what had happened. Something he’d rather do alone anyway. He’d just need to reach the bathroom because there was a mirror …

His lips pursed, he eyed the wheeled walker. So far, Mediwitch Gerble had always brought someone else to follow him with the wheelchair, but in the last days, he’d made it without needing that. And she’d always stopped him earlier than necessary, had never allowed him to test his limits.

A plan was forming in his head, and since Granger wasn’t here to talk him out of it … 

He put the pen and paper aside and summoned the wheeled walker before he sat up and pushed his feet into the slippers they’d brought him. Taking another deep breath, he stood up and balanced himself, staying where he was until he felt ready to get going. 

Minuscule step for minuscule step, he inched around Granger’s bed and toward the bathroom door that felt like it was hiding a huge mystery only because he’d been here for more than three weeks now and hadn’t ever passed through it. 

But that would change today.

He had to pause halfway, though, and sat down on the end of Granger’s bed, panting. A thin layer of sweat was covering his face, and his heart was thundering. But it always did when he was walking, he wasn’t exactly worried about that anymore. 

When a few minutes had passed, he got up again and inched further forward, pushing the leant door open with his wheeled walker and groping for the spot to trigger the light spells. He blinked and looked around, taking in what was a spartan bathroom. A shower stall next to a sink next to a toilet, that was it. Everything clean, everything white. And yet he had no difficulty imagining how Granger had been lying here the night she’d almost died because of those bastards, had no difficulty seeing her blood spread over the pristine tiles. 

He gulped.

On a small shelf above the sink stood a mug with a toothbrush and some other utensils belonging to Granger. Considerate as she was, she’d only occupied one half of the shelf, though. As if he would claim his half anytime soon … He shook his head.

Well, be that as it may, above the shelf was what he’d come here for: the mirror. 

His heart skipped a beat when he looked at it. From this angle, he couldn’t see himself yet, but he was determined to change that. 

His legs were trembling when he slowly approached the sink. Luckily, the mirror was low enough that he would be able to see himself even if he sat down on his wheeled walker. While he positioned himself in front of it, Severus avoided looking up, only seeing his black hair and white hospital gown from the corner of his eyes. And when he’d settled down, he focused on fully occluding before he eventually raised his head.

His look hadn’t improved since they’d handed him the small mirror after removing the stitches. His face was still gaunt and pale with a tint of yellow, his hair was still in dire need of a proper wash, and his eyes were still red-rimmed. As if he’d spent the night quaffing firewhisky in the Hog's Head. 

But the scars looked a tiny bit less inflamed. They'd stopped the daily rinses today, and he saw why that was. The previously paper-thin layer of skin closing his wounds had thickened enough that the tissue underneath wasn’t visible anymore. Instead, it was beginning to bulge as scars like these tended to do. A lump of gnarly tissue was sitting right above his carotid, branching out all over his neck, too high to be fully covered by any kind of clothing. 

It was ugly. 

And no scar-reducing salve in the world would make it go down enough that it would become unnoticeable. He had his experiences with scars, and these … These would stay. Maybe there would come a day when they wouldn’t be as red and prominent anymore, but his neck would never again look as it had before the Dark Lord had sicced that snake on him.

Well … It didn’t matter. He only had to get out of here anyway and then … 

Severus took a deep breath, and when his pulse had calmed down as much as it would given that he’d just covered a distance that felt like a marathon, he carefully lowered his Occlumency. 

The panic lurking behind it had built up, crashing down on him like a tsunami, and he curled his hands around the handles of his wheeled walker. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck … 

His breathing quickened, and his vision began flickering, the tell-tale prickling washing over his scalp and his face like a horde of ants.

“You have been a good and faithful servant …”

He gulped.

And gulped again. 

“… and I regret what must happen.”

Teeth ripped through flesh, blood gushed down his chest, the scent of warm and sticky metal, dust, and sweat made him gag. 

Severus pinched his eyes closed and leaned forward, dry heaving and clutching the cool porcelain of the sink in a vice-like grip. He couldn’t breathe, gurgling, choking sounds sputtering from his mouth, hot and cold washing over him, his vision failing him for several minutes until he got a grip on his Occlumency again.

Fuck!

Focussing on the drain and some of his spit slowly running toward it, he wrenched himself back from the abyss of dread that had opened up right in front of him. 

He was safe. 

The Dark Lord was dead. 

Nagini was dead. 

He, unfortunately, wasn’t, and his body and mind needed to understand that!

When he’d halfway calmed down again, he straightened back up and looked at his scar again. 

Lowered his Occlumency again.

Died again.

This time, when the scent of blood and dust and mould and wood and more blood, so much more blood, overwhelmed him, and the pain of his ripped throat plus the tension of being unable to breathe cumulated in an intense need to cough and gag as if that could make those memories go away, he didn’t succeed in keeping his breakfast down. 

But the acidic mush burning up his throat, the overwhelming stench, and the foul taste on his tongue actually were helping. Those were real. This, his throwing up, his desperate gagging for air, that was really happening. His body's memories faded underneath it, at least enough for him to get the panic back under control. 

Panting, Severus stayed leaning over the sink and the puddle of vomit accumulated in it, some dribble leaking from his lips, until he felt able to detach one hand from the porcelain and turn on the tap. His mess slowly spiralled down the drain, and the cold water on his face helped him clear his mind. 

He spit out again, his throat still burning, both from throwing up and from the memory he’d just lived through again. His fingers fumbled over the scar, leaving wet traces on his skin. Gods, he wished he’d died … 

Why hadn’t he died?!

It was the first time since his earliest glimpses of consciousness that he thought about that. Even Granger had noticed his lack of interest in this topic. ‘He hasn’t asked how he survived.’ That’s what she told Potter the other day, and even then, he’d put that thought aside. Did it matter? He was alive, that was bad enough. The how was most unimportant for him. 

Only that it wasn’t anymore. Who was to blame for his still being here? Whose fault was it that he had to go through those bouts of panic now? Who had played god and decided that they wouldn’t let him go yet, that he wasn’t done suffering through this joke of a life?

He straightened back up, meeting his eyes and his face and his scars in the mirror with a grim expression. Beads of water were covering his forehead and neck, a wet half-circle adorning the neckline of his hospital gown, and his pulse instantly sped up again.

He trained his eyes on the scar and actively summoned the last moments he could recall. His desperate fumbling for the potions he’d been carrying everywhere, the possibility of him not succeeding in fulfilling that one last order from Dumbledore looming over him like the sword of Damocles. 

He had to find the boy!

He had to tell him that -

The boy!

And then he’d suddenly been there. As if his silent pleading had summoned him. 

Look … at … me … 

The memory of green eyes crashed into him like the Hogwarts Express.

Severus could do nothing against tumbling through memory after memory of Lily looking at him, every single one of them like pins piercing into his mind and his eyes and every single nerve ending his body possessed, and just as he hadn’t been able to stop himself from throwing up minutes ago, he now wasn’t able to stop himself from weeping like a child lost in some crowd at a station. 

Once again, he couldn’t breathe, once again choking and gagging sounds welled from his mouth and fell into the sink, but they were only followed by tears, bitter and salty and hot like his shame, trailing down his face and covering his lips.

“Oh!”

He whirled around, spotting Granger at the door, pale face and red-rimmed eyes. 

“Get out!”

This time, he didn’t only think those words, he spat them at her with as much anger as he could muster.

She flinched, something clattered to the floor.

“Out! Out! OUT!”

She stumbled back, groping for whatever she’d dropped, and giving him one last terrified look, like a rabbit in front of a fox, she backed out of the door he’d had to leave open because he wouldn’t be able to open it with his wheeled walker otherwise. A second later, the door leading to the corridor banged shut. 

He lunged out and knocked Granger’s stuff from the tiny shelf underneath the mirror. Her toothbrush and mug and all the silly little flasks of whatevers clattered to the floor, but it was utterly unsatisfying. 

“FUCK!”

Granger didn’t return the whole day, not after Severus had levitated her things back onto the shelf, not after he stumbled his way back into bed, not when he was befallen by another fever attack, not when he scribbled down what he’d needed the pen and paper for, and not when they were giving him his evening dose of potions and a meagre meal that he didn’t feel up to eating. 

“Could you please give this to Miss Granger’s healer?” he asked groggily after he’d swallowed down the last potion, and gave the mediwitch the folded sheet of paper.

She eyed it sceptically, itching to ask him what it was, but since she – like almost all of the younger staff – had once been taught by him and knew his tempers pretty well, she didn’t dare do so. “Of course, sir,” she said instead and slipped it into the pocket of her robe before she left him alone with his serving of mashed potatoes and some vegetables that made him gag if he looked at them for too long. 

He’d already been asleep when Granger eventually returned because he wasn't aware she was back until he jolted out of being haunted by green eyes and Lily’s voice repeating ‘You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine’ over and over again until it multiplied and echoed to and thro in his mind, threatening to rip his eardrums like a piece of parchment, and that happened in the middle of the night. His nightgown was drenched in sweat and his mind muddled from so high a fever that he had difficulty finding the emergency spot, yet Granger stayed asleep until he failed to get a straight sentence out to the night mediwitch, causing her to suddenly ignite the lights so that Granger almost jumped out of her skin yet again.

“Professor Snape?” he heard her sleepy voice.

Then some hurried steps.

“Get a healer at once!”

“All right!”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Get out of the way, Miss Granger!”

“But -”

Then darkness swallowed him and all he was left with was one thought: I wish I’d had a chance to apologise … 

When Severus regained consciousness, he instantly knew that more than a few hours had passed. Maybe it was the fact that the walls his bleary eyes spotted weren’t the walls he’d got to know during the past weeks. Maybe it was the fact that his back was hurting more than it had since he'd begun sitting up in bed. Maybe it was because, even being unconscious, he’d somehow felt that time had passed.

Anyway, he knew that something more serious than usual had happened, and when he carefully turned his head, he was assaulted by the horrible lime green that distinguished healers from the rest of the staff. He groaned. 

What the hell had happened that a fucking healer was keeping watch on his bedside?!

“Welcome back, Mr Snape.”

It was only when he heard the voice that he recognised Healer Sanders, given that his sight was still blurry and everything too bright for him to do more than blink. 

Ugh, he felt abysmal. 

“Wha’ happened?” he mumbled, his tongue misbehaving like a third-year Gryffindor.

“An acute exacerbation, probably caused by your unassisted trip to the bathroom, Miss Granger told us about when she thought you were dying the other night.”

Granger … 

Healer Sanders sighed. “I didn’t think I had to explain this to you, of all people, Mr Snape, but the venom that’s still in your system … It has the power to kill you if you don’t pace yourself. Your body needs strength to keep the venom in check, so we are, in fact, not deliberately annoying you by keeping such a slow pace with your training. None of us wants to keep you hospitalised longer than necessary.”

Severus sighed. But he made an effort to do so silently. 

The chair Healer Sanders was sitting on cracked when he moved, maybe crossing one leg above the other. “But that’s nothing you’re overly concerned about, is it?”

Huh? Severus cracked an eye open, trying to get a somewhat focused gaze at the healer’s face. 

The man’s brows were furrowed, a hint of worry tinting his brown eyes. “It did not escape our notice that you have a tendency for self-harm, Mr Snape. I’d even wager that you’re harbouring suicidal ideations. And considering what you’ve been through, that doesn’t come as a surprise. I admit I’d hoped that sharing a room with someone would help you. That said someone turned out to be Miss Granger was worrying me at first, but …” He faltered and lifted a folded piece of paper Severus hadn’t noticed so far. His piece of paper. “Maybe it was a lucky coincidence?”

Severus gulped, an action that turned out to be surprisingly challenging again. 

The healer leaned forward, getting uncomfortably close to Severus’ face. “I’m convinced your trip to the bathroom was not an active suicide attempt, otherwise, you wouldn’t have alerted us. And I cannot – and will not – dictate to you what to do with your life as soon as you leave this hospital. But if you ever find that you fancy any action that will end your life as long as you are under my care and share a room with Miss Granger, I would ask you to talk to us instead because you neither have to endure this nor need Miss Granger to get re-traumatised by watching you die yet again, okay?”

Yet again … Those two words hit Severus like a blow to the forehead, and it summoned a blurry memory he’d failed to keep in mind: Granger had been there. She had been in the Shrieking Shack when he’d almost bled to death. Just as Potter and Weasley had been. She’d seen him die once – and she’d almost seen him die again the other night. 

Fuck … 

“Okay,” he croaked eventually, blinking away a telltale sting in the corners of his eyes.

Healer Sanders nodded slowly and sat back up. “I changed your medication. You will get two drops of EE from now on, that should stabilise your mood a bit.”

EE … He needed a moment to conclude what the healer meant; Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Well, two drops would hardly make him high. But maybe an addict if he took it for too long. Still, he didn’t dare object, not now, not after the dressing down he’d just received.

“And when you’re a bit better, we can talk about other means to help you as well. For now, you will have to rest. We will shift you back to your room tonight, but first, I’d like to watch your fever for a while longer. It took us two days to get it back down enough for you to wake up, I don’t want to start all over again just because we rushed things.”

“I see,” Severus mumbled, he didn’t know why. 

Healer Sanders stood up. “Martha will bring you a pain-relief potion soon and some broth you can try to drink. You’ve had gastritis as well, so I’d like to avoid any more Edgar potions for now, but that means we’ll have to get you back to eating as soon as possible because – as I said – your body needs strength to keep you alive.”

Severus wanted to nod but found he couldn’t. Instead, he blinked once.

The man motioned to leave, but then he stopped and twitched the piece of paper again. “I didn’t tell her this came from you, as you wished, but I doubt she will be fooled. She’s not stupid, Mr Snape, and too fond of you to just let it slip. So … be prepared.” He winked, a lopsided smile curving his lips, and then he was finally gone, allowing Severus to relax back into his bed and close his burning eyes. 

Damn … 

Chapter Text

Healer Sanders kept his promise, so Severus was shifted back to the room he was sharing with Granger that evening after he’d proven that he could eat at least a small meal and keep it down. “You’ll get five meals a day for the time being, we’ll need to see how that works.”

He wasn’t happy about that thought; he’d never been an avid eater, and having to go through the ordeal of nourishing his body five times a day was the worst kind of pastime they could’ve bestowed on him. 

But he didn’t object. He wanted to get out of intensive care and if that meant five meals a day he would eat those damn five meals a day. 

Plus, after the mediwitch had given him another pain-relief mixed with the two drops of Euphoria Elixir, as Healer Sanders had ordered, he wasn’t really bothered about anything anymore.

He felt like they were floating him back to his room, although they weren’t. Contrary to Granger, they hadn’t brought him away on a stretcher but in his bed, and so they were bringing him back in his bed now as well. But it felt like floating, and he had a hard time suppressing a bleary grin.

“Whoops,” he mumbled when his bed stopped with a jolt, and he pursed his lips, hoping nobody had heard it. 

But when the door clicked shut, he arched an eyebrow and looked around for Granger. She was sitting on her bed, a worried crease stapled to her forehead, and scrutinised him anxiously. 

“Miss Granger,” he said in a low voice – and hid his impulse to chuckle with a cough. 

“Professor,” she answered meekly, “I’m glad you’re … all right.”

He hummed softly, not trusting himself to answer something that wouldn’t cause him to grin sheepishly. If he hadn’t watched the mediwitch doing it, he would have been sure she’d given him more than two drops of EE. 

Eventually, he cleared his throat, recalling his little chat with Healer Sanders. “I’m sorry you had to watch what happened the other night.”

“Oh, that’s … okay, I mean … That makes us even, I guess.” She smiled lopsidedly. “But I want to apologise for entering the bathroom without knocking. I shouldn’t have … I just didn’t think you’d be there and -”

She broke off mid-sentence when Severus chuckled after all. Brushing his mouth, he tried to stifle it. “Sorry, they gave me a potion. I’m not laughing at you.” But she was just … so right? How had she been supposed to know that he, who had only ever been sitting in this bloody bed, completely relying on nappy charms and his fickle magic, would suddenly be in the bathroom weeping like a baby?! 

Another chuckle bubbled up his throat, and he had a much harder time gulping that one down. He completely failed to hide his twitching mouth. 

Noticing that Granger had to firmly press her lips together to hide her grin as well wasn’t helping either. 

Taking a deep breath, Severus refocused on what she’d said. “It wasn’t your fault,” he eventually said, “and it is I who has to apologise. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“No, you were right! I was intruding in a …” She breathed out heavily. “… very private moment. I get it, I would have reacted the same.”

“Would you now?” he retorted, trying very hard not to imagine Granger yelling at him like the ball of sizzling curls she probably would have been because that would be his undoing.

She still blushed. “Well, maybe not exactly the same.”

He snorted. 

Granger gave a little cough. “Anyway, I … wasn’t angry or something. I was rather worried you might be angry at me because I told them about it.” 

He hummed contemplatively. “You should be more angry, Miss Granger.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“Which of these five words did you not understand?”

“The um … part in which you told me I should be angry at you. I guess.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you should try it. Everybody is, all the time, seems to do them good, all in all.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “What potion did they give you?”

“Euphoria Elixir.” He clicked his tongue and, lowering his voice as if he was sharing a secret, he added, “They’re afraid I might attempt to commit suicide.”

Even in his slightly befuddled state, he could practically see the colour draining from her face. “Oh,” she mumbled weakly, then she gulped. “Well, I am, too, to be honest.” She lowered her eyes, picking at her duvet.

It was such a bizarre sight, Granger in a hospital bed, awkwardly picking at her duvet because of what he’d said, that he lost his fight against his pent-up chuckles. It was absolutely inappropriate and part of him knew that, but still … He dissolved in a rumbling laughter that caused her to gape at him. 

But it had one benefit, this situation: She actually seemed a tiny bit angry now. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Do you want a list or a summary?” Severus chuckled.

“Excuse me?!”

He exhaled in a sigh, finally regaining some composure. Then he looked at her. “Forget it, I’ll behave myself.” He would already regret telling her about the reason for them giving him the EE, no need to make it worse by adding that the fact that the same people who'd wished him dead all through the last year were suddenly getting their knickers in a twist about him contemplating to fulfil their wish did bear some hilarious irony.

He probably was the only one finding it funny anyway.

And probably the cause for him finding it funny was that potion.

Better keep my mouth shut.

Granger huffed, still annoyed. “Well, it wasn’t funny thinking you’d die the other night.” 

“I know. That’s why I apologised.” He’d never meant for Granger to see him like that, neither the other night nor weeks ago in the Shrieking Shack. And Euphoria Elixir or not, nothing about that was remotely funny. 

She eyed him, gnawing on her lip. Then she nodded, only to change the topic. “By the way, that salve was you, wasn’t it?” Her gaze on him was so intense that he could almost physically feel it.

“Which salve?”

“The salve for my scars.” Her left arm twitched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He arched his eyebrows.

She smiled. “Sure. Well, thank you anyway. It helps a great deal, soothing the itching and smarting.” Then she finally returned to her book. 

And Severus leaned over to take the one he’d been reading last from his bedstand as well. His eyes swiftly brushed the arsenal of jars and vials lined on Granger’s side; Dittany, a bruise salve, a pain-relief potion she rarely took, and now the salve he’d haphazardly thrown together as well. Considering that he’d been approaching a new fever high when he’d scribbled it down, he was surprised it actually did what it was supposed to do. 

Snapping out of his musings, he settled back to busy himself with some reading until it was time to sleep and he’d already read through the first sentences, when Granger softly said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Severus glanced at her, irritated to find he was as well.

The following two days were a mix of agonising over too much food, bursting into laughs over moderately amusing passages in the books he read, or being annoyed by anything and everything when the EE’s effect was waning. He seriously began missing his lab and the repose he found in brewing potions, so he began using the pen and notebook they’d given him to at least run some theoretical experiments. 

Until they came to serve him the next meal.

“You can’t be serious”, he said, “I’ve just finished eating!”

“That was three hours ago,” the mediwitch commented, “and it has only been some fruit.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I will be sick if you proceed to gavage me like a French goose.”

Granger choked on her water, the mediwitch glared at him. “Complain to Healer Sanders, he plans to pop in before he leaves today, wants to speak to you.” With that, she left him to struggle through a serving of potatoes, some vegetables, an inappropriately large piece of roast, and a blob of gravy that turned his stomach just looking at it.

Granger was still coughing when he took up his cutlery.

“Will you survive?” he asked tartly.

“Sure,” she mumbled and focused on her own supper, adamantly avoiding any glance at him.

Best she could do. Being confronted with food when his mood crashed caused him to be anything but pleasant company. 

Luckily, Healer Sanders got an impression of that state as well because he stopped by before they came to give Severus his evening potions. The man carefully closed the curtain and cast an Imperturbable charm before he sat down in the wheelchair still positioned next to Severus’ bed. “So, how are you today, Mr Snape?”

“Splendid.” 

The Healer quirked a smile and looked down at his chart. “Well, your physical condition is improving. Your fever is down to an acceptable level, your nutritional status is stable and -”

“Acceptable level,” Severus cut in, “so you’re not aiming to get my temperature down to normal anymore?”

He frowned slightly. “We tried, but so far we haven’t succeeded.”

He exhaled slowly. “My body is failing to get rid of the venom.”

Healer Sanders nodded. “Unfortunately. We don’t see any decline in the amount of venom that’s still in your system.”

Tilting his head back, Severus took a deep breath. “So I will have to live with it?”

“It looks like it, yes. But as long as you pace yourself and adjust to your needs, it also looks like it isn’t harming you.”

Bloody perfect.

“How do you manage with the Euphoria Elixir?” he changed the topic. 

“Splendidly,” Severus repeated in an even more acidulous tone of voice and crossed his arms. “In the evenings, I begin laughing without any reason, and the next day, starting around noon, I’m annoyed by Granger breathing too loudly. It’s great, really, we’re both enjoying it tremendously.”

“Hmm,” Healer Sanders mused and studied his chart again, absent-mindedly rocking the wheelchair. “Does it help you sleep?”

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. His nightmares had got significantly better since he took the potion. Instead of Lily cutting ties with him, he was now dreaming about their time in Cokeworth and all the nonsense they'd been up to, making him sleep pretty well. Alas, those dreams left him with a deep sense of grief as soon as he woke up and realised that those times had long passed, a notion that was blurred and distorted by the EE, making him feel oddly off his trolley. But he took that over panic attacks any day.

“Any more suicidal thoughts?” the healer's voice tore him from his musings.

“No. Only homicidal ones.” He twitched his eyebrows, making sure Healer Sanders understood that those did include him.

He only huffed, though. “We’ll try splitting the dose, giving you one drop in the morning and one in the evening instead of two drops once a day. Maybe you tolerate that better.” He scribbled down the instructions. “But the EE is only a temporary solution to your problem,” he then added and closed the chart, laid it on Severus’ bed, and leaned back in the wheelchair, interlacing his fingers on his stomach. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the addictiveness of the potion.”

“No.”

Healer Sanders chirruped. “Then let’s talk about alternatives.”

“I’m all ears,” Severus sneered because if there was one thing he’d tried to find an effective, non-addictive solution for during all those years between the first and the second war, it had been his nightmares, panic attacks, and general weariness with life – to no avail. 

A pensive expression settled on the other man’s face; maybe an echo of Severus’ thoughts had reflected on his own, and he impulsively occluded. “I will be honest with you,” the healer began, “there is no easy solution to what you’re going through, Mr Snape. I only know about your life what is publicly known, but even that is enough to understand every notion of weariness you feel.”

“Is it now?” Severus muttered, growing decidedly uncomfortable with the course this conversation was taking.

Healer Sanders ignored him. “There are other potions, of course, some even less addictive than the EE, but since you’re a Potions Master, I’m sure you've gone through every single one of them already, and if you’d found anything that was really helping you, you’d have long told us. That leaves us with two other options. First: discard memories.”

“Doesn’t work,” Severus said at once. There were just too many memories that were haunting him. Every time he put one of them into a Pensieve, another one came up to torture him. If it wasn’t losing Lily, it was killing the headmaster. If it wasn’t killing the headmaster, it was being attacked by a werewolf. If it wasn’t being attacked by a werewolf, it was his father beating him up. If it wasn’t his father beating him up, it was watching second-years getting tortured, and so on and so forth. And if he discarded everything that plagued him, his mind would suffer, become unstable, and he would probably end up as a human vegetable. “What is second?”

The healer took a deep breath. “Talking.”

Severus’ train of thought derailed. “Excuse me?”

He gave a faintly amused snort. “The best - but also the most difficult - way of dealing with traumatic experiences is … talking about them.”

“I’d rather take suicide,” Severus muttered, his pulse spiking only from thinking about it.

“I thought as much.” Sighing, Healer Sanders leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “But I hope you do understand that that is a decision I cannot endorse.”

“I neither need nor desire your endorsement.”

He nodded slowly, for a while lapsing into silence. Then he said, “If there is one thing in our world I regret, then it is how utterly miserable our options for dealing with mental problems are. We can heal bones in a heartbeat, wounds, poisonings, even a lot of curse damages – but the mind?” He huffed bitterly, then he looked Severus in the eyes again. “The Muggles are so much more advanced, even though their means are limited. We can even look into other people’s minds, and yet all I can offer you are a bunch of addictive potions, a Pensieve, and talking.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that I’d love to be able to refer you to someone who can really help you. Someone who has studied the mind and magical ways of healing it, because I’m convinced that that is possible. But nobody dares to try. I wish I could tell you something you could try before you throw your life away, only because this world cannot offer you the relief you’d need to make your life worth living.”

Severus stared at him, forcing down his need to swallow.

“Life’s just … too precious to throw it away like that. Well, I guess I have to think that way, it’s my job to preserve lives. And that wasn’t an easy job during the last few years, but it was worth it. I wish you could see life through my eyes for only five minutes.”

“Why do you think I don’t?” Severus retorted, a bitter edge tinting his voice. “I’ve done the same as you during the last years. Tried to save as many lives as possible.” And failed more than I succeeded. “But not every life is worth saving. Mine certainly isn’t, so stop beating yourself up over it.” 

“Why is your life worth less than other lives?”

Because it’s mine. 

“If … say Miss Granger told you she -”

“Keep Granger out of this,” he cut the healer off, his voice sharp as a knife all of a sudden, “I won’t let you use her to manipulate me.” 

Healer Sanders nodded. “I’m sorry.” He was quiet for some seconds, then he went on, “But you deserve that your life gets fought for just as much as every life you tried to save. You deserve to experience something else than pain. That is all I’m saying. And I wish you would give yourself the chance for that before you give up.” 

I’ve had that, Severus thought, and then I lost it. Nothing else had ever caused him so much pain, he wouldn’t do that again. He was done with life, done with being fate’s whipping boy. 

“Be that as it may,” Healer Sanders said and stood up, “I will not force you to do anything, in my experience, that leads nowhere. But I want us to make a deal. As long as you are here, you will refrain from attempting anything that could kill you, and in exchange, we will provide you with Euphoria Elixir and improve your condition enough that you can be discharged. And what you do when you are back at home is all up to you. All right?”

“I want to take Strengthening Solutions.”

Healer Sanders barked a mirthless laugh. “Since those will kill you, considering your current condition, that would unfortunately go against our deal.”

“I’ll eat enough that they won’t kill me. You’re feeding me up as it is already, just switch some low-calorie food for high-calorie food and the potions will be fine.”

The healer narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to get out of here! I’m sick and tired of being hospitalised, and since there is nothing you can do for me anymore … Or do you plan to keep me here until I die a natural death and call it a deal?”

Sighing, Healer Sanders returned to consulting Severus’ chart, a cheap way of buying himself some time. There was nothing in that chart that the man didn’t know already, he simply didn’t want to let himself be urged into a decision he would regret. When he’d made up his mind, he looked up again. “Fine, we’ll try. Under one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If you get one more concession to our deal, I will get one more as well.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Which one?”

“I know a very kind woman, an exceptionally good listener who turned this virtue into her profession. She’s a Squib and works as a therapist in the Muggle world. Not trauma therapy, unfortunately, but … she knows enough about the magical world that you could talk openly about everything. I want you to think about that until you’re fit enough to leave us.”

Severus couldn’t help but sneer slightly. “Fine,” he muttered. He wasn't planning to attempt anything for as long as he was here anyway, and no thinking in the world would make him change his mind about therapy.

Healer Sanders smiled smugly. “Fine. You’ll get a Strengthening Solution when you eat enough, and I won’t pester you about your plans after your stay here if you behave as long as you’re here and think about going to therapy. Deal?” 

“Deal,” he grumbled.

“Splendid.” He took Severus’ chart and motioned to leave. “Do you want me to open the curtain or …”

“No.” He needed some time without being observed by Granger. 

The other man nodded and left, leaving behind nothing but silence. 

Chapter Text

There was one part of their deal, though, that Healer Sanders forgot to tell Severus about: they had a charm to see if he had eaten enough to deal with the Strengthening Solution, and the following day, he did not pass that exam. “I’m sorry, Mr Snape,” Mediwitch Persimmons said, and she said it in a way that made him actually believe her. “I can’t give you the potion today. We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”

“Guess it has to be,” he retorted, feeling not as grumpy about it as he normally would have because the changed plan for the EE did balance out his mood to an extent.

“The good thing is, you can get some pain-relief instead,” she added and fished another vial from her pocket.

“Wouldn’t I have got it otherwise?” he inquired, his interest piquing. 

“No. Mediwitch Gerble insisted that you don’t take pain-relief before your physical if you got a Strengthening Solution because – and I quote – he needs something to tell him that he’s overdoing it, and if it isn’t exhaustion, it has to be pain.” She shrugged her shoulders apologetically, but there was still a smile hidden in the tiny wrinkles around her eyes.

“Charming,” Severus commented and downed the pain-relief before he turned to his first meal of the day, a full English breakfast that wouldn’t look quite as intimidating if he didn’t feel full from the potions alone. Granger cast him a sympathetic glance when his sigh turned out a bit louder than planned.

Well, he was determined to get out of here, so he would pay the price. Occluding his mind, he stabbed the fork into the first sausage while Granger seemed exceptionally grateful for her bowl of porridge. 

Two hours later, she was gone to meet with her friends, and Severus was faced with the task of going through his physical without throwing up all over the floor. The extensive breakfast was churning in his stomach, causing his heart to beat even faster than it already did during his exercises, and he was sweating profusely by the time he reached the bathroom door. 

Mediwitch Gerble clicked her tongue. “You’re little trip and its consequences threw you back tremendously.”

“You don’t say,” he panted and sat down on his wheeled walker. 

“Do you want me to get the wheelchair?”

“No. I just need a minute.”

She harrumphed, displeased, busying herself with checking his vitals and summoning a towel for him. “What did you even want in the bathroom?” she asked when he’d somewhat calmed down again.

“None of your business.” The moment he said it, though, he was surprised that she was the first to ask. Granted, Granger might have concluded what he’d been doing there, or at least that it had been something she didn’t want to know more about. But it was surprising that Healer Sanders didn’t ask. Maybe he’d really meant it when he said that he wouldn’t pester Severus about his plans for after he was discharged. 

He snapped out of his musing when Mediwitch Gerble sat down on Granger’s bed, facing him. “Do you even realise that all of us rather like you, Mr Snape?”

He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“You obviously do, but it’s still true. And it has not as much to do with what came to light about your role in defeating You-Know-Who as you might think.”

“Is that so?” he sneered, dabbing some more beads of sweat from his face.

“It is. Almost all of us have either been taught by you or have children who’ve been taught by you.”

He barked a laugh that didn’t sound as bitter as he’d intended it to sound; the EE was still shining through. But it was enough to bring his point across. “That fact will hardly qualify me to win a popularity contest.”

She smiled. “True. But you know what does? Realising that everybody who was taught by you left the school with the ability to brew at least the basic potions flawlessly. Since we have a whole ward for potion accidents, that is a skill set the whole hospital appreciates. And it makes me sleep in peace, knowing that my son won’t kill himself because he botches up a headache remedy he’s too proud to ask me for and too broke to buy pre-made.” 

“Not that he wouldn’t find other ways to get himself in trouble,” he reminded her in a dark voice.

“Sad but true,” she sighed. “I’m still grateful for what you taught him. Which, by the way, isn’t just potions. He learned a lot about not being an arsehole growing up in Slytherin as well.”

Severus frowned, trying to remember who her son had been. He thought he was remembering all of his alumni, but he was at a loss about a student named Gerble.

She smirked. “Don’t bother. He has the name of his father. Anthony Berrycloth.”

Well, that boy he did remember. Class of 1989 and a troublemaker if ever he’d had one in his House, but not because of his character or Death Eaters, but because he had an extremely hard time coming to terms with his parents’ divorce. 

Mediwitch Gerble smiled when she saw the recognition flit over Severus' face. “He lost his business due to the war, but he’ll get back on his feet.”

“Not because he knows how to brew a headache remedy, though.”

“No, but it helps.” She smiled. “Getting Sorted into Slytherin did him a lot of good, and I will never forget you for that. You and his classmates have been there for him when I couldn’t, so I’m very grateful I get the chance to pay you back somewhat by helping you get back on your feet now.”

Maudlin waffle … He rolled his eyes, trying to quell the memories of tortured students that bubbled up in his mind. They surely would disagree with everything Mediwitch Gerble had just said.

“So, ready for the way back?”

That evening, he blinked out of a light slumber when he heard a hiss from Granger.

“What’s wrong?” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably because he was still so full after -

His thought came to an abrupt halt when he saw the blood run from what seemed to be a cut on her finger. Huge drops of dark red trickled down her fair skin, seeped into her shirt, dripped onto the book she was reading.

And Granger sat transfixed, staring at it wide-eyed.

“Dittany, Miss Granger!” Severus bellowed, but she didn’t react. “For goodness’s sake …” He folded his duvet aside and scrambled out of bed. When he stumbled against hers, her eyes were suddenly trained on him while her blood was soaking her duvet as well. “At least press down on it,” he snapped, but had to do it himself. Sitting down on her bed to relieve his trembling legs, he fumbled for the dittany in her line of vials, unstoppered it with his teeth, and pulled her hand closer before he took his thumb from what was a profusely bleeding tiny paper cut and poured the dittany onto it generously. 

The wound healed instantly. 

But Granger was still covered in blood, making it seem as if she’d cut her whole finger off. 

“Breathe!” Severus admonished her angrily, putting the vial back on her bedstand, contemplating whether he needed to call for help. She was worryingly pale, and he couldn’t tell if that was due to her blood loss or due to -

She gasped for air, clutching his arm as if she were drowning, squirming and wheezing. 

“Get a grip!” he snarled, peeling her fingers from his arm and grasping her face so she was forced to look at him. “This is a panic attack! It’ll pass, but you have to breathe!”

Greedily she sucked air into her lungs, her hands once again curling around his wrists, her huge eyes focussed on his while she tried to mimic his breathing pattern. Tears were trickling down her cheeks just as the blood had been trickling down her arm mere seconds ago. She whimpered. 

“Breathe, breathe,” Severus repeated, “it’ll pass, you’re all right.”

Yet it took her several minutes to respond to him, and he only realised the extent of what was happening when she was finally able to speak again and the first thing she said was, “Oh god, no …”, right before a shudder rippled through her body, causing her to cry out. 

Severus curled his lip. “Bloody perfect,” he muttered, and when she let go of his arms, he let go of her face as well, giving her the space she needed to writhe under the first bout of searing pain. “I’ll call someone.”

But before he got the chance, Granger’s still blood-covered hand got in his way when she desperately groped for her wand on the bedstand, causing it to clatter to the floor and roll under her bed. “No,” she gasped, “nonono …” She twisted her face, biting down on her lip so hard that he was afraid he’d need to patch her up again any second.

Sighing, Severus fetched his wand and was just motioning to Accio hers when she grasped his hands again, making him look at her. “I need the charm,” she pressed out.

“What charm?”

“The charm, the …” Her face flushed. “… the nappy charm, please, sir …”

He clenched his teeth and cast it.

Granger gasped, curling into herself again. “And Silencio, pleasepleaseplease …”

So he cast that as well, aiming at the lower half of her body and feeling decidedly uncomfortable doing so. “Accio Miss Granger’s wand!” he mumbled and caught it before placing it back on her bedstand just when she whimpered, her blazing face hidden behind her arms.

It was only the loud thump of her book falling to the ground that snapped him out of this moment. “Do you want me to call someone?” he asked.

“N-No,” she mumbled, “I-I’ll man-age, it’s …” Another gasp. “It’s fine …” She grimaced, pulling her legs up until her knees met his thigh. “’m sor-ry …”

He didn’t know what exactly she meant, but he still said, “Not your fault.” Because it wasn’t. Nothing of what had happened during the last ten minutes had been her fault. 

He silently cleaned her shirt and the bed from her blood, and after he’d summoned the book, he cleaned that as well before he motioned to get up and return to his own bed. 

But once again, Granger grasped his hand. “Please … please,” she pleaded, her eyes huge and brimming with tears, her complexion slowly turning into an unhealthy shade of grey. “Ahhh! Oh, god …”

Severus swallowed. “I’ll stay,” he found himself mumbling and used his last magical strength to summon the wheelchair because there was no way he would be able to sit on her bed twisted like that for several hours. It slowly stuttered across the floor, only reluctantly obeying his waning magic. Hopefully, she manages without throwing up this time …

And so he sat down beside her bed, holding her hand for several hours while Granger once again went through hell and back.

By the time her attack faded, Severus had put his head in his free hand and was struggling to keep his eyes from drooping closed. That Granger had been slumbering for at least half an hour already wasn’t helping matters, but every time he tried to disentangle his hand from hers, her grip tightened again, and so he had given up on sneaking back to his bed.

He would pay the price tomorrow, Strengthening Solution or not. 

“Thank you,” she eventually breathed and cracked her eyes open, deliberately loosening her grip at last. 

Severus hummed and pulled his hand back, trying not to twist it too obviously. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. But I’m sorry I … used you again to get through this.”

“Do you plan to not let it happen again?” he inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Granger froze. “I … um …”

“Then don’t apologise,” he ended her stuttering.

She gulped, casting her eyes down. “I’m sorry.”

“You said as much.” But with a second’s delay, he added, “It was my decision to stay.”

At which she dared to look up at him again, a tiny twitch curving the corner of her mouth. 

Severus sighed and rolled his aching shoulders. “You need to keep a clear mind when you hurt yourself, though. There won’t always be someone to heal your wounds while you’re frozen in shock.”

“I know,” she sighed and rolled onto her back, wincing from the residual pain – and slipping right into the first aftershock. “Bloody hell,” she muttered while she rocked out the spasms. After about a minute, she relaxed again, panting. “I was just … I didn’t expect it to bleed so heavily, and I … I guess I even forgot that that would happen. And then I was back in the bathroom and … I just lost it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop – apologising!”

“Sorry.” She winced.

Severus snorted. 

Then she twisted her face. “Ugh, I need to ask them for a potion for nausea …”

“Do you want me to call someone?”

“No. I guess I’ll manage.”

“You better do. My magic is depleted for today.”

She hummed softly. Then she struggled to sit up a bit and reached for her water. Her hands were trembling so badly that Severus helped her grasp it. After she drank a few tiny sips, she eyed him. “Are you still sitting here because you enjoy my company or because you don’t know how to get back to bed?”

“The latter,” he admitted nonchalantly, without a doubt a notion born from the EE, he didn’t feel nonchalant at all.

A fact Granger was naturally unaware of, and so she teased him, “Want me to call someone?” 

He huffed. “Watch your tongue.”

She smiled. Then she looked down into her glass. “May I ask you a question, sir?”

You already did, the smartarse part of him wanted to reply, but he stopped himself from doing so. Wrong time, wrong place. And that she was suddenly calling him sir again didn’t bode well. “Go ahead.”

She gulped. “How is it to take the … Euphoria Elixir?”

He frowned. “Didn’t you get an impression over the last days?”

“Well, yes … But you seem … better today?” She cast him an uncertain glance.

His frown deepened. “Why do you ask?”

Immediately, her eyes returned to her glass as if it were holding the answer she was seeking. Then a tear leaked down her cheek, and she hastily brushed it away. “I … I just don’t know how I am supposed to do this for the rest of my life.” It was a frail whisper, a testament to the hours that lay behind her.

Severus lowered his gaze as well, taking his time to exhale. There was the same weariness in her voice he felt as well – and he couldn’t blame her. Still, it was surprisingly hard being on the receiving end of those emotions, especially when they were coming from a mind as bright as hers. His heart was beating harder, and he felt as if his next words would … count. As if he’d better not botch this up because there probably was no way back. He swallowed thickly. “Euphoria Elixir isn’t the answer you’re seeking,” he eventually decided to say, his voice a low baritone, “It’s highly addictive and would only add another problem to the pile of problems you already have.”

She nodded slowly, keeping quiet for so long that he thought she wouldn’t answer at all. But maybe she’d only tried to get her tears back under control because eventually, she looked straight at him and whispered, “Then what am I supposed to do, sir?”

Her words and her gaze rippled through his body like one of her aftershocks, chilling him to the bone. “I wish I knew.”

They both had a fitful night after that, Granger because she was plagued by aftershocks, Severus because he was not only running a fever again but also felt like he was falling, and he couldn’t tell why that was. 

It didn’t help matters that around midnight, Granger began thrashing in her sleep, whimpering and gasping.

Severus groaned. “Miss Granger!” he called, and she yelped awake. “You were dreaming.” He stretched to turn on the light.

She gasped and sat up, digging her fingers into her unruly hair, her body shivering.

“Breathe,” Severus admonished her, only to watch her fail.

The shivers turned into shudders and the shudders into spasms. “Bugger,” she half whispered, half whined, “n-not yet again-aaahh …”

Fuck.

He briefly closed his eyes, an echo of her desperation washing over him as well. He couldn’t help her get through another attack just yet, even sitting up was out of the question if he didn’t want to risk another crash like he’d just had. “I’ll call someone,” he said, therefore, but wasn’t sure if she’d even heard him through her fresh spike of agony.

And before he had the chance to tap the emergency spot, Granger reared up. “Oh god, I-I’m going to be sick …” She reached a trembling hand for her vomit bowl, brushing vials, jars, and books from her nightstand, causing quite a ruckus with the unbreakable-charmed vessels clattering to the floor and jumping around. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m -” The first heave cut her off.

Severus grimaced, finally tapping the emergency spot, and balled his hands into fists to quell the urge to get up and help her. It was only mucus, bile, and spit she was retching up, but that had to make it all the more painful. “You have to breathe, Granger!” he admonished her again when she was rocked by so intense spasms and nausea that she convulsed as if she were having a seizure. 

And maybe she was because she didn’t. Breathe. Suddenly, his pulse was spiking.

“Miss Granger!” he shouted and sat up after all, ready to scramble out of bed and stagger to her, but a mediwizard chose that exact moment to enter their room. “She’s choking!” Severus exclaimed, and everything exploded into chaos. 

The mediwizard called for more help, then he was at her side and worked some charms that Severus gave up on identifying, but they caused her to struggle for air again, wheezing and coughing. “It’s her second attack today,” he called, interrupted by the vomit bowl clattering to the floor, and then Severus suddenly found himself cut off from the scene, both visually and audibly, when another mediwitch drew the curtain closed. 

He slumped down panting, the hospital room quaking and swaying before his eyes until he felt like throwing up himself. 

Breathe, he now admonished himself, breathe! They will help her, she will be fine, just breathe … 

He still wouldn’t succeed until they finally opened the curtain back up, what felt like an hour later. “How is she?” he demanded to know. Only one mediwitch was left, probably tasked with cleaning up.

“Unconscious, for now,” the elderly woman said. “Better for her. She’s stable, we cast some spells to secure her breathing and will check in on her every half hour. You should try to go back to sleep as well, Mr Snape.”

He harrumphed, unable to take his eyes off Granger. She was positioned on her side facing him, her mouth ajar, and if he hadn’t seen a strand of hair flapping in her breath, he would have thought she was dead. No living being should have so grey and lifeless a complexion. He gulped.

“She will be fine,” the mediwitch promised, attempting – and failing – to smile while she floated Granger’s things back onto her bedstand and cleaned the splatters of vomit. 

Nothing will ever be fine again for her, he thought, watching the woman groggily. But he didn’t bother saying it out loud. Instead, he waited for her to leave as well, and when she finally did, he exhaled deeply before fastening his eyes on Granger. She was shivering from some more spasms, unconscious or not.

Really, how was she supposed to do this for the rest of her life? Would she even be able to build a life? She’d told him that she wanted to return to Hogwarts and graduate, but how was that supposed to work? Would Minerva give her a single room and a personal house-elf to assist her during her attacks? But how was she supposed to manage the workload of her final year when she was constantly going through these exhausting attacks? He could tell by the time she needed to read through a single novel that she had problems focusing and processing what she was reading, and those books weren’t even challenging material. 

He sighed, his eyes swiftly roaming across the floor as he leaned over to turn off the light. But then his eyes spotted a book the mediwitch had overlooked. It was the notebook Granger had brought here when she’d found him in the bathroom, and he could decipher the caption Possible triggers. So she had actually begun documenting her attacks after their chat in the park. 

Frowning, Severus fetched his wand and mustered his residual magic to summon the notebook. It swayed and wobbled up only to crash-land on his duvet. “Dreadful,” he assessed and reached for it. 

Possible triggers, he read again, and underneath she’d listed, time, exhaustion, high tension, strong emotions/panic attacks. The last words looked like they were a later addition, and yes, panic attacks seemed to be a bloody severe trigger!

Unbidden, the memory of her choking returned to him, quickening pulse, desperation and all.

He gulped it down, focusing back on Granger’s notes.

She’d apparently noticed it earlier, that trigger, because she hadn’t written anything into that book after her first attack today. Severus blinked. When did she have an attack triggered by panic between her finding him in the bathroom and today?

… nor need Miss Granger to get re-traumatised by watching you die yet again … 

Healer Sander’s words echoed through his mind and prompted Severus to exhale deeply. 

Fuck.

He folded the notebook shut and placed it back on a stack of books. Then he turned to his side and oversaw her sleep, unwilling to let the fever haze and his bone-deep exhaustion win.

Chapter Text

“Seems like you hit the jackpot today, Mr Snape,” Mediwitch Persimmons said the next morning, but his brain was operating so sluggishly that he needed several seconds to understand the meaning of her words.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he mumbled.

“I bet it doesn’t. But I can give you both, the Strengthening Solution and some pain-relief, because you ate well yesterday and there is no bloody chance of you leaving this bed today.”

He huffed at the unexpected curse and took the first vial she gave him.

“Was a rough night for both of you, I heard,” she said and looked around at Granger, who was still unconscious or asleep or hell knew what. She wasn’t awake and didn’t seem like she would be anytime soon. 

“Rough is a vast understatement,” he muttered, taking a break from struggling to get the Strengthening Solution down, “she almost died.”

The mediwitch sighed. “Well, you two are turning almost dying into a normal Tuesday …”

Severus glared at her, mustering his old teacher’s gaze. “You think that’s funny?”

She seemed unperturbed. “No, not in the least. That’s why I don’t understand why you refuse to call us until it is absolutely necessary. It’s noble of you to do our job, Mr Snape, but it’s harming her and putting you back in your own recovery.”

He gave her the empty vial, sitting up straighter now that the Strengthening Solution provided him with a bout of fresh energy. But although he wanted to defend himself against her words, he found he couldn’t. She was right. He should have called someone the moment Granger cut her finger and was too distressed to deal with it on her own. 

Mediwitch Persimmons sighed again. “You have to take better care of yourself, Mr Snape,” she said and popped open the pain-relief to drop in his morning dose of EE, “We’re here to help you, and some Draught of Peace probably would have saved Miss Granger from that second attack.”

He grimaced, both from how deep that truth hit and from how wretched it felt to receive a dressing-down from a former student. “I apologise,” he said, taking the second vial, “it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Then focus on your breakfast now so you can get another Strengthening Solution tomorrow, and try to get some additional sleep today.” She pocketed his empty vials and pushed the little table with his breakfast tray closer before she turned to administer some potions to Granger as well. Severus was still studying his meal when she remembered, “Oh, Miss Granger’s friends will pop by later today, so I’ll close the curtain when I leave.” 

“Sure,” he muttered, picking up a piece of buttered toast. Make this an even more wretched day than it already is … 

He cancelled the Imperturbable charm the moment Mediwitch Persimmons closed the door. Only because he wanted to be able to hear if something was wrong with Granger! Or so he told himself. Sure, they were still checking in on her regularly, but dying could bloody well happen between the one and the other check!

That this measure also enabled him to spy on Potter and Weasley when they stopped by an hour or so later was just a bonus.

“Five minutes!” a stern voice said when the door opened.

“All right!” the boys said, not for the first time as it seemed, and Severus rolled his eyes from that tone of voice alone. 

That would have been ten points each … 

But the mediwitch didn’t deduct any points (or minutes), and so the next thing Severus heard was Weasley whispering, “Hermione!” and some hurried steps let Severus assume that he rushed to her side. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled and sounded as if he was fighting against his tears.

The curtain moved when probably Potter approached the other side of Granger’s bed. “They said she would be asleep,” he mumbled. 

“I know.” A chair was dragged across the floor, and since the curtain didn’t move again, Severus supposed that it had been Weasley sitting down. And that he was the one sniffling as well.

“She will recover,” Potter whispered. “They said she would, so she will.”

“I know!”

Severus exhaled slowly, closing his eyes against the despair the redhead’s voice radiated. He should have called for help much sooner. Should have ignored Granger when she’d said she would manage on her own and called for help. 

“D’you think we should … dunno. Talk with her?”

“Won’t hurt, I guess,” Potter replied.

Weasley cleared his throat when Severus balled his fists. But really, he deserved this. He’d regretted eavesdropping once, and he still was none the wiser as it seemed. 

“Well, erm … Ginny says hi. She wanted to come as well, but … they barely let us see you, so … And Mum wanted to send some chocolate muffins, but … She began baking again, you know? Now that … that Fred’s grave is … She’s baking. The whole day long, and we have so many muffins at home, but … Well, they said you couldn’t eat them at the moment, so I left them with the medimages.” Weasley’s voice faded.

And Severus blinked. Fred Weasley was dead? 

But before he could wrap his mind around that, Potter continued, “Ron's taking muffins to the Ministry as well, all the time. I think they’re the only thing Kingsley’s eating at the moment.”

Weasley huffed. “Yeah, he’s beginning to ask for some other types, but I don’t dare ask Mum about it.” For a moment, he was silent. Then he said, with a toe-curling crack in his voice, “Fuck, Harry, she almost died last night … again!”

“I know.”

“I hate them …”

“They’re in Azkaban. If Hermione was right about who did this to her, they’re all either dead or in Azkaban now.”

“Doesn’t undo the curses …”

“No,” Potter admitted defeatedly.

They remained quiet until the mediwitch returned to make them leave. “She needs rest now. I’m sure she will contact you when she’s up for visits again.”

The door clicked shut and cut off the boys’ muttering, leaving Severus with a bunch of information he’d rather not have.

The first time Granger woke up, it was the middle of the night, and Severus only noticed it when she began whispering with a mediwitch. “What happened?”

“You had a grim attack, my dear. Well, two to be precise.”

Granger hummed. Then she groaned softly. 

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” 

“I’ll get you a potion in a second.”

Severus opened his eyes a crack and saw the bluish shimmer of a diagnostic.

“You’re still running a bit of a fever, but that is probably only due to the exhaustion. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

A minute or so later, the mediwitch returned and helped Granger take the potion. It took her less than five minutes to fall back asleep.

He wished he’d had such an easy time with that as well.

“So?” he asked the next morning when he was once again checked for the Strengthening Solution. 

“Looks good,” the mediwizard said and gave him the vial, smiling non-committally. It faltered when he realised, “That means no pain-relief, though.”

“I’m well aware,” Severus muttered, gulping down the nasty potion.

Honestly, he himself had always been one to stubbornly repeat that potions didn’t need to taste good, they needed to help, but bit by bit he understood where everyone was coming from and he probably needed to think of a new answer to those complaints because he probably wouldn’t be able to say that ever again without gagging.

Well, if he ever had to deal with such carping again, that was.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” the mediwizard eventually said and turned to Granger, who was fast asleep.

“Thanks,” Severus sighed sullenly and pulled the tray closer. Scrambled eggs, buttered toast, sausages, and a huge blob of jam that he probably was to put on that toast. 

Ugh … 

He could only bring himself to start eating when he reminded himself that Edgar I was worse. 

Two hours later, though, he had to admit that a serving of Edgar I paired with the dull throbbing pain echoing through his whole body probably would have made him less nauseous than his breakfast. 

Bloody hell. He hadn’t expected the pain to be that bad. Those were some bloody effective potions they normally dosed him with … He felt a bit light-headed and weak-kneed when Mediwitch Gerble turned up, but no less determined to use the effect of the Strengthening Solution as best he could. 

Surprisingly, she gave him another vial before they started. “For your nausea,” she commented drily, “I’m not keen on cleaning up your mess.”

“Charming,” he muttered, but took the potion nonetheless. 

It was still hard, going through his physical while being in that amount of pain. Once again, he was sweating profusely, once again he had to pause at the bathroom door – not because he was lacking energy but because his legs would give way underneath him any second from how intensely they were aching. 

“How am I supposed to build up strength if some other problem keeps thwarting me?”

“With patience,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m done with patience …”

She didn’t reply to that, just looked at him and arched her eyebrows. 

When Severus eventually stood back up to make his way back into bed, his gaze brushed Granger’s face, and he was met with her tired brown eyes. She blinked slowly, looking still so knackered that he wasn’t sure if she even realised what she was doing or that she was awake, to begin with. 

He gulped and focused back on his task. 

By the time he was back in bed, he had a hard time keeping himself from groaning out loud. He felt like his whole body was stuffed into a barbed vice that was steadily tightening, causing his hands to shake so badly that he almost spilt the pain-relief the mediwitch gave him. 

She clicked her tongue when she noticed it. “Maybe we’ll try a weak pain-relief instead of none tomorrow,” she mused.

Severus only hummed, slumping back, finally at ease when the pain was waning. Best feeling ever … 

He dozed for at least an hour after that, but only because he needed some time to recover from enduring the pain and didn’t feel like reading, not because he was exhausted. Actually, having taken the Strengthening Solution for the second day in a row gave him so much energy that he not only failed to fall asleep properly but also returned to square one with another problem: his renitent cock. 

Bloody perfect, he thought when he blinked out of his slumber. A slumber that had lured his mind into inappropriate fantasies, real enough to arouse him, twisted enough to feel ashamed about it. 

At least it hadn’t been Granger starring in those half-dreams this time. 

Still, his erection was throbbing for relief, tenting his duvet noticeably. 

Luckily, he could cast charms again, a vast improvement to the last time he’d had to deal with that nuisance.

He checked the clock. There was still about half an hour left until they’d bring him his lunch … 

Well … 

Pursing his lips, he peeked at Granger, but she was lying facing the wall, so he couldn’t tell whether she was awake or not. Better not risk it. He snatched his wand and silently closed the curtain, mindful to do so thoroughly, and cast an Imperturbable before he sneaked his hand underneath his duvet to pull up his nightgown. 

He hissed, curling his hand around his cock, moaning softly from how good it felt. Masturbating hadn’t been a part of his life for several years now. Being in charge of keeping Harry Potter alive, the Order informed about everything relevant the Dark Lord had come up with, and a quarter of the student body had left him busy and exhausted enough that that part of him had virtually been switched off. 

Being tied to the bed, utterly useless and faced with his reawakened needs, now reminded him of what he’d been missing all those years.

Though the EE doubtlessly made this feel even better than it would have already.

He slowly began pumping himself, pressing his thumb onto the tip of his cock and spreading the pre-cum before that blasted nappy charm could make it disappear. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, recalling the images of his half-dream. The warm weight of a willing and sweaty body riding him, his cock sheathed into heavenly heat.

Severus curled his free hand into a fist and pressed it against his mouth, his moaning growing louder involuntarily. He was protected by the spell, but he was also in too public a place to fully let go.

A fact that, strangely enough, only added to his lust. 

His movements accelerated when the pressure in his balls intensified, his rapid breaths hissing in the silence surrounding him.

And then he came, hard and good, holding his breath for as long as his climax lasted, his upper body hovering an inch above his bed, his toes curled, rivulets of shivers running across his skin. 

He slumped down, panting, when his orgasm faded, huffing softly. Good grief … I could get used to masturbating while being on EE … 

Granger kept hovering between waking and sleeping until the evening and only sat up with the help of a mediwitch to try and drink some broth as supper to avoid another dose of Edgar I. “Healer Sanders will stop by later to see how you are,” the young woman said before she left again. Severus didn’t recognise her as one of his former students for a change.

Maybe went to Beauxbatons.

Granger sighed when the door closed. “How long have I been passed out?” she asked feebly.

“Almost two days.”

“Blimey.”

He huffed softly, taking up his cutlery to tackle his Shepherd’s pie. “Your friends have been here,” he mentioned off-handedly.

She hummed. “I’ll write to them later.”

And that was the end of their conversation. But really, what else should they talk about?

Well, part of him wanted to apologise for not alerting the staff when she’d clearly have needed them, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to, and he was not a fan of uncalled-for apologies. Had their places been switched, he wouldn’t have expected her to apologise.

She probably would have done it anyway. 

She probably felt sorry for what had actually happened as well. Thinking about it, he was surprised she hadn’t apologised to him. 

Yet. 

Because she did when Healer Sanders came in and attempted to close the curtain. 

“You can leave it open, sir,” she said softly, “He witnessed what happened, he deserves to witness me receiving a dressing-down as well.”

The healer chuckled and pulled a chair closer. “I’m not here to give you a dressing-down, Miss Granger.”

“Pity. Because I deserve one.” Then she looked at Severus. “I’m really sorry I put you in that position, sir.”

And there it is. “I’m not a puppy acting on orders, Miss Granger. I decided to do as you wished.” With a second’s delay, he added, “And I decided wrong.”

She took a breath to object, but one of his glares made her shut up. “Okay,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.

“Well,” Healer Sanders finished the awkward silence that followed, “luckily no permanent harm was caused, so take it as a lesson and make better decisions the next time.” He looked first at Granger, then at Severus, and they both nodded. “But I actually did learn something as well,” he then proceeded, “namely, how dangerous it can be for you to suffer through two attacks within a short period of time. That’s why you will get some Draught of Peace after every attack now. It will knock you out for about twelve hours and affect you for some more after that, but we don’t want to risk you slipping into a seizure like the one you had the other night again.”

Granger remained silent, but she didn’t look particularly happy about that.

And Severus couldn’t blame her. Draught of Peace was doubtlessly the better alternative to a second attack, but it would incapacitate her for roughly twenty-four hours following every single attack. A normal life became increasingly inaccessible with that measure.

“Additionally,” Healer Sanders proceeded when the silence following his statement grew too heavy to bear, “I'd ask you to wear this.” He pulled a silver necklace with a small, simple plate pendant from his pocket. “Embedded in the pendant is a ventilation charm that will activate as soon as your oxygen saturation sinks below a certain threshold.”

Reluctantly, she took the necklace and let it dangle before her face. “I see,” she breathed, sounding as if she was short of crying. 

Healer Sanders sighed. “I know this looks like a huge step backwards -”

She scoffed, a sound Severus didn’t think her capable of.

“- but at the moment, the only route we have is managing the curses, and both measurements will make it a little less dangerous for you to go through an attack when you’re on your own.”

Her lips pursed, she nodded, neither looking at the healer nor at Severus. 

Instead, the two men locked gazes, and there was a whole world of helplessness, sorrow, and anger reflected in the brown ones. 

Eventually, Healer Sanders nodded and stood up. “That is a lot to digest. Take your time, Miss Granger, and if you want to talk or need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

Again, she only nodded. And when the healer had left, she curled up on her side, facing away from Severus, and he was convinced she was crying silent tears. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, after breakfast, Granger was fetched by a mediwitch who was pushing the door open with another wheelchair. “Just a general check-up,” she said, “won’t take long. But your friends are here as well, asking if you’re up for spending some time with them in the park.”

“Okay,” Granger mumbled listlessly and put on a cloak before she sat down in the wheelchair without complaint. 

Severus looked after them when they left, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t have much time to muse over Granger’s behaviour before Mediwitch Gerble came in.

“Got a Strengthening Solution?” she asked brusquely.

“Full dose.”

She harrumphed, then she pulled a vial from her pocket. “It’s a weak pain-relief, but don’t think I won’t notice if you’re trying to overstrain yourself!”

He rolled his eyes and took the potion, then he scrambled out of bed, his one and only destination being the fucking bathroom!

And today, with the combination of a Strengthening Solution and a moderate pain-relief, he actually reached it. And he reached it without panting like a steam engine, which was a clear win.

He was still sweating, though, and feeling quite nauseous because his breakfast was lying in his stomach like a stone. 

“Need a break?” Mediwitch Gerble asked warily.

“No.” And that wasn’t a lie or wishful thinking. He felt actually pretty good all in all. Granted, he was in pain, but it was bearable. Nothing compared to yesterday. 

And so he slowly walked back to his bed – only to ask, “Another round?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, causing him to feel uncomfortable scrutinised, almost X-rayed even. He compulsively occluded. “Very well,” she finally agreed, and Severus set out for another trip to the bathroom door and back. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t permitted a third round. “It’s enough for today. But you could start spending your days outside of bed again.” She pointed at the small table and two chairs that were standing next to the door. “They are not the most comfortable chairs, but try to sit an hour or two per day over there, get your body used to an upright position again.”

He nodded. “When will I get rid of the nappy charm?”

She huffed a slightly amused laugh. “You’re aiming high, Mr Snape. You went to the bathroom twice now and are already at the end of your strength. Without the charm, you’d need to do it six to seven times a day. You’re not there yet.”

He looked at her sullenly, silently contemplating just cancelling the charm in the morning and reapplying it when he needed it. His magic was good enough again to manage, and he itched to regain some control over himself. Plus, he was sick and tired of relieving himself in his bed! Especially now that he was eating those huge amounts of food. He always tried to wait for an opportunity when Granger was using the bathroom herself, but she rarely had those last days, and so she had noticed his predicament more than once when he'd closed the curtain to get some privacy. It was becoming increasingly awkward. 

Mediwitch Gerble, who probably had the same uncanny talent as Poppy and suspected what he was thinking about, sighed. “Give yourself some more days, Mr Snape. And please refrain from doing your own thing again! You know how that turned out in the past, and nobody here wants to see you delirious again, understood?”

Damn. “Understood,” he grunted and sat back down on his bed. “Am I at least allowed to get up and fetch some proper trousers for my sitting at the table, then? Or do I need to bother Miss Granger with my pale, hairy legs?” He tried to let it sound like a joke, but it only partly was. She had already seen more of his body than was seemly, but he wasn’t keen on making that a habit. 

“You are,” the mediwitch said, “but I want you to lie down and rest a while first when we’re done with our training. And if you think you can handle it, I’d like to replace your second dose of pain-relief with the weaker one as well. You need something to estimate what your body can accomplish, and right now, your level of pain is the best gauge you have.”

“Fine.” Everything if he was allowed to feel like a fucking human being again, at least occasionally.

And he would wear some fucking trousers for that!

It was a pair of tracksuit trousers, admittedly, but it was a pair of trousers and he felt almost properly dressed when he sat down at the table that afternoon, on his wheeled walker the book he was currently reading.

Rereading, actually, because Miss Granger hadn’t been able to get some new books from the library lately, but he didn’t complain. He’d also brought his notepad and a pen and planned to busy himself with some mental experiments while Granger was asleep, once again exhausted after her trip with her friends earlier today. Although falling asleep had seemed a bit like an escape this time; she’d been suspiciously mum after returning.

Anyway, he began scribbling away, thinking about some potions he had immersed himself in whenever the horrors of the war had threatened to push him into doing something stupid, but after about an hour, he found himself puzzling over a potion that would rinse the remains of Nagini’s venom out of his body. It took him about twenty minutes to catch himself. What the hell was he doing? He wouldn’t need such a potion. As far as he knew, he was the only one afflicted by her venom, and he didn’t plan to do anything about it before … 

He gulped when his heart skipped a beat. 

Damn EE, he thought grimacing and ripped the page off his notebook to screw it up. 

“What’s wrong?” Granger mumbled sleepily.

“Nothing. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Never mind. Should probably stay awake for a while lest I can’t sleep tonight.”

He glanced at her. “I’m sure they’d make you sleep.”

She huffed and sat up. “I bet they would.”

Swivelling his head, Severus groaned softly. He circled his right hand, arched his back, stretched out his legs underneath the table – and every single movement hurt. Fuck. Even if he didn’t move, he realised, now that his mind wasn't otherwise occupied anymore, that his whole body felt like it was throbbing with a smouldering fire. As if the hot, roiling beast of pain living in his body was stirring with every single one of his heartbeats. Probably the reason why his brain had begun puzzling over that potion he wouldn’t need. And probably a sign for exactly that kind of overstrain Mediwitch Gerble had told him to be cautious about.

She would not be amused.

Well, it is what it is. He closed his eyes while the last of his study haze slipped away from him, making him aware of even more bodily sensations he’d been numb to during the last hour or two. Which wasn’t only pain but also his filling bladder, and without thinking twice, he just let go, as he got used to doing during the last weeks; with the charm being in place, it made no difference at all where he was when he relieved himself. But he did frown when he noticed it now. He would have to work on that reflex if he wanted to use the loo like a normal human being again. 

Eventually, he put his things onto his wheeled walker and struggled to his feet to shuffle back to his bed, gritting his teeth against the fireworks of pain exploding all over his body. Granger watched him worriedly, and he couldn’t blame her. Bloody hell, did this hurt!

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He exhaled slowly when he sank onto the mattress, still clad in the trousers he’d been so proud to put on, and now wasn’t exactly sure how to get off again. 

“Do you need help?” Granger asked.

“No,” he muttered, “just a minute.”

She hummed softly. And while he lay panting, his eyes closed against the burning, pulsing, and churning that was taking root in his stomach and the sweat that was blossoming on his face, she said, “I um … Can I ask you a question, sir?”

“I can hardly stop you, can I?”

“Well, you could …”

He glanced at her, albeit with only one eye. “What is it?”

She pursed her lips. “I normally wouldn’t bother you with it, but it’s really important for … for Harry and so …”

Oh no.

She faltered briefly, probably noticing his darkening expression. Still, she squared her shoulders, an almost impeccable display of a Gryffindor, and went on, “Could you, under whichever circumstances, imagine giving Harry the chance to talk with you? There are some things he would love to tell you and -”

“No.”

She folded her mouth shut and nodded. “Thought as much,” she mumbled and reached for her book.

Severus huffed softly (and was instantly punished by another peak of pain). “Did he make you promise to ask me?” he breathed after it had somewhat subsided.

“Yes.”

Now it was his time to hum, but he sounded a lot more derisive than she had. “Well, tell him you tried and that I was just as much of a bastard as you assumed I would be.”

“Won’t stop him from going on my nerves.”

“My, my, trouble in paradise?” he couldn’t stop himself from sneering; pain just made him a bastard.

Granger shot him an exasperated look. “What paradise?” she snapped, “Nothing about this is a paradise!”

“Amen to that …” Right now, all of this was bordering on hell, actually, and he was contemplating calling someone to give him his dose of stronger pain-relief earlier today. At the same time, he wasn’t ready to admit that he’d overstrained himself that much by sitting at a fucking table! But he could feel that his fever was going up again, so that was that.

Bloody brilliant.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “What happened between you and your friends that makes you so annoyed?” Mainly because he needed something to distract him from his pain. 

“Nothing,” she sighed. And with a brief delay, she added, “They just won’t stop talking about me getting better. When you’re healed this, when you’re better that … I’m sick of it.”

“Didn’t think you’d be someone to hold their having hope against them …”

“I’m not! It's just … I just know that I won’t get any better again! I’m wearing this bloody necklace because I almost choked to death a couple of days ago, and that will be my life from now on. Managing those curses, trying to navigate what is left of my life. And hearing them talk about a future I will never have is just … it’s hard, okay?”

“Then tell them.”

“I tried. They refuse to listen.”

He closed his eyes, breathing out completely and not breathing in again for a couple of seconds longer than he normally would have, maybe in the pious hope that that would put an end to the roiling pain. Of course it didn’t. “Don’t lose your bond,” he eventually found himself saying and was at least as surprised as Granger was. 

Because she was silent for so many heartbeats that he lost count. Then she said, “Bold advice coming from you …”

Which was a comment he’d doubtlessly deducted a lot of points for had they still been at Hogwarts. But they weren’t, and he was beyond being a hypocrite, so … “I’m a bad example,” he admitted frankly, “don’t do what I do but what I say.”

She huffed a laugh. But then she whispered, “That’s not that easy given that I … can understand you so well.” 

And since Severus wasn’t sure if she really wanted him to hear that or rather hoped he wouldn’t, he didn’t reply. Instead, he said, “Tell Potter he can write me a letter.” And that was so far from everything he’d sworn to do (or rather not to do) that he wondered if that had been Granger’s goal all along.

But she looked at him so dumbfounded that he discarded that thought; she wasn’t that good an actress. 

Still, he’d let himself be lured into something he didn’t want to do, and if it wasn’t Granger’s doing, then it was the pain’s. 

He needed a fucking potion.

“It wasn’t my intention,” he said the next day when Mediwitch Gerble came in just to stretch and massage his tense and sensitive muscles because he’d been running a fever all night long after not being able to eat anything for supper without gagging and so he hadn’t got a Strengthening Solution today. Instead, he was now getting a right royal dressing down because -

“Didn’t I tell you to take it slow? Didn’t I tell you to listen to your pain and not do such a stupid thing yet again?”

It was as if she hadn’t even heard him, so Severus kept his mouth shut. 

Which wasn’t all that easy because, bloody hell! Did that massage hurt! For years, Minerva had told him to go and get himself a massage because, “you're always hunching your shoulders, that can’t be right!” But if that was what she’d meant, he was glad he’d never got one before.

“Do you hear me, Mr Snape?”

“Yes!” he snapped, “But you don’t seem to hear me.” Or at least you’re not listening. “I told you, this wasn’t my intention. I got lost in thought.” Like he always did when he immersed himself in potions. That was what he loved most about them; no matter what he was dealing with, they could take his mind off things and give him a much-needed reprieve. 

“Well, then set yourself a timer!”

“Yes, Mum,” he sneered and hoped she hadn't heard him. But Granger had, she chuckled softly behind the curtain, and Severus blushed. Luckily, nobody noticed that because his head was poked through a hole in the massage table, Mediwitch Gerble had turned his bed into. 

When she was finally done torturing him, his whole back felt like it was on fire, and despite the stronger pain-relief he got today, he was still in pain. “Take this as a lesson,” she said and helped him turn around before she replaced the massage table with his bed again.

Severus sank into the soft surface with a sigh of relief. “I will,” he groaned, totally knackered only from lying around for what felt like ages but probably had only been twenty minutes or so. He winced when the mediwitch shoved the curtain out of the way, and again when she shut the door behind her without a goodbye and louder than necessary. 

“I think she’s a tiny bit mad at you,” Granger assessed.

“Oh, you think?” He winced again when he turned his head toward her. Fuck. Wasn’t this massage meant to help him? 

“Sorry,” she mumbled and returned to her book, nibbling on her nail.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he grouched, his teacher sense kicking in and entertaining him with the worst-case scenario, “I'm physically unable to get out of bed and pour some dittany on a wound today.”

“I won’t,” she muttered back, but put her hand down nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after watching her for some more minutes. She was sighing, restlessly moving her leg, her gaze jumping back and forth on the page.

“It’s been more than three days.”

“What?”

She looked at him. “My last attack. It’s never been more than four days in between them. From a statistical point of view, the next one is due today.”

“Your attacks are not about statistics, Miss Granger. But if you keep obsessing over it, I’m sure you’ll meet them anyway.”

“Funny,” she commented drily, but her leg stilled, and he heard her exhale slowly. 

Involuntarily, he did the same and rolled his eyes at himself when he noticed. Well, maybe it would help him relax a bit more. He could bloody well need it. So he did it again, focusing on slacking off his tender muscles – and froze when one muscle too many relaxed and he began to pee, just as involuntarily as he’d begun mimicking Granger’s breathing. 

What the … He tried to stop the flow but to no avail. Naturally, the charm vanished all of it, he wasn’t soaking his mattress. But all about this was still worrying. 

He swallowed thickly. Well, maybe only the aftermath of the massage. Or of his overstraining himself yesterday. Maybe it would be all right again soon. Maybe … 

He blinked. Fuck.

Chapter Text

Granger did end up validating her own little statistic; she got another attack that night and dutifully called for a mediwizard who closed the curtain dividing their beds to grant Severus the sleep he needed.

Little did the man know … 

Severus tried for about an hour to fall back asleep, but he could just as well have tried to stop the sun from rising. So he gave up and covertly cancelled the Imperturbable charm, isolating him from what was happening around him.

Only to once again regret it because listening to Granger crying, retching, screaming, and wailing wasn’t any easier when he wasn’t the one caring for her, when all he could do to stop the itching in his fingers was clenching them into fists until his short nails left smarting half-moon imprints in his palms. 

He recast the Imperturbable as silently as possible, still not up to the task of doing non-verbal magic, but he wouldn’t have needed to fret; nobody would have heard him anyway.

“I’m sorry, Mr Snape,” Mediwitch Persimmons sighed the next morning, “I cannot give you a Strengthening Solution today. I’m not even sure if you should do your physical, to be honest.”

He harrumphed, having expected nothing else. He’d had a hard time eating every meal they brought him yesterday and had refused to even try his supper; he wouldn’t have been able to keep it down anyway. “I need to talk to Healer Sanders,” he said instead, taking the pain-relief she gave him. At least in that regard, he would have a good day, it was the stronger one, and the single drop of EE gave him the usual spike of easiness he was slowly getting much too used to. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied. “Anything I can discuss with him in case he will not make it today?”

The easiness dipped slightly. “No. Just ask him to stop by as soon as he has some time to spare.” 

She nodded and Severus occluded to keep himself from blushing. He’d tried to hold his urine for some minutes each time he noticed he had to go – in vain. He’d started leaking almost immediately every single time. As soon as he noticed that he needed to go, it was already too late. But hell would freeze over before he discussed this with one of his former students, even though he knew that she would find out sooner or later. The medimages checked his chart just as meticulously as Healer Sanders. Hopefully, she would not address this topic. 

She took the empty vial back from him and when she turned to Granger, her eyes brushed the ever same stack of books on their bedside cabinets. “Haven’t you long read through all of those?”

“I did,” he mumbled, scrunching up his nose while studying his breakfast, “twice.” Then he looked at her. “But as you just ascertained, I’m unfortunately not in a place to go to the library and get some new ones.”

She smiled thinly, beginning to clean Granger, who was still asleep from the dose of Draught of Peace they’d given her when her attack had waned last night. “I could bring you some healer literature in a minute if that’s a topic you’re interested in. And tomorrow I could bring some books from home.”

“Yes to the healer literature if it won’t be missed, but there’s no need to bring your personal books. That would be way too much of an effort.”

She cast him a glance. “It is no effort, sir. Specialist books or novels, what do you prefer?”

He picked at his scrambled eggs, an awkward warmth once again creeping up his neck. “Choose what you can spare,” he eventually mumbled and was glad when she left a couple of minutes later. Good grief …

Mediwitch Gerble was in a better mood today than when she’d left him yesterday. And she brought him the books Mediwitch Persimmons had promised him. She still didn’t let him practise his walking stamina, though. “We will do some exercises in bed today, and later you can sit at the table for a while. And if you’re a good patient and don’t overstrain yourself again, we can go back to walking tomorrow. Deal?”

He made sure to put a well-dosed amount of sullenness into his eyes when he met her gaze. “Don’t act as if I had a choice.”

“Oh, but you do have a choice! I can just as well leave and order you to rest today.”

“That’s not a choice, that’s blackmail.”

She chuckled, although he hadn’t meant that as a joke. “It is what you make of it. So, reduced training or …”

“Yes,” he sighed and folded his duvet back to sit up when she motioned him to. Anything as long as it brought him an inch closer to his discharge.

Her exercises proved to be adequately challenging even without his usual walking, but he still regretted having missed this opportunity. He wondered if he would have managed. Strengthening Solutions couldn't be the answer to everything, if only because he didn't want to be forced to eat as much as he did currently for the rest of his life, however short it might be. Still, when she left, he slumped back in bed and closed his eyes, maybe even slumbered a bit as well until … 

He blinked when a soft groan and rustle were coming from Granger’s bed. He looked around and frowned. She was lying on her side, facing him, her left forearm stretched out, her hand hanging over the edge of her bed, and was clumsily scratching the scarred insult Bellatrix had left on her skin. It was red and angry-looking again; probably she’d forgotten to apply his salve yesterday. The itching was always worse when the salve wore off.

Severus sighed, but Granger was obviously still asleep or at least too muddled from the potion to care for herself. He contemplated calling a medimage, but only for a second. Then he got up (which still sounded like a much smoother action than it actually was although he was getting better) and fetched the jar before he hobbled the few steps to her bed and half leaned against it, half sat down on it before he shoved her hand aside and took a small amount of the salve to carefully rub it into her irritated skin. 

Granger moaned and blinked but didn’t seem to grasp who he was or what he was doing. Her lips moved as if she were trying to say something, but no sound left her mouth. 

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled anyway and put the jar back. But instead of getting up and returning to his bed, his eyes fastened on the word again. The word that turned out to be his personal curse, following him even now. Nothing he did seemed to be enough to escape it. He carefully traced the angular letters with his bony finger, and it cost him no effort at all to imagine how Bellatrix had drawn the tip of her knife through the fair skin. 

He withdrew his hand and turned away. What the hell was he even doing? 

But the sensation of Granger’s smooth skin and the ridges of her scars kept tingling on his fingertips even when he was long back in his own bed.

His ambitions brought him into quite an unfortunate situation later that day, teaching him a lesson about being careful what you wish for. 

With tomorrow's Strengthening Solution in mind, he forced himself to eat his full lunch, occluding as much as necessary to get the whole stew in. And he didn’t stop occluding afterwards either, he knew perfectly well he would regret wolfing down the food like that. 

Instead, he got up and slowly went to sit down at the table, one of the books Mediwitch Persimmons had sent him on his wheeled walker. He would just distract himself for an hour or two, sitting up straight would also help matters, and then he would be fine. 

Probably.

Not. 

Instead, he soon felt miserable enough to notice it, even though he was occluding. And it was the kind of misery that no anti-nausea potion would ease but only make worse, he knew the signs.

So he had exactly two options: Either he would ride this out, feeling abysmal for a couple more hours to come, thumping heart, acid burps, and sweating included, or he … would relieve himself. 

He grimaced, but another sour-tasting burp didn’t give him much hope that option one would even be feasible. 

Casting a glance at Granger, he contemplated what he was supposed to do. If he stopped occluding, his body would probably decide for him. But he couldn’t do that here. Granger might still be slumbering, but she wasn’t fast asleep anymore, and he’d thrown up enough in front of her already. So …

Severus gulped, looking over at the bathroom door. Fuck. Yes, he'd wanted to walk there today - but not like this! He would be in for another day of bed rest and a high fever! Then he looked at his bed. He could create some privacy there … But only thinking about repeating his show from the other day got his hackles up. He was beyond the age of throwing up on his duvet, magic or not, and for some reason, Granger’s vomit bowl had disappeared after her attack last night. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing in and out slowly, trying to convince his stomach to let it rest, but he received a resolute no for an answer; he wasn’t even sure anymore if he would reach the bathroom in time.

No time to waste then … 

Letting the book fold shut, Severus carefully got up and inched his way through the hospital room. Halfway there, he contemplated how much easier his life would probably be if he weren’t such a stubborn git and called for help instead of attempting this kind of stunt. 

But being a stubborn git had saved his neck too often to condemn it now just because it was becoming a tad bit uncomfortable. If he wanted the benefits, he would have to take the disadvantages as well.

Although having to stop close to the bathroom door and gulp a sour gush of stew back down was a hell of a disadvantage … 

“Bugger,” he mumbled panting, and abandoned his wheeled walker before he slipped into the bathroom and carefully closed the door behind him. The lights ignited at his touch, and Severus stumbled his way to the toilet, keeping his hands on as many walls as possible. Seeking purchase at the cistern, he bent over the toilet and dropped his Occlumency.

The nausea was intense and scorching like fire, his stomach clenching almost immediately. 

And yet, when he heaved, it was only some thin saliva that dropped into the toilet. He spat out, trying not to lose his balance when his legs began trembling from the sheer effort of getting here. 

Ugh, bloody hell …

His hand pressing down on the cistern hard enough to make it crack, he waited for his body to do what it had already been doing only minutes ago! 

But nothing happened. Only his mouth was watering, and the pressure in his stomach grew until it felt like it would rip him apart any second.

Fuck it.

Sticking his finger down his throat, Severus gave his body a leg up, the gagging causing not only his mouth to water even more but his eyes as well. Groaning, he curled into himself until his hand almost slipped from the cistern. This wouldn’t work. He would collapse the moment his body finally complied and granted him the release he was seeking. So he carefully kneeled down before trying again, unsure of whether he would get up again by himself later. 

But that was a problem future-him could figure out. 

Grasping his hair to keep it out of his face, he tried again to get things going, and without needing to balance himself over the toilet, he succeeded.

It was a massive gush of sour stew that broke from his mouth with a gurgle that rattled his whole body, immediately followed by a second one. Ugh … fuck … He spat out, blew his nose, and waited panting if that was it. He did feel so much better already, though, it was pure bliss despite the stench and his burning throat. 

Then his stomach clenched again, and Severus retched up another, smaller gush of his lunch. He groaned and coughed, grimacing from the sharp pain twisting his intestines. 

He waited for several more minutes after that, the hard tiled floor painfully pressing against his knees, but nothing happened. So he flushed the toilet, used some toilet paper to blow his nose and dab the sweat from his face, and flushed again. Folding the toilet cover shut, he pushed himself up on his trembling arms and felt like passing out when he succeeded in sitting down on the toilet. There he relaxed a bit – and cursed under his breath when he began to piss, completely unable to do anything about it and not even trying anyway. He had to choose his battles. Luckily, his acrobatics hadn’t impaired the nappy charm; he wouldn’t have been able to deal with that on top of everything else right now. 

After giving himself a couple of minutes to overcome his dizziness and bout of exhaustion, Severus stood up to wash his hands, his face, and especially his mouth at the sink. And after casting a charm to freshen up the air, he crept back to the door. 

Granger blinked at him when he leaned against the doorframe to let another wave of dizziness wash over him. “Are you all right, sir?” she mumbled groggily.

“Depends.” He felt a lot better than twenty minutes ago – and at the same time a lot worse. 

While Granger was still trying to make sense of his answer, he fastened his gaze on his bed as if it would come and get him if he just did it intently enough. But of course, it didn’t. So Severus grasped the handles of his wheeled walker and slouched around Granger’s bed to get back into his own. 

He was panting like he’d run a marathon when he finally reached it and curled around the lingering discomfort his stomach was causing him. Despite pulling the duvet over himself, he was already beginning to shiver. 

I’m so fucking screwed … 

“Just some ginger tea for me, please,” he said hoarsely when they came to bring them supper later that day. He didn’t even bother to sit up.

The young mediwitch clicked her tongue. “Need I be worried, Mr Snape?” she asked and summoned his vitals. 

“Probably …”

Her frown deepened when she studied his charts. “Your fever is a bit higher than we want it to be. Did you do anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” he lied smoothly and was surprised that Granger kept her mouth shut. “Lunch just disagreed with me.”

“I see. You sure you don’t want a potion?” She copied his data into his chart and ended the charm.

“Yes. Ginger tea will be enough.”

“All right. I’ll bring it in a minute. And I will come back to check on you later today. We need to keep an eye on your temperature.”

He hummed non-committally, and when she'd served Granger her supper and left, he cast his former student a wary glance. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She lifted the lid from her meal and sighed. “Wish I’d chosen ginger tea as well …”

He huffed, amusement curling his lips for the first time today. 

It turned out to be Healer Sanders who checked on him and his temperature later, and Severus sighed silently when he saw him. Yes, he did want to speak with him – but today? He really had to be more careful with what he wished for, as it seemed.

“How are you, Miss Granger?” the healer began and studied her chart first while Severus struggled to sit up.

“Exhausted. And still woozy.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning some data. “We’ll try a slightly lower dose next time, okay?”

Granger swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

Then Healer Sanders turned to Severus, and looking at him was apparently enough for the man to know that this would be a chat they’d better have in private. Either that or Mediwitch Persimmons had told him that Severus refused to tell her what this was about. Anyway, he drew the curtain closed and cast the charm before he fetched a chair and sat down. “You look awful, Mr Snape.”

“Been better,” he admitted.

“Paula mentioned you had trouble stomaching your lunch?”

“You could put it that way.”

Following was the obligatory check of his vitals, an act Severus detested more with each passing day. He was used to being reduced to a lot, his actions, his abilities, his worth for the war effort, but being reduced to some numbers was a new low even for him. 

“I see,” Healer Sanders echoed the mediwitch’s reaction, “your gastritis seems to flare up again. We'll have to keep an eye on that. But so far, your temperature is tolerable. Nothing to write home about, but you’ve been worse.”

Interesting … “Maybe the Strengthening Solutions are taking effect.”

“Possible.” With a twitch of his wand, the numbers disappeared. “But that’s not why you asked me to stop by, I assume.”

“No.” Severus tried very hard to stop his lip from curling, but he only halfway succeeded. “I noticed a … problem.”

“I’m listening,” the healer said, angling his head when Severus hesitated to proceed.

He rubbed his teeth against each other, feeling a telltale heat creeping up his cheeks that he brutally forced down with Occlumency. “Is it possible,” he then had a much easier time asking, “that the venom that’s still in my system might cause further harm after all? Because I might be becoming incontinent.” He lowered his voice with the last word, even though nobody else but them was here to hear it. 

Healer Sanders exhaled slowly, a slight frown on his forehead. “That is, unfortunately, possible,” he said, “even though I’ve hoped for the opposite. It’s not as if we have any experience with your condition.”

Severus huffed. “Well, and what can you do about it?”

“We need to examine you first, need to find out what causes this problem. It might just as well be a matter of habit, it has been a rather long time since you last had to manage your bladder.”

“Practising wasn’t successful so far.”

He nodded. “When does it happen? Is it in situations when you are coughing, sneezing, or otherwise putting strain on your bladder?”

“No. It’s …” He exhaled slowly. “The moment I feel that I need to go, it’s already too late.”

“Might be a neurological problem then,” Healer Sanders mused. 

“Splendid. And can you do anything about that?”

“We need to see. Examination first. I’ll schedule you for tomorrow, guess you’ll have plenty of time to spare anyway.” He smiled thinly when Severus rolled his eyes. “I know this is an embarrassing problem to deal with -”

“Oh, really?”

“- but it’s easy to solve. You can keep using the charm if this should prove irreversible. There are more people than you’d ever guess doing just that, and it doesn’t affect their life beyond casting a charm once a day. I’m more concerned about the possibility that the venom is still causing further harm because the next problem might not be as easy to deal with.”

Severus scowled at the man because he had a drastically different opinion on being reliant on that blasted charm and having to get used to pissing himself on a regular basis, even if nobody would ever know. But he couldn’t deny that the prospect of this not being the last bodily function he might lose was, in fact, even more worrying. 

“We’ll see what the examination will bring, Mr Snape.” He stood up. “Try not to worry too much tonight, you need your rest. Do you want some Dreamless-Sleep?”

“No,” he grouched out of habit, and only when Healer Sanders cocked an eyebrow, he mumbled, “Yes.”

The healer nodded and swiftly patted Severus’ duvet-covered leg, which was such an unexpected and unfamiliar gesture that Severus stiffened involuntarily. But it seemed completely normal for the healer because he didn’t even notice Severus’ reaction. “Have a good night, Mr Snape,” he just said and opened the curtain back up before he left. 

Severus swallowed, letting his head sink back with a sigh, and ignored Granger’s curious glance. 

Chapter Text

The room they brought him for his exam was white and sparsely furnished. Actually, there was only an examination table in the middle of the about four by four metres large room and a chest of drawers to the left side, and interestingly, the copious space made Severus more nervous than he had expected. Or maybe it was the fact that it was considerably colder in here than out in the hall. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Are you sure you didn’t bring me to the execution chamber?” he asked the mediwizard who’d come with a wheelchair to fetch him. 

He was about Severus’ age and luckily seemed to share his sense of humour, for he chuckled when he pulled the brake and helped Severus out of the wheelchair. “Don’t worry, we would have granted you a last meal if execution had been the plan.”

Severus harrumphed, reluctantly amused because they indeed had not provided him with anything to eat this morning, and lay down on the table, careful to rearrange his hospital gown to cover his private bits. 

“The healers will be here in a minute. If you need any kind of help, just tap the underside of the table, all right?”

“Healers?” Severus echoed, “Plural?”

The mediwizard arched his eyebrows. “Is this your first rodeo, sir?”

“The first conscious one.”

“Ah. Well, yes, this kind of exam is performed by several healers.” He glanced at Severus’ chart. “I guess it will be about five or six healers in total for what they want to do with you.”

Holy sh-

“But don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” He winked at Severus, then he hung the chart at the end of the table and left the room.

“Bloody perfect,” Severus muttered, trying not to tense up too much. But the chill in the room wasn’t helping, and so his bladder seized the opportunity to remind him of why exactly he’d agreed to this in the first place. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. If he hadn’t gone through the nightmare of being a spy during a wizarding war, he probably would have called this a circle of hell Dante forgot to write about, but as things were, he was reluctant to use such hyperboles. Fate had a striking penchant to have him stand corrected.

And as it was, he didn’t have high hopes for a promising result on this exam anyway. The fact that he had been able to hold his urine for long enough to not wet his bed a couple of days after he’d woken up, but wouldn’t be able to do so anymore today, spoke volumes. But before he pointed that out to Healer Sanders, Severus would let him get his exam. 

A couple of minutes later, the door opened again and five healers Severus didn’t recognise strode into the room, greeting him with nods, smiles, or muffled words before taking up position around the examination table. Two women, three men, all of them carrying distantly friendly expressions on their faces and their wands in hand. 

“Good morning, Mr Snape,” Healer Sanders said when he eventually joined his colleagues, “I hope you slept well?”

Severus arched an eyebrow, slightly lifting his head. “You gave me a potion, so what do you think?”

Two of the healers snickered covertly, the rest smirked like Healer Sanders. “Got it, no small talk. So, the exam will take about ten minutes. Your only job is to close your eyes, think of something nice, and relax. You will feel the tingle of magic, but there should be no pain. And afterwards, we’ll talk about your results in private. Do you have any more questions?”

“No.” 

“Very well. Then let’s start.” He nodded at his colleagues, who raised their wands, and Severus lay back and closed his eyes as ordered while the witches and wizards surrounding him began intoning what sounded like a song of spells that vaguely reminded him of Vulnera Sanentur. He even recognised single syllables but lost track of the context so quickly that he gave up trying to understand what they were doing. Scanning the nervous system of a person did seem considerably more complicated than stitching up a few wounds.

So, thinking of something nice, it was. But naturally, nice thoughts were hard to come by, being at the mercy of a half dozen healers and freezing. He didn’t dare use Occlumency either, though, there was a chance that it would be messing with the results, and he didn’t want to go through this again.

Interestingly, his meandering thoughts ended up at Granger. She’d got up this morning, determined to go to the library and get them some new books, although she still was a bit unsteady on her feet. He’d told her that Mediwitch Persimmons promised to bring some books for them, but that didn’t change her mind.

“That’s nice of her but I have to take these back soon or I’ll have to pay fees, so …” Shrugging, she’d put on her shoes, the necklace she had to wear for her own safety dangling underneath her chin, and unexpectedly added, “But I’ll be careful, I promise!” when she was done, giving him a warm smile, albeit only for a second. Then she’d probably remembered who she was talking to.

However, thinking about that moment, about her gaze and her tone of voice and that smile, caused him a strange tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why had she even felt the need to reassure him? Yes, they were sharing a room and had taken care of each other several times already, but in the end, it was her decision to take the risk and none of his business. If they let her go, he wouldn’t stop her. 

It was only some seconds later that he realised the tingling wasn’t because of Granger’s odd behaviour but the magic washing through his body. 

Well … 

It swelled dramatically then, even becoming almost unbearable for a moment, borderline painful, but he managed to stifle a groan.

Healer Sanders still seemed to notice his discomfort. He mumbled a soft, “Sorry,” before he returned to his spell work.

After that, they held their promise, and the magic didn’t cause him any more pain, only a persistent buzz creeping down his spine and up the back of his neck and his scalp before it spread in his arms and legs, urging him to move or at least ball his hands into fists. It felt as if there were myriads of ants crawling over his skin. Yet he resisted every urge to move, breathing in and out as calmly as possible. 

There was a thin layer of sweat covering his face when Healer Sanders finally ended the exam. “Thank you for your support,” he saw his colleagues off, and while they left the room, Severus sat up, feeling a bit wobbly and dizzy. “Take it slow,” Healer Sanders admonished him, “the exam will mess with your nervous system for a couple of minutes.”

“I see,” Severus mumbled, finally understanding why he hadn’t got any breakfast this morning. 

He also understood why this room had been kept so cool; the magic had heated it up, making it feel as if they’d been transported into a sauna and prompting Healer Sanders to take off his lime-green cloak before he cast a mild cooling charm; strong enough to make breathing a bit easier but not too much to cause Severus to shiver again. 

Clamping his hands around the edge of the examination table, his feet dangling over the edge, Severus closed his eyes to breathe through that bout of dizziness and nausea, slowly turning and twisting his head while Healer Sanders was busy looking through the results of the exam.

They both flinched when a mediwitch burst into the room. “Oh,” she mumbled, stopping short.

“Is something wrong?” Healer Sanders asked.

“Um … no, I guess. It’s just …” She grimaced. “Mr Snape activated the emergency call.”

He let go of the table at once. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled kindly. “No problem.” Then she was gone again.

And Severus didn’t know what to do with his hands. Or how to keep himself upright.

Healer Sanders had to quickly grab his shoulder to keep him from toppling over. “You should lie back down for a couple more minutes.”

“No, I’m fine,” Severus muttered.

“Well, then at least let’s get you back into the wheelchair,” the healer sighed and helped Severus to transfer, crouching down in front of him and actually feeling his pulse instead of summoning his vitals when Severus slumped groggily. “You won’t faint, Mr Snape, will you?” He sounded surprisingly calm.

“I’m trying not to,” Severus mumbled back, and after a minute or two, he finally came round.

Nodding, Healer Sanders patted Severus’ arm and stood back up. “I apologise, I slightly underestimated how much the exam would affect your nervous system. Didn't assume it would be that damaged, to be honest …” 

Severus hummed but didn’t reply. 

Another couple of minutes passed in silence while Healer Sanders stood near the chest of drawers, analysing the results. And since the after-effects of the exam now drained from Severus’ body like water from an almost overflowing bathtub after pulling the plug, his steadying pulse and stabilising blood pressure allowed him to scrutinise the healer. He seemed strangely human without his lime-green cloak. There was even a small wet patch of sweat on the back of his sand-coloured shirt. And when he suddenly made tiny chirping noises, Severus arched his eyebrows. 

“Well,” Healer Sanders eventually said, turned around, and leaned against the chest of drawers, his eyes still on Severus’ chart, “your nervous system has seen better days, there is no denying that. Have you ever been subjected to the Cruciatus?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

Severus took a deep breath, recalling the instances the Dark Lord had taken out his anger on him. “About … seven or eight times?”

“Mhh, that’s a lot of damage even for seven or eight Cruciati, so the venom might be -”

“No,” Severus cut in, “you misunderstood me. It’s been seven or eight instances. You can at least triple that for the amount of curses.”

Healer Sanders looked up at him wide-eyed. “I see,” he mumbled after several seconds of silence and brushed his mouth, nodding more to himself. “Well, that changes things …”

“So … What does that mean? Is the venom damaging my nerves or not?”

“I cannot say for sure. Actually, your nervous system is surprisingly well off considering you’ve suffered through about … twenty Cruciati.” He gulped. “We need another exam at a later point to see if the damage is progressing.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have an old exam to compare it to?”

“No. When you’ve been brought in, your nervous system wasn’t our main concern, and since you didn’t express any neurological problems after waking up, we never checked it. As it is now, your results are plausible for the amount of Cruciati you went through, but it’s also possible that the venom caused some additional damage and might proceed to do so. We’ll need to see.”

“I expected a bit more from this exam than a maybe,” Severus muttered, scowling at the healer.

“It’s the best I have at the moment.”

“Well, then let me give you another fact to consider. A couple of days after waking up, I was able to hold my urine for long enough to at least not wet my bed when they forgot to recast the charm. I wouldn’t be able to do that now. And as long as nobody came in to torture me a bit while I was unconscious two weeks ago, that decline can’t be explained away by Cruciatus damage, or can it?”

Healer Sanders took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, he uttered a defeated, “No.”

“Well, that’s that. Is there anything that can be done about it?” Severus pressed impatiently.

Healer Sanders cleared his throat. “There is a new development, a potion that potentially repairs nervous damage to some extent, but it’s still in clinical trial, and it seems to be rather hard on the side effects.”

“And an option to rinse the venom out of my system?”

“I'm sorry, no. We tried everything we know, but your current state is the best we could do.”

“I see,” Severus muttered, regretting that he'd even told the healer about his problem. Could have spared himself a lot of humiliation if he'd just let it slip and dealt with it until he got out of here.

“But the nervous damage isn’t the only cause,” Healer Sanders then said, “The muscles of your pelvic floor are weak as well, and you can work on that.”

“Pelvic floor?” Severus echoed incredulously. 

The healer smiled fleetingly. “The muscles you use when you want to stop passing water mid-flow. Your pelvic floor plays a huge role in your continence, and you can train those muscles back to strength. Tense them for … about three seconds for a start, then relax. Three to five repetitions, thrice a day.”

“And that will solve my problem?”

“Probably not. But given time, it will improve it.”

Severus huffed. “Well, then … never mind.” He didn't plan to give himself any more time than strictly necessary. Fumbling for the brakes on his wheelchair, he planned to roll back into his room on his own. 

“Will you still stick to our agreement?” Healer Sanders said, however, causing Severus to freeze and look up at the man. “I know, this is a low blow and I wish I had better news for you, but … do I need to be worried?”

Severus rubbed his teeth against each other. “No, I will stick to it,” he ground out. 

The healer nodded slowly, nonetheless eyeing him warily. “How do you feel about your dose of Euphoria Elixir, Mr Snape? We could increase it a bit if you think that would help you to … persevere.”

He averted his eyes, feeling oddly exposed all of a sudden, bereft of his shield of anger. Ever since he’d become aware of his newest problem, his darker thoughts had crept back up on him. How much easier it would be to just end it all and be released from this … nightmare. Broken, useless, devoid of any prospect for a better life than this … He was only fighting to be discharged, even going as far as making himself sick over it.

I wish Nagini had succeeded in killing me.

Healer Sanders sighed and pushed off the chest of drawers. “I’ll top up your dose,” he said softly and swiftly grasped Severus’ shoulder. “Stay here, I’ll send someone to bring you back to your room.”

Severus didn’t reply. 

On the way back to the room he was sharing with Granger, they passed by someone waiting in the hallway, judging by the shoes, a man. He’d spread today’s Daily Prophet wide, and Severus took a sharp inhale of breath when he spotted his own face on the cover. Second Day of Trial, the headline said, and the caption added, War hero’s verdict still undecided.

He pinched his eyes closed when a nasty little shock rippled through his chest and prickled up his scalp. There was a trial against him?

But of course, there was. What had he even been thinking? That the whole magical world would just thank him and forget about the atrocities he’d done? Hardly … He’d killed one of the greatest wizards the modern world had known, nobody could brush that under the rug – and nobody should!

War hero ... disgusting!

But why weren't they waiting with his trial until St Mungo’s got him back on his feet? Why did nobody want him to testify before the Wizengamot? That was at least curious … 

Maybe they wanted him in Azkaban without giving him the chance to defend himself. Not that he would have, but still.

Or … 

Potter.

When he was rolled back into their room, Granger was just sorting through a huge pile of books on her bedstand. “I can manage, thank you,” Severus mumbled at the mediwitch, and she left with a nod, leaving it to him to transfer himself into his bed. But before he even attempted that, he turned to Granger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “Tell you what?”

“That there is a trial against me!”

Her raised eyebrows dropped. “I didn’t know you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I want to know! It is a trial against me!”

She huffed. “Yeah, well, since you never asked about anything going on outside of the hospital, refused to see Professor McGonagall or anybody else, and don’t even seem interested in what exactly happened that night at Hogwarts, I assumed you wouldn’t want to know that either.”

Then you should stop assuming! 

But he didn’t dare say that out loud because he knew perfectly well that she was right. He probably would have silenced her the moment he understood what she was about to tell him anyway. So he brushed his hand over his mouth instead, the just subsided nausea returning with a vengeance.

Granger sighed. “You don’t need to be worried, sir. Harry and Mr Shacklebolt are working hard to get you acquitted. Professor Dumbledore left a vial of memories with a trusted member of the Wizengamot before he died, charmed to open only if Voldemort is defeated and you survive. It is full to the brim with evidence that you were working on his behalf.”

Severus closed his eyes, trying in vain to tune out her voice and everything she was saying, but nothing could stop it from echoing in his ears, ringing and multiplying until he thought it would rip his eardrums apart. 

“I’m sure they only need several days for your trial because … well, it’s hard to look at those memories. Harry has and -”

“Please,” he croaked, “stop.”

Granger fell silent at once. “I’m sorry.”

But he didn’t manage to answer while he was breathing and occluding through what suspiciously felt like the beginning of a panic attack. Gods, he really needed a higher dose of EE if something like that was enough to tip him over … 

The worst thing was, he didn’t even know what about the whole thing was distressing him so much. Potter and Kingsley fighting to get him acquitted? The fact that Dumbledore, of all people, had provided memories that could exonerate him? Or the fact that there was still a good chance that he wouldn’t end his life in his own home with a painless and gentle poison, but some rusty nail in Azkaban? 

He … he wouldn’t be able to stick to his agreement with Healer Sanders if it came to that. He -

“Sir?” Granger’s voice cut through his whirling thoughts, “Do you want me to call someone?”

He forced his mouth to work. “No. I’m fine.” Without looking at her, he got up and stumbled to his bed, wordlessly closing the curtains. A muttered Imperturbable charm later, he curled up on his side and suddenly found the soft trembling of his diaphragm grow into full-blown sobs he hadn’t seen coming. 

Chapter Text

He slumbered a bit after his pathetic little breakdown, and when he slowly drifted back to consciousness, it was to the low talking of Granger and … 

“I miss you being around.”

Weasley.

Severus sighed silently, contemplating whether he should recast the charm or at least clear his throat to make them aware that he was listening, but he couldn’t bring himself to do either of those. He couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes, so he just gave up and let their chat wash over him. 

“Do you know how the trial’s going?”

“Quite as expected, I guess. Kingsley said there would be a couple of members who would try to invalidate the memories, and he was right. But most of them want to see them so … Guess it’s just a matter of time. Why?”

Granger sighed. “Professor Snape found out about it and … wasn’t happy I didn’t tell him.”

“Huh? Isn’t your job to keep him updated, innit?”

“Yeah, especially since he didn’t want to know anything so far. How was I supposed to know that he would want to know about that?”

“Don’t let him upset you, ‘Mione. You know he can be a right git.”

“I know. It’s just …” 

“What?”

“Never mind. How’s Ginny?”

“Arguing with Mum. She got an offer to play for the Holyhead Harpies and wants to go, but Mum insists that she graduate first. You can’t talk to either of them without being yelled at.” He huffed. “But I guess that’s better than everyone crying …”

There was a moment of silence, long enough for Severus to slowly drift back to sleep. He only just heard Granger mumble, “Come here,” so soft and kind that his breath hitched right before his memory faded.

It was at lunch that his slumbering and self-pitying came to an end, and sitting up to eat, Severus cast a glance across the room at Granger’s equally dissatisfied reaction to their meals. Whether it was the pasta or her general mood, he couldn’t tell, though. 

“Enjoy your meal!” the mediwitch said before she left, and they both mumbled their thanks. 

Since Severus didn’t have breakfast that day, he actually felt something resembling hunger now, although he’d have preferred something else than pasta. But he’d long since stopped thinking about food all too much, so he just began eating. 

A few bites in and his eyes firmly trained on his plate, he said, “I apologise for my behaviour earlier today.”

There was a second of silence, then, “Thank you.”

He nodded. 

“Just so you know: I’d gladly tell you anything you want to know.”

Another nod. “I assumed as much.” 

Some more bites passed without either of them saying a word, just the clinking of cutlery on china, until one bite Severus tried to swallow felt like it was colliding with a question he suddenly needed to ask, causing the pasta to stay stuck in his throat. When he finally managed to force it down with a swig of water and some strong will, he croaked, “How did I survive?” He still didn’t look at Granger but only at his plate, the fork in his right hand trembling and his left curled into a fist in his lap, while her clinking stopped as well. 

“Your house-elf brought you here.” 

Severus froze – and did look at her at last. “My what?”

She huffed a tiny laugh. “Your house-elf, sir. The headmaster’s house-elf. Apparently, headmasters have some kind of magical bond to their assigned house-elf and Beeky, your house-elf, felt when you were in mortal danger and brought you here.”

I had an assigned house-elf? 

“She mentioned that you never requested her services, so you might not remember her.”

“I don’t,” he mumbled and returned to his lunch, a frown stapled to his forehead. That … had not been the answer he’d expected. How oddly anticlimactic. “I didn’t even know I had a house-elf assigned to assist me.”

“She thought as much. It was … a turbulent time when you became headmaster.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff. “It was an utter mess.” Just thinking about his first official speech before the staff … “So you talked with … Beeky?”

“Yes, we did. Professor McGonagall thanked her for what she’d done and repeatedly offered her a salary, but she declined.” Granger pursed her lips.

“Still adamant to fight for elf rights?” he quipped, not sad about their chat taking on a slightly lighter note.

“Why, yes,” she replied, jutting her chin. “But I’m also adamant to do my research first this time.”

A smile flickered across his face. “Well, I’d offer my wisdom, but unfortunately, I didn’t even know I had a house-elf, so …”

She chuckled. “That’s all right, I’ll find the right sources.”

I’m sure you will.

The following days passed like most of the time he’d spent in here. The increased dose of EE took away the edge of his … depression, or whatever it was, he stopped thinking about his incontinence and slowly began eating more again, enough, at last, to take Strengthening Solutions again, and Mediwitch Gerble came in regularly to train his stamina. 

One day, when he’d reached the bathroom door, he didn’t just turn around to go back to his bed but instead said, “I’d like to take a shower.”

She blinked in surprise, nodding slowly. “Sure,” she said then, “Do you want me to call for a male colleague or are you fine with me helping you?”

“You’re fine,” he mumbled, manoeuvring his wheeled walker aside so she could open the door and help him in. 

It was unironically one of the best feelings he’d ever felt, sitting on a stool under the warm spray of water for the first time in almost two months. Cleansing charms were fine, they even worked well enough to feel clean, but there was nothing like a traditional shower. He sighed in relief, closing his eyes.

“Take your time, I’ll wait outside,” Mediwitch Gerble said with a smile in her voice before she left the bathroom.

And double dose of EE or not, when he was alone, Severus cried a few tears he didn’t dare question all too much.

“Harry gave me this today,” Granger said when she returned from meeting her friends later that day. She’d had an attack two days ago, causing her hand to still tremble a bit when she held out a letter to him. Or maybe she was just afraid he would burn it on sight.

Compelling thought … But since he’d agreed to let Potter write to him a week ago, he was more or less forced to read it now. So he took it, knitting his brows. “Thank you, I assume.”

Granger smiled lopsidedly. “He said Ginny helped him write it, so I guess it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Considering that the essays he copied from you have been a constant source of disappointment as well, I'm not so sure about that,” he muttered, smirking when a faint blush tinted Granger's cheeks.

“I respectfully decline to say anything to that.”

He huffed. “You'd better do.” But that didn't change the fact that he'd had a ridiculously easy time discerning the thoughts Potter had copied from Granger from the ones he'd come up with himself. Pity he earned James Potter's laziness …

Immersed in his own thoughts, Severus only became aware of the thickening silence when Granger announced, “I'm going to take a shower,” while he was still staring at the plain white front of the envelope. “It was really warm today, I feel icky.”

“Have fun,” he said, cocking his eyebrow. It was enough to make her blush even harder and scurry into the bathroom. Gryffindors.

Digging his finger underneath the flap of the envelope, Severus tore it open and unfolded the letter. Luckily, Potter had made it short, it was only a single sheet of paper.

But written on both sides. 

Severus sneered before shaking out the letter and narrowing his eyes, trying to decipher Potter’s griffonage. 

Dear Professor Snape,

Thank you for agreeing to read a letter from me! I appreciate your complaisance -

Severus huffed. Complaisance? No doubt Miss Weasley helped him write this letter, he would have staked his life on Potter not having heard that word ever before in his life.

Frowning, he read on.

- your complaisance and will do my best not to make you regret it.
First of all, I want to apologise for ever doubting your intentions. I realise that having everyone doubt you was part of the plan and necessary for it to work, but I still should have put more trust in Professor Dumbledore’s judgement. After watching your memories -

Fuck. Severus pinched his eyes closed. The memories … 

It was not as if he’d forgotten that he’d given them to Potter, but … He’d successfully avoided thinking about it. Now, however, there was a telltale warmth creeping up his neck when everything Potter had seen came back to haunt him. His meeting Lily, his messing things up with her, his weeping at Grimmauld Place after killing Dumbledore … Absent-mindedly, he scratched his tingling scar, hissing when he went a tad too hard on it. 

(And relishing the bout of pain that somewhat cleared his thoughts.)

Gritting his teeth, he returned to the letter.

- your memories, I feared I missed my chance to thank you for helping me to defeat Voldemort the way you did. I couldn’t have made it without you, sir. Thank you!

Severus gulped, suddenly thankful for Granger’s awkward way of leaving him alone to read. 

That was not how he'd intended things to go. Having Lily’s son thank him? After Severus himself had been the reason for her death? No. He deserved no gratitude. He’d just … tried to do the right thing for once in his ruddy life!

And anyway, how dare Potter just thank him?! Hadn’t Severus made it abundantly clear that he loathed … That he didn’t want anything to do … That he … 

Stupid brat!

Stupid brat with Lily’s eyes!

Unbidden, the moment he’d thought would be his last resurfaced from the darkest corner of Severus’ mind, where Occlumency and Euphoria Elixir had banished it. 

“Look … at … me.”

And shockingly, Potter had. 

Looked at him.

Seen him. 

Everything about him, the whole of Pandora’s box of mistakes and failures. Of death and misery and loneliness and never-ending grief and so far, Severus hadn’t found the hope that was supposed to be at the bottom because it just kept spilling and spilling and spilling and -

Fuck! 

Tilting his head back, Severus tried to get some air into his lungs.

Breathe!

He closed his eyes, willed his mind and pulse to calm down. Forced the green eyes and the gurgled words back into the darkest corner they belonged. 

He was panting when he blinked and found that the letter had glided to the floor, coming to lie where Granger’s slippers usually stood. He didn’t even recall letting go of it. 

Taking his wand, Severus Accio-ed it back up, but he needed another minute or so until he could bring himself to read on. 

That being said, Hermione mentioned that you became aware of your trial. I would have preferred to tell you about it myself because I think it is important to know that this trial will not end with you being sent to Azkaban or any other kind of verdict! I will see to that, as will Kingsley. I will not miss my chance to make good for what you’ve done for me, sir, so please don’t worry. 

He sneered again, a notion he felt considerably more comfortable with, although his heart was still thumping and the letter still trembling in his hand. Good luck convincing the Wizengamot, Potter. But being the saviour of the wizarding world might actually be enough to shut those idiots up, even if it was to Severus’ advantage. 

He turned the paper around.

Also, Professor McGonagall asked me to tell you that she’s both sorry for the way she treated you throughout last year and exasperated about the fact that you refuse to let her visit you. She said, and I cite, “You will not evade me forever, one day there won’t be any mediwitches to shield you anymore!”

Severus arched an eyebrow at that. So Minerva was exasperated about his behaviour? What a pleasant turn of events …

I hope you’ll get better soon.
All the best!
Harry Potter

Folding the letter back together (and breathing a sigh of relief to be finally done with it), Severus searched for the envelope. Until he found it, Granger poked her head through a crack in the bathroom door, her hair wet and her naked feet stuck in the slippers he’d just thought about. “You can come out, Granger,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight huskiness of his voice.

She ducked her head and hurried back to her bed.

“Do you know if Mr Potter expects an answer to that?” Severus added.

Grimacing slightly, she said, “I’m sure he would be happy about it, but I told him not to expect one. So … it’s up to you.”

He nodded, discarding the letter for now and taking up the book he was reading at the moment, one of Mediwitch Persimmons’ private books. But in the end, he only found himself staring at the blank space dividing one scene from another, his head full of everything Potter had mentioned in his letter – and everything he hadn’t.

Two days later, Severus woke up earlier than usual to Granger sitting upright at the edge of her bed, her hands digging into the mattress, and her head slightly bent. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

She blinked. “I don’t know. I just feel … off.”

He frowned, sitting up and leaning against his headboard. “Another attack?”

“Possible …” She remained sitting for another couple of seconds before she slipped off the bed and crept into the bathroom. 

He looked after her. That was … strange.

And Granger kept being strange. She responded listlessly when they got their breakfast, ate so slowly that her porridge had to be cold before she’d even managed to eat half of it, because she kept staring into space.

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one noticing that because about an hour later, Healer Sanders – tired-looking and slightly dishevelled – entered their room. “Good morning,” he said, instantly fastening his eyes on Granger.

She needed uncomfortably long to realise that and answer a tiny, “Morning.”

Healer Sanders frowned and sat down at the edge of her bed, feeling for her pulse with his left hand and using his right to take a look at her other vitals. “The lovely ladies running the show today told me they are worried about you, Miss Granger.”

She blinked, obviously overwhelmed by all the things the healer was doing at the same time. “Um … yeah, I … feel a bit off.”

“Hm,” he mumbled, looking back at her, “can you describe that in a bit more detail?”

“Um … tired and … dizzy? Not really, just … off.”

Severus couldn’t help but frown even harder at that. Something about her behaviour rang a bell with him, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Do you feel nauseous as well?” Healer Sanders asked.

“A bit,” she mumbled, right before she groaned, “Ugh, this doesn’t feel good …” And the next moment, she dissolved into spasms that shook the whole bed. 

Severus sat up on instinct, his body wanting to spring into action, although he didn’t even know how.

Healer Sanders in turn did jump up, cursing under his breath, and tapped the emergency spot several times before turning around and Accio-ing a series of potions, causing Severus to understand at last since, strangely, the obvious seizure Granger was just experiencing hadn’t been enough for his shocked brain to connect the dots. 

Epilepsy. 

Mr Gresham, Hufflepuff, about … ten years ago. Severus had brewed those exact damned potions that came flying now for him for six bloody years but he had never seen him actually go through a seizure.

Seconds later, two mediwitches burst into the room, ducking underneath the last of the potions Healer Sanders had summoned, and cast their own spells following the healer's bellowed orders while he himself began charming the potions straight into Granger’s stomach.

Another couple of seconds later, she slumped like a puppet with cut strings. The sudden silence was eerie and only prompted Severus to get painfully aware of his thundering heart and the fact that he’d closed his hands around his duvet, so hard they hurt. He needed to focus to relax his grip.

“Well,” one of the mediwitches, Goldfinch, if Severus remembered correctly, said and exhaled in a huff. Then she cast a diagnostic Severus was almost intimately familiar with: a scan for injuries. Although Healer Sanders had reacted quickly, Granger had ended up with a couple of bruises. She clicked her tongue and took the bruise salve while Healer Sanders proceeded to charm the last potion he’d summoned into Granger’s stomach; Severus recognised it as the Draught of Peace. She burped softly. “Come here,” the mediwitch then said, directed at her colleague. 

She hesitated to follow the order, looking as young as a trainee. Probably was one. Probably had just witnessed her first grand mal seizure, for she was as pale as Severus felt. But eventually, she inched closer.

“See this list?” the older mediwitch said and pointed at the shimmering words floating above Granger’s slack body. 

The younger one nodded.

“Apply a generous amount of this on every listed spot. Take care you catch them all, she’s a haemophiliac and will die if you don’t, understand?”

“Y-Yes,” the young girl stuttered, her eyes as huge as saucers, before she took the salve and set to work.

At least she planned to, because all of a sudden, Granger began spasming again, though not as she had only minutes ago. This was one of her usual attacks.

“Bloody hell,” Healer Sanders muttered and turned Granger onto her side by hand when she began throwing up her sparse breakfast and the potions he’d just administered to her. 

The trainee jumped back in shock, almost stumbling onto Severus’ bed. “I’m sorry!” she yelped at him.

He only arched an eyebrow at her impatiently. 

Mediwitch Goldfinch casually vanished the vomit, then she took the salve from her trainee's raised hands. “Go and send Lucy here.”

“Okay,” she breathed and scurried out of the room.

“Thank you,” Healer Sanders mumbled at her while she began tending to Granger’s bruises that were visibly blossoming on her arms and growing

“That’s my job. Yours, by the way, ended two hours ago. You should leave, we will take care of her, and if in doubt, we’ll call for Healer Oliver.”

Healer Sanders smiled faintly. “She’s not Healer Oliver’s patient, and since I’m still here anyway … But I appreciate your concern, Emily.”

She huffed. “My concern won’t stop you from collapsing one day!” But she still proceeded to tend to Granger with the experienced hands of someone doing that job for years already, determined and unfazed by her shuddering, grunting, and curling into herself. 

Severus’ eyes glided back to Granger’s face. It was twisting and grimacing in pain so fierce that not even the generous dose of Draught of Peace she’d just got could keep her fully asleep. She groaned, arched her back from a particularly vile spasm, heaved again. 

“We need to turn her around,” Mediwitch Goldfinch said, “I have to tend to some more bruises on her other side.”

“All right. One … two …”

Severus winced when they moved her as Granger yelped in pain.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The next moment, another mediwitch bustled into the room, gently pushing Healer Sanders aside to assist her colleague instead.

“Go home!” Mediwitch Goldfinch said, casting him a glance, “We’ll manage!”

He sighed, looking even more defeated than the other day after Severus’ exam. “Okay … But keep an eye on -”

“We will!” she exclaimed, “Off with you!”

He grimaced, still hesitating, and swiftly met Severus’ eyes. “Are you all right, Mr Snape?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding suspiciously hoarse. He cleared his throat. 

But since he didn’t give Healer Sanders a concrete reason to stay, he eventually surrendered and turned to leave, almost bumping into Mediwitch Gerble, who had just arrived to train with Severus. 

“Sorry,” they both said in unison, getting out of their way quickly.

Mediwitch Gerble’s eyebrows arched when she took in the ruckus that was going on on Granger’s side of the room. “Looks like we’d better go somewhere else today,” she mumbled to Severus.

He harrumphed, torn between wanting to get out of here and not wanting to leave Granger alone. “Yes, we’d better do,” he still agreed. It wasn’t his job to care for Granger, and he wouldn’t have been able to do so anyway. Sitting here and watching her agony would do nothing for anybody. 

So he put on the trousers Mediwitch Gerble gave him, slipped on his shoes, and took his wheeled walker to follow her into the hall. He winced when closing the door suddenly cut him off from everything that was happening on the other side, and glanced back. 

“She is well-cared for,” Mediwitch Gerble said, briefly touching his arm. 

“I know.” Leaving still felt wrong.

Chapter Text

Mediwitch Gerble let him walk the hallway up and down twice before she pointed at a tiny table and two chairs standing left and right of it. Severus frowned but sat down, if only reluctantly. He’d rather return to his room, both because he wanted to see how Granger was faring and because he didn’t want to be seen in the open more than necessary. But she seemed as if she wanted to talk with him, and he had to admit that they’d better do this here. 

“You’re doing well today,” Mediwitch Gerble eventually said, “How is your pain level?”

Severus tried to hide his annoyance with her asking him that; she’d begun a couple of days ago when it became apparent that a few laps around the room didn’t result in him being visibly exhausted anymore. “Four,” he lied.

“So six,” she concluded and noted it down on his chart.

He rolled his eyes, mostly because she knew him too well already. His pain level was a six, maybe even a seven. His neck was pulsing in the rapid rhythm of his heart, radiating burning pain all through his body, and if he didn’t lie down soon and relax his strained muscles, he knew he would be in for a wild night. “Is this all you wanted to talk about?” he asked impatiently.

“No,” she said, putting his chart down and leaning back in her chair, extending her legs as if they’d just met for a little chat. “Considering the progress you’ve made in the last week, we should begin to prepare you for your discharge.”

Should we now? He straightened in his chair, hit by a fresh wave of energy. “Meaning?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “For my part, it means we will add some weightlifting to your exercise. I’ll take you to the gym tomorrow. Apart from that, you will train some executive functions. Getting up from the ground unassisted, keeping your balance while walking unassisted, sitting down and standing up without support, in short: movement patterns you need to function on your own at home.”

“Exciting,” he deadpanned, arching an eyebrow at her while he reached for a bit of Occlumency to block out the pain. That’s better.

“It also means that you will have to learn to manage your body temperature.”

“I don’t care about my body temperature,” he sneered. Running a fever to some extent in the evenings had long become normal for him, he didn’t think about it anymore, was only annoyed if it became bad enough for him to break into shivers because that usually meant he would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. 

“I assumed as much. Your curves over the last days tell a thing or two about that.” She leaned forward. “But keep in mind, Mr Snape, every time you’re running a fever – and so far that has been every evening, without exception – the venom in your system got active enough to trigger your immune system. Meaning it got active enough to cause further harm.” With a twitch of her eyebrows, she made it clear she knew what he’d been examined for the other day. He felt his face harden while she leaned back again. “You can train as much as you want, if you let the venom wreak havoc in your body on a daily basis, that won’t get you anywhere.”

“Well, as it seems, it will get me discharged soon.” And that was all he needed. 

She sighed. “I’m not as stupid as to think that what I say would make you change your mind,” Mediwitch Gerble began.

“And yet you will say it …”

“But …”

And here it comes …

“If you ask me, you’d better leave the door open. Trying to get a better grip on your temperature won’t delay your discharge, on the contrary. It is our top priority to keep it as low as possible anyway. Which – as I may add – is a hard thing to do if you keep sabotaging us. So maybe you follow Miss Granger’s example and begin documenting your temperature and activities that might cause it to rise because, on the off chance that one day you find yourself doubting the path you’re currently following, you might be happy that you did.”

He held her intense gaze, adamant not to let her win this.

And she didn’t. With a nod, she stood back up. “Well, let’s get you back to bed now so I can give you a potion to make a two out of your six.”

Later that day, when Granger’s attack had finally waned and the mediwitches had left her to sleep, Severus sat at the small table reading. He felt uncomfortably full after lunch, although not as nauseous as the other day. Still, sitting here was more agreeable than sitting in bed.

He’d brought a book to read, but soon found that he wasn’t even grasping what he was reading. Sighing, he folded it shut and peered over at Granger. She looked as if she was closer to death than life at the moment. Pale, gaunt, lifeless in the worst kind of way. Her normally bushy and unruly hair was flat and dull, her lips dry and chapped, her breathing so slow and shallow that he was glad she wore the necklace that would ensure her breathing should it become necessary. 

Was that how it had been for her to share the room with him when he’d still been unconscious? 

He frowned, his eyes drifting to his chart hanging on the foot of his bed. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he got up and walked the few steps to get it, without any help. He couldn’t use a wheeled walker in Spinner’s End, too narrow, too crammed. But maybe he should ask for some kind of cane because he stumbled and had to hastily grip his bed to stay on his feet. Panting, he stabilised himself, breathing through the spike of pain besting the potion’s effect (and waiting until his ruddy bladder had done its thing, it didn’t matter, just don’t think about it). 

When he was back at the table, he exhaled slowly and opened his chart. This, he knew, wasn’t the one Healer Sanders kept his minutes in, it was just the documentary of his vitals. But that was what he was interested in now anyway.

He never asked about his vitals when the medimages checked them mornings and evenings. He didn’t care. He obviously was well enough to still be alive. That in and of itself was irksome enough, he didn’t desire any more details. 

But if Mediwitch Gerble was right – and he didn’t think she was one to manipulate him with a lie – he probably should begin to cooperate with the personnel and his body. If that got him out of here only one day earlier, it would be worth the effort. 

So he opened his chart and began studying his curves. He grimaced when he found his temperature curve. Mediwitch Gerble had been honest about that one, so far, he’d been running a fever every single night. Sometimes as benign as 38°C, but most of the time he went beyond 39°C, sometimes, when he’d had it particularly bad, even beyond 40°C. He remembered those nights vividly, though, a bloody rollercoaster ride of shivers and sweating attacks that had always knocked him out for a whole more day to come. 

And he knew exactly why that had been, for every single miserable night. 

…

Fuck it.

Grabbing the notepad and pen he’d got the other day, he began scribbling down the dates and his evening temperature before adding what he remembered about those days. Which – apart from the miserable ones – wasn’t much. Days in here tended to blur, all of them carbon copies of each other. How was he supposed to remember what minuscule thing he might have done to deserve a temperature that was half a degree higher than the other day?

And how was he supposed to know which activity was causing it anyway? How was he supposed to measure the amount of energy an activity demanded?

Groaning, he ripped the uppermost page from the notepad and crumbled it up. This wouldn't bring him anywhere, not on such a tiny pad. He needed a proper notebook with enough space to write down his assumptions and guesses. And he needed some kind of unit to measure his strength and how much his daily tasks cost him.

But how was he supposed to get a proper notebook? 

Once again, he glanced over at Granger. She wouldn’t leave her bed, let alone the hospital, within the next two or three days, that much was for certain. But probably he could ask a mediwitch?

He grimaced.

If he asked one of them, the whole station would know within an hour, and he refused to give them that kind of satisfaction. 

Clicking his tongue, Severus stared at his chart, annoyed by his sudden desire to analyse it in greater detail, draw conclusions, and understand a bit more of what the venom was doing to him. Because at the end of ruling out every other option, one name remained.

Potter.

If he answered the boy’s letter and asked him to get him a notebook, Potter would probably bend over backwards to do it.

It was either Potter or Minerva. But he refused to give Minerva that satisfaction either!

So he settled for the lesser – albeit more annoying – of two evils. 

Muttering curses under his breath, Severus stood up to get the bloody letter and formulate a somewhat satisfying answer to neatly wrap around his request.

Until Granger was back in her right mind to understand what was happening around her, Severus had long since written that answer and instructed an over-anxious mediwizard of eighteen years at best to send it off to Potter and not tell anybody about it. The boy probably would suffer nightmares from being sworn to secrecy about a bloody letter, but honestly, Severus didn’t care. Having to phrase some earnest-sounding sentences to beguile Potter into helping him out had been high enough of a price to pay. 

I assure you, I don’t require any apologies – or thanks, for that matter – as it has been my decision to do what I luckily succeeded in doing.

Ugh! 

Maybe he should have bitten the bullet and asked Minerva after all.

Well, what was done was done. Since Mediwitch Gerble had introduced him to the torture chamber called gym today, he would hopefully soon be able to get the things he needed all on his own. 

But before that, he would have to suffer some sore muscles, even without a single lie about his exhaustion and pain levels.

So he took it easy that afternoon and passed on sitting at the table, staying in bed instead, immersing himself in some of the healer literature Mediwitch Persimmons had given him. He’d seen that there was a chapter about the immune system and body temperature that he was reading with great interest now. 

Well, he did until there was a hard knock on their door the second before Healer Sanders entered. “Good evening,” he said, decidedly better looking than the last time he’d stopped by them. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Granger mumbled, betraying herself by how groggy she still sounded.

“Been better,” Severus said and returned to his book because, for once, Healer Sanders wasn’t here because of him.

And indeed, the man took a chair and placed it next to Granger’s bed before he motioned to close the curtain. 

“Please, leave it open,” she stopped him, “I don’t trust my brain today.”

Healer Sanders froze, fixing his eyes on Severus. “Are you okay with that?”

“Sure.” He put a scrap of paper between the pages and closed the book.

“Very well.” Healer Sanders sat down with a sigh, crossing one leg above the other. “Healer Inkwood answered.” With a glance at Severus, he added, “He’s the expert we contacted about the curses.”

“I see.”

“What did he say?” Granger asked in what sounded to Severus like an indifferent tone of voice. 

Healer Sanders slowly shook his head. “He said there’s no way to cancel those curses. They are so deeply intertwined with your own magic and your body that cancelling them would bear a high risk of you dying.” 

“Hm,” she mumbled, “So, what now?”

The healer took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We will try to manage your attacks with a mix of potions. So far, we’ve been doing the bare minimum to minimise the interactions of different sources of magic, so there are some options we can try. Healer Inkwood sent recipes for two experimental potions his team is working with as well. The effects look promising, we will try them and see how the curses react to them.”

“What kind of potions?” Severus asked, both because he was interested and because someone should ask that question, and Granger didn’t seem as if she was up to that task already.

Healer Sanders looked at him. “The one is meant to lower the pain perception in general. It might help Miss Granger to get through the attacks more easily.”

“Does she have to take it permanently?”

“We will see.”

This time, Severus hummed, not entirely satisfied with that answer. Having Granger take a potion that lowered her pain perception while she simultaneously had to be careful about every minor injury she sustained to take measures that kept her from bleeding to death was a combination that was anything but optimal. 

But the cries of her last attack were still ringing in his ears. She needed something to reduce the pain else he wouldn’t be the only one of them planning to end their life as soon as possible. 

“And the second one?” Granger asked after some seconds of silence.

“The second one is a new kind of calming draught that won’t make you sleepy or dazed, so you can take it regularly to lower the risk of attacks being triggered by panic attacks or stress.”

“Is it addictive?” Severus intercepted.

“As far as we know, it’s not. But even if it was, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it. There are things worse than being addicted to a potion that helps you to survive.” The healer’s eyes lay on Severus longer than needed, and it felt like that notion was the same that drove him to give Severus the EE. 

Severus swallowed uncomfortably. 

“So,” Healer Sanders refocused on Granger, “that’s what we will do now. Testing out those potions and combining them with some other ones you will need. Like the seizure preventive we have to dose you up on as of today. We don’t want you to have another seizure.”

“No, that … was no fun,” she mumbled.

Healer Sanders nodded, a hint of regret tinting his features. “We have to start slowly with that one since it comes with some unpleasant side effects like vivid dreams or memory lapses, bouts of rage, fatigue, or insomnia. I guess that’s the reason why you feel like you can’t trust your brain today.”

She grimaced. “Will the side effects persist, or will I get used to the potion eventually?”

“You will get used to it, but unfortunately, only very few taking that potion end up with no side effects at all.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, better that than seizures, I guess …”

“We’ll try to find the sweet spot,” Healer Sanders promised in a soft voice, “provide you with as many potions as you need but not more than strictly necessary to minimise the number of attacks and the severity of them, okay?”

“Okay,” she echoed, choking slightly on that word.

He smiled miserably and patted Granger’s duvet-covered leg before he got up, just as he had Severus’ the other day. Severus found his gaze glued to that spot, thrown back into the sensation for a second. “Try to get some sleep, Miss Granger,” Healer Sanders said, “Yesterday’s attack has been tough.” And after saying goodbye to both of them, he was gone.

Granger exhaled deeply, letting her head fall back onto her pillow. 

“I’m sorry,” Severus said after about a minute of silence.

She turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry that the healer from the States couldn’t help you either.”

“Ah, that. Didn’t expect him to, honestly. I’m just glad I can finally experiment with some potions.” She raised a trembling hand to rub her eyes. “I’m so sick and tired of this,” she whispered, sniffling before she dug for a tissue.

Severus turned to pull one from the box on his bedstand. “Here,” he said and held it out to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her chin trembling. When she took it, her fingers brushed his, and following an impulse, Severus grasped her hand and squeezed it. Her eyes shot up to him, teary and exhausted and a tiny bit red from everything she’d gone through during the last days. 

Then he let go of her and returned to his book as if nothing had happened, all the while ignoring the fast thumping of his heart and the urge to rub his fingers against each other to hold on to the feeling of her warmth.

Chapter Text

Pitch-dark night greeted him when Severus gasped awake from sleep, instantly holding his breath to keep quiet and not wake Granger while he forced the sticky cobwebs of a nightmare back with some Occlumency. 

“Are you all right?”

He winced hearing her voice. “Yes,” he mumbled with a second delay, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Oh, you didn’t. I haven’t slept a single minute so far.”

He frowned, brushing some sweat from his forehead (was he running a fever yet again?) and turning to look at her even though he could see nothing apart from the strip of light seeping in from under the door that didn’t reach their beds. “You could ask for a potion.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but … I actually like this for tonight. Feels like reclaiming some time I spend being asleep after an attack, you know? And it’s … so quiet … I missed that. Being able to hear my own thoughts and just … be.”

“I know what you mean.” The personnel were doing their best to give them as much peace and quiet as possible, but this was a hospital. There was always someone passing by their door, shouting something across the hall, or checking in on them. And since they were sharing a room, the only undisturbed time they got was if one of them wasn’t there. 

Or asleep, as it seemed.

“Is that why you’ve so often been doing night patrols?” Granger asked into his thoughts.

Severus hummed, knitting his brows. He was overcome by the memory of the castle late at night and finally asleep, thought he could smell the dust and hear the soft snoring of the painting’s inhabitants while he passed them by silently. 

He pushed that away as well. 

“I liked keeping watch at night the most as well,” she mumbled softly, “I mean, it was kind of scary sometimes, being in the forest at night … But I felt safe with the wards, and … it was quiet at last.” 

He needed a second to understand what she was talking about, his fever, without a doubt. Because he’d spent so many nights praying that Potter and his friends wouldn’t die from a bear attack or poisonous mushrooms or their own stupidity, he’d lost count. What an insane idea to lay all hope on some bloody teenagers … 

“I watched bats flying by, moths … And one night,” Granger proceeded in a soft, dreamy voice, “a fox was sneaking around the wards. I’m sure he smelled us. I think I got the spell slightly wrong, it was a hectic arrival. But I’m sure he couldn’t see me. Yet he looked directly at me. Have you … ever been face to face with a fox?”

“No,” he mumbled, the heaviness of sleep slowly seeping back into his eyelids, but he tried to fight it. 

“They are beautiful. Elegant and gentle. Careful. Wary. It might even have been a black fox, but I’m not sure about that, could have been the darkness.” 

“Are you sure you haven’t been dreamin’?” Severus asked.

“Not entirely,” he heard Granger answer, “but who cares, right?”

He hummed again, and during the brief moment of silence that followed, he lost the fight against his tiredness.

The gym was deserted when Mediwitch Gerble brought him there the next day, and Severus was grateful for that. The day before, there had been three other patients training on their own, all of them older than him, all of them fitter than him, and surely all of them with less sore muscles today than him. It was devastating.

“How’s your pain level?” the mediwitch asked while he sat down at the bench press, pulling up his trouser legs until they didn’t tighten over his knees so much anymore. 

“Two,” he answered truthfully – and was surprised that she seemed to believe him. Have I become such a lousy liar as of late?

“Well, we had ten reps yesterday, I think we’ll stick to that.”

He harrumphed. “Do I get to train with any actual weights today or …”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

Rolling his eyes, Severus lay back, eyeing the naked barbell resting above his head. He’d heaved boxes of full ingredient jars onto shelves only weeks ago, it was hard to believe that this was a challenge now. 

But it was. So much so that Mediwitch Gerble actually came to stand behind him, ready to grab the barbell if necessary. 

His muscles griped when he pushed it up the first time, and it didn’t get better while he struggled through his ten reps. At the last one, his arms almost gave in, his heart fluttering against his ribs like a caged butterfly. He stayed lying, panting slightly, trying to fight off his embarrassment about breaking into a sweat from something like this. 

“How’s your pain level?” Mediwitch Gerble asked again.

“Four,” he mumbled and blinked just in time to see her grimace slightly. “You won’t get me through this without amplifying my pain.”

“A girl can dream,” she mumbled and busied herself with his chart until Severus was ready to sit back up. 

“What next?”

It was in the middle of exercise number three, done with a torture device called leg press, that he noticed something was off. And by the time he was done, he had connected the dots and groaned. “We have to call it quits,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes as if that would help.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting a migraine.” The fucking colourful spiky patterns were blossoming before his eyes, already obscuring a good part of his vision. It was a matter of an hour at best, likely less, until the pain would kick in. And since he’d taken a full dose of Strengthening Solution this morning, the migraine potion would only have a mediocre effect either. 

Great.

“Well, then,” Mediwitch Gerble said, turning his wheeled walker into a wheelchair before she helped him transfer. 

Severus kept his eyes closed when she brought him back, only briefly stopping by the staff room to fetch a migraine potion nonetheless; some relief was better than no relief.

“What else can I do to help you?” she asked when he was back in bed and had downed the potion. 

“Nothing. I’ll manage,” he mumbled, squinting his eyes against the sunlight flooding the room, and when she’d left, Severus grabbed his wand to close the curtain.

“Hope you’ll feel better soon,” Granger said sympathetically.

“Hope dies last or whatever …” The words left his mouth so slurred that he wasn’t sure if she’d understood him. Marvellous, impaired speech. What's next? Luckily, he succeeded in casting the spells he needed to darken the compartment the closed curtain created and shut out all kinds of sounds. He whimpered faintly when the pulsing pain began rattling the left side of his head, feeling as if a vicious gremlin was eating away at his brain again. 

Maybe he would at least be spared the nausea … 

He spent his day in a state of slipping in and out of fitful sleep, nightmare-muddled and pain-ridden. Every hour or so, a mediwitch came looking for him, encouraging him to drink a few sips of water and offering him another migraine potion in the evening as well. But taking it would have tipped his queasiness over to acute nausea, and he would rather suffer some more hours of pain than have to be sick again. 

All in all, it was bearable anyway. It was just the fact that it’d been quite a while since he’d last suffered through a whole bout of migraine that was getting to him, he wasn’t used to that kind of pain anymore. Ever since he’d been old enough to brew potions, he’d provided himself with everything he needed as soon as he felt a migraine kick in, and so far, he’d never had to deal with the fact that Strengthening Solutions lowered the effect of the migraine potion.

He would survive this, unfortunately.

But that didn’t stop him from gratefully taking the Dreamless-Sleep they offered him later that night.

When he blinked awake, he wondered what time it was. Due to his spell, he was still sheathed in darkness, and since a dull throbbing pain was lingering, he was hesitant to cancel it abruptly. So he lowered the effect a bit, finding that it was indeed no longer dark outside. Clicking his tongue, Severus sat up and opened the curtains a crack, just wide enough for him to peek at the clock on the wall. 

10 o’clock in the morning, judging by the light.

What the hell?

Massaging the bridge of his nose, he fully opened the curtains with a swish of his wand, giving himself some minutes to get used to the light. And since Granger gave no comment, he knew she was out and about even before he glanced at her empty bed.  

A fact he wasn’t mad about at all. Her chatting away or just scrutinising him while he tried to get his bearings would have been too much for him right now.

When he felt halfway clear and able to face the day, Severus stood up and snatched his wheeled walker to visit the bathroom. It was the first time since Mediwitch Gerble had helped him into the shower the other day, and probably not a wise thing to do after a night like that, but he craved some cool water on his face and the fresh taste of brushed teeth. And since they surely wouldn’t let him do any kind of physical today, he could use that little trip to see how his body would react to it in the course of the day. 

After all, he did need some kind of measurement to gauge how far he could go without triggering too high a fever. And, that much he could say for sure as he climbed back into his bed, compared to how wrecked he used to be after a trip to the loo, he felt surprisingly well now. A tiny smirk curved his mouth; he was making progress.

It was only when he looked over to snatch the book he was currently reading that he noticed the letter. Potter’s hand elicited a tiny sneer from Severus, but when he took it, he felt at once that there was more in the envelope than a piece of paper. Pursing his lips, he ripped it open, and onto his duvet fell a shrunken notebook. “Perfect,” he muttered, only swiftly skimming Potter’s letter (Thank you so much for your answer yadda yadda) before he cancelled the charm and found a proper A4 notebook.

Leaning over, he snatched his chart from the footboard of his bed and summoned the pen still lying on the table before he set to work, first of all studying his latest vitals. How had his body fared with a migraine?

He scoffed when he saw that he’d run a fever again. But the good thing was, due to his poor condition, they’d checked on him every other hour, even after he’d taken the Dreamless-Sleep, giving him a lot of data to work with. Must have been a fitful night for Granger then.

Pushing that thought aside, he frowned. His temperature had peaked around ten in the evening at 39,4°C. An hour ago, he’d still been at 38,6°C, though. He felt his forehead. 

Well … Seemed as if a migraine wasn’t exactly helping keep his temperature down. 

Neither was over-exertion (his reason number one for running high fevers so far), panic attacks, fitful nights with little rest, worrying about Granger, or helping her manage an attack. Copying the values they’d collected over the last almost two months, he tried to remember what he’d done on the days with especially high or especially low temperatures. If only the days in here were slightly more unique …

He flinched when someone silently opened the door – only to stop every attempt at quietness when they saw him sitting up in bed. “Good morning, Mr Snape,” Mediwitch Persimmons said, smiling at him brightly. 

“Morning,” he replied, his voice still a bit hoarse from not being used today.

“How are you feeling?” she asked and went to open a window. The tweeting of birds and the rustling of leaves billowed in with a gust of warm, humid wind. 

“Splendid compared to yesterday.”

She hummed, snatching his pillow from behind his back to plump it up. “I heard you had a subpar day yesterday.”

He harrumphed. 

“Do you feel like taking a bite?”

He grimaced. “I’d better,” he mumbled, frowning. “Maybe a bit of porridge?”

“Coming up!” she smiled, but resorted to checking his vitals first. “Do you mind giving me your chart?”

He shoved it over his duvet, noticing how she chanced a glance at his notes while she copied his vitals down. He had to fight his impulse to put his arms over the page; if there was one person amongst the personnel he could trust to keep their mouth shut about this, it probably was her. 

And she seemed to understand his silent half-approval, for when she was done with his vitals, she pointed at the 28th of May. “That was the night of Miss Granger’s emergency, you know … when she almost died of blood loss.” 

“Mh,” he said and jotted down a quick note. He’d assumed that the fever spike had been due to his sleepless night wondering if she was still alive, but he hadn’t been sure; there had been more than one spike at the end of May. 

“And here -” She pointed at the 24th of May. “- you spent almost the whole day sleeping. I remember that because it’s my husband’s birthday, and I checked on you every other hour before I went to his party.”

“Lousy way to spend your husband’s birthday,” he commented but noted that down as well, even though it was an unsurprising fact; that low a fever could only be explained by him doing fuck all the whole day. 

“Oh, he had to work as well, it’s fine. I’ll go and get your porridge now, and if you like, I could bring your record and help you complete your notes.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Actually, it’s rather quiet today, at least for the moment. And since I can’t give you your record to check it on your own …”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t I have the right to have access to my record?”

She smiled. “Generally, yes. But I’d need to check back with Healer Sander first, it’s not on me to decide those things.”

He grimaced. “That won’t be necessary. In fact, I’d be grateful if you could … keep this secret for now.” He nodded at the notebook.

“I will. Be right back.”

Until Granger returned, Mediwitch Persimmons had helped Severus fill the gaps in his recollection and left him to think the matter through on his own. She was too clever a witch to offer him any kind of conclusion regarding his vitals, probably knew him too well after being his student for seven years. 

And having asked her to keep his musings secret, he was surprised to find that he couldn’t be bothered to hide the notebook from Granger. “Hi,” she said, seeming somewhat dejected, her cheeks flushed and her hair ruffled from – as he assumed – today’s humid weather. 

“Hello,” he replied in a dark voice, frowning when she slumped onto her bed and pushed her trainers off her feet. 

“You look better.”

“I am.”

“Glad to hear. What are you doing?” she asked, nodding at the notebook before he could make up his mind whether to question her about her mood or not. 

He glanced down at it despite himself. “Trying to figure out the new rules I have to live by, as it seems,” he sneered.

Her gaze twitched up to his eyes. “You want to -” She broke off abruptly.

But he could imagine what she’d been about to say. Live. He didn’t need to glance into her mind to know that. “Get out of here as soon as possible, yes,” he, therefore, replied snidely. Nobody is talking about living living.

“Ah,” she mumbled, scooting back on her bed. “Well, what do you have so far?”

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I can learn a thing or two for myself.”

He hated that that made sense. Sighing deeply, he pursed his lips. Did he really want to share that with Granger of all people?

On the other hand … There was nobody else he could share it with, and maybe she would indeed be able to make something out of this. He himself wouldn’t use it for long, after all. So he said, “I assessed most of my daily tasks for the amount of energy they will roughly cost me. As a base, I took the way to the bathroom and back, that’s one, what I called, energy unit, and -”

“Energy unit?” she cut in. 

He scowled at her. “Yes. What about it?”

“That sounds rather clunky, don’t you think? Energy unit …”

He narrowed his eyes. “And what, pray tell, do you think I should call it? Fucks, so I can wake up in the morning and say I have zero fucks to give today?”

Her face fell. “Funny,” she deadpanned. “But really, everything is better than energy unit! Call it …” She looked around for something that caught her eye, finally spotting the dishes they still hadn’t fetched. “Spoons for all I care!”

“Spoons,” he repeated dully.

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “What do I even care?” under her breath before she took her wand to close the curtains with a rough hiss. 

Arching his eyebrows, he stared at the still slightly swaying fabric. What the hell was that all about?

Chapter Text

Granger kept being oddly strident that day, snapping both at him and the personnel, and although he had been present when she and Healer Sanders had talked about it, Severus needed surprisingly long to realise that it probably was a side-effect of her epilepsy potion. But he did realise eventually, and the moment he did, he stopped taking her frustration personally. 

Instead, he got up and took his theory to the next level, fetching his wheeled walker and visiting the bathroom. He only washed his hands, though, before returning to his bed and trying to estimate how much energy … spoons … (He scowled at Granger, who was now passive-aggressively ignoring him and reading a book.) Well, he was trying to estimate how much that trip had drained him. 

And how many more times he would be able to do it before he would have to rest.

No way around trying … 

So he walked the way again, this time to quickly brush his teeth.

And again, giving his lank hair a brush as well.

Granger eyed him over her book, but side-effects or not, she apparently still respected him too much to ask him whether he was suffering a sudden bout of diarrhoea. 

She better does.

Reaching his bed after the third trip, Severus’ forehead was covered with sweat, and he was panting slightly, so he decided to leave it at that. But if it had been necessary, he probably would have managed another trip or two.

That meant five ener-

He rolled his eyes. 

Okay, fine! Let it be bloody spoons! 

He didn’t need to say it out loud after all.

So, five spoons after spending most of his day in bed, albeit working. Tilting his head, he thought back about how he’d felt in the morning, apart from still somewhat migraine-ridden. But it was hard to estimate after a night like that. He’d probably chosen a not-quite-optimal day to test his theory. 

Well, it might still be enough to conclude a thing or two about his evening temperature. 

Huh. 

He didn’t expect to ever find himself curious about his body temperature. The hospital was doing strange things with him … 

The following day (after having a pleasantly low body temperature in the evening), Severus began taking care of his personal hygiene again. No more cleansing spells, from now on, he would begin his day with a shower.

The mediwizard on duty was surprisingly blasé about Severus’s demand. “Do you need help?” the man who was about Severus’ age and didn’t wear a name tag, asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, if you encounter any problems, there’s an emergency spot in the shower as well.”

“I know.”

He nodded and turned to Granger, who was still asleep. After she seemed to have been lying wide awake for hours last night, she’d surrendered at about half past three in the morning and sneaked out of their room to get herself a potion. Severus had woken up because of the light from the corridor suddenly brightening their room. 

But her being asleep for roughly another hour or two more gave him the chance to unobservedly venture into the bathroom and treat himself to the first autonomous shower he’d had in almost two months. It was the longest he’d had in about twenty years as well. Long enough, anyway, to have a little wank under the warm spray.

This was supposed to be a treat after all.

Though it almost became a disaster. His hand slipped from the tiles when he came, a strangled moan ghosting over his lips, and since his vision was blurred from water, he only missed the emergency spot by a hair. 

He huffed, giving himself another minute or two on the stool to regain full control over his muscles before he turned off the water and left the shower. 

Although he was sure that this activity – the whole thing, showering and all, not only wanking – would have cost him at least two spoons, he felt better afterwards than he had ever since he’d first blinked back to consciousness after that ruddy snake -

Ah, better not go there. He wouldn’t turn this treat into a nightmare, so help him his daily dose of EE.

Granger was still asleep when he left the bathroom. And instead of putting his nightgown back on, Severus went straight to his wardrobe and picked some proper clothes for the day. He longed to feel like a human being again, and the soft trousers and black t-shirt almost did the trick. 

He even put on socks! What a delicious sensation …

His hair was still damp when Mediwitch Gerble came for his physical. Seeing him, she whistled through her teeth. “Look at you,” she quipped, “What are you up to, all clothed and dolled up?”

He scowled at her. “Well, if you’re asking, I’m up to training my stamina today.”

She nodded, casting a glance at his chart. “You got a Strengthening Solution, I see?”

“Yes.”

“All right. What do you think about a walk in the park then?”

“Hell yes,” he muttered and slipped into his shoes.

The mediwitch chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to be careful you don’t bunk off, eh?”

To that, he smirked at her and loosened the brakes on his wheeled walker with a click.

As much as his condition was improving, Granger’s seemed to decline, though. She only answered monosyllabically, no matter the question, slumbered away most of the day, and not even her friends visiting her in the late afternoon did anything to improve her mood. In fact, when a mediwitch opened the curtain back up for supper, she was asleep again.

“Is she all right?” he asked, surprised by how concerned he sounded.

The young woman pursed her lips. “I guess so. Being dosed up on the epilepsy potion is hard, she will feel better when she reaches her maintenance dose.”

“Hm.”

But before feeling better was feeling worse as it seemed, for the next day, when Severus sat at the table to muse some more over his curves and conclusions, Granger got up and began pacing the room. 

She’d been fidgety all day already, sighing regularly, flexing her shoulders, trying to read and putting the book away again before even finding the page she’d stopped. Now, being restless in bed didn’t seem to be enough anymore.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when she started for her third lap, fully prepared to get a snappy answer.

But she was beyond being snappy. “I don’t know, I … feel as if I’m getting an attack, but … not really?” She exhaled through pointed lips, shaking out her arms.

“What do you mean?”

Groaning, she leaned against the footboard of his bed, fixing him with a haunted look in her eyes. “I feel as if the curses are fighting the effect of my meds. I feel as if … there's a war raging inside of me. Mhh, gods …” She began pacing again, briefly touching the windowsill and turning around to pace back immediately. 

“Maybe you should call someone.”

“And what are they supposed to – ah!” Her legs gave way underneath her when she was just passing Severus by, and following his instincts, he reached out for her.

Not that he would have been able to catch her, but at least he could somewhat break her fall and guide her to the floor. Her body felt alarmingly bony and light-weighed in his hands, yet warm, overheated almost. “Bring you back to bed, that they could do,” he muttered as she curled up, trembling, acutely reminding him of several instances of students writhing at the Carrows’ feet. He gulped, occluding hard to silence the echoes of their screams.

And yes, he probably should have called someone himself at that point, but … Well, for one thing, it felt wrong to just step over her and leave her suffering on the floor. Felt as if that would make him no better than the Carrows, even though it hadn’t been him inflicting this on Granger. But he’d been doomed to silently watch back then, he wouldn’t repeat that now. 

And for another thing … He itched to see how his magic was faring.

I will regret this.

Yet he snatched his wand, muttered, “Wingardium leviosa!” pointing it at her, and carefully got up to float her over to her bed. 

Granger yelped in surprise when she rose in the air.

“Keep still!” he snarled, his teeth clamped in concentration, and she curled up to an even tighter, twitching ball. 

When he gently dropped her on her bed, he was panting again, his heart beating as if he’d jogged up and down the hall. His left hand digging into her mattress, he used his right to tap her emergency spot before his eyes returned to her face. It was twisted in pain once again, a sight that was becoming harder and harder to bear. “Hang on,” he mumbled as if there was anything they could do to make this easier for Granger. As if she weren’t as doomed to endure this as he had been. 

Yet their eyes met, and through the agony mirroring in them, there was something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

He quickly grasped her hand, then the door burst open and he retreated to his own bed, informing the mediwitch, “She needs to be checked for bruises,” before falling silent when she began bustling around Granger.

He wished he could have felt more satisfaction about his successful attempt at a more demanding piece of magic. But all he felt was hollow.

And he indeed came to regret his stunt soon.

His fever ran higher that evening, and the next morning, he felt that he would have to deal with considerably less energy than in the last days. Sullenly, he added ‘too much magic’ to his list of activities draining him, and greeted Mediwitch Gerble with pursed lips. “No physical today,” he grouched.

“How come?” she asked, casting still-knocked-out Miss Granger a quick but regretful gaze before she consulted Severus’ chart.

“Not enough spoons,” he muttered, actively avoiding looking at his former student. He wouldn’t say yesterday’s attack had been worse than what she’d been through before, but it had been … unnerving. Less violently pain-wise as far as he could tell, instead, it went on for longer. And while she normally tried to keep as still as possible, she’d been thrashing on her bed this time. Whatever her mix of potions had been so far, it hadn’t made things better aside from granting her a one-day-longer break.

“Spoons?” Mediwitch Gerble snapped him from his reverie.

He made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind. Fact is, if I do my physical now, I will regret it tonight.” And probably tomorrow.

“Mh,” she mumbled, eyeing him sceptically and hanging his chart back at the end of his bed. “And will you regret a massage as well?”

“Certainly,” he quipped, “but for wholly different reasons.” He still didn’t object. As painful as her massages were, he couldn’t deny the positive effect they had on his stiff muscles. 

Later that day, he was visited by Mediwitch Persimmons. “Healer Sanders wants to speak to you, and since he heard that your condition is improving, he wondered if you would be interested in visiting him for a change.”

Severus pursed his lips, contemplating. His muscles were a bit sore from the massage, and he’d been right in refusing to do his physical earlier. But since then, he’d slept about an hour and felt a bit better than this morning. “How far is it?”

She smiled. “Down the hall, shortly after the staff room.”

He knew the staff room, Mediwitch Gerble had let him walk up to it the other day. “Guess I’ll manage then.” He got up and took his wheeled walker, frowning as he loosened the brakes. “Do you think I could get a cane as well?”

“Sure!” the mediwitch said and turned round to him. She’d quickly checked Granger’s vitals, which seemed to be okay. “Do you want one now?”

“No. But I’d like it to move around the room.”

“No problem. I’ll get you one while you talk with Healer Sanders.” 

She walked beside him down the hall, entertaining him with some small talk, but always had an eye on him, paying attention so that he didn’t slip or stumble. “Just knock at the staff room door if you want me to accompany you back later,” she said kindly when they’d reached Healer Sanders’ office and turned around to leave. 

“Come in!” the healer called when Severus knocked and, after manoeuvring his wheeled walker inside and slumping into the chair standing on his side of the desk, Severus met his eyes. They looked disgustingly excited. “Nice to see you, Mr Snape.”

“Don’t say you missed me,” Severus snarled, arching an eyebrow.

Healer Sanders chuckled. “I would never. But only because seeing you normally means that something’s wrong.”

“So, I’m here because something’s wrong?”

“Just this once, nothing’s wrong, no. On the contrary. I heard you’re doing quite well these last days, your progress is going excellently.”

Severus slightly lifted his chin. “So, do I get a gold star now?”

“No. But your potions at your own disposal.”

For a second, silence fell between them. Then, “Excuse me?”

Healer Sanders grinned and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg above the other. “Slowly but steadily, you’re nearing your discharge, and since your potions management is a bit tricky here and there, we need to know you’re able to do it right. And that you can be trusted with the Euphoria Elixir.”

Interesting. “You’re going to provide me with Euphoria Elixir after I’m discharged?”

The former amusement slowly drained from the other man’s face. “I am.”

Severus huffed. “You never give up hope, do you?”

“I’ll give up hope the moment I have to sign your death certificate, but not a single second earlier.”

Severus swallowed thickly, it was a reflex he could do nothing about. “So you’re really sticking to our agreement? You won’t come and lock me away somewhere until I’ve proven that I won’t harm myself?”

He slowly shook his head. “No. Although I’d be grateful if you would refrain from telling anybody what you’re planning to do. It could cost me my job if I let you leave with concrete suicidal ideation.”

“Why are you doing it then?”

He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? You’ve been here for eight weeks now, your condition is improving, I’ve done everything for you that I am able to do … Keeping you longer, even on another ward, won’t change anything about your plans. If they haven’t changed by now, they never will.”

Correct. 

“At least not in here.”

Ugh.

A tiny smirk crept back onto the healer’s face when he saw Severus roll his eyes. “As I said, I won’t give up hope anytime soon. I only accept that I won’t be the one to stop you from killing yourself.”

Despite himself, Severus winced hearing it phrased so bluntly.

“But if you should find yourself doubting your plan at any point in the future, I’ll always be here to help you as best as I can.”

He harrumphed, uneasiness turning up the hair at the back of his neck.

“So,” Healer Sanders eventually ended the heavy silence, “I’ll have your potions taken to you tomorrow and someone will explain to you how you have to dose your fever potion, oversee you dosing the EE, and show you the diagnostic charm to see whether you can take a Strengthening Solution or not. We will monitor how you’re getting along with it for a couple of days, and if you keep making such good progress, we might be able to discharge you in a week or two – given nothing unexpected happens until then.”

A week or two … Severus’ heart skipped a beat being confronted with a concrete time frame for the first time. He could do another week or two. 

“Thank you,” he found himself croaking when that information had seeped deep enough into his brain. He didn’t even think about reminding Healer Sanders that he was absolutely capable of responsibly dosing himself with everything he needed because he was a Potions Master and had done so for the majority of his life. If that was what got him out of here, he would listen to every single lecture they deemed necessary and be a picture-perfect patient. 

When he returned to their room, Granger was fighting to wake up, blinking and rubbing her face, trying to get her bearings. “Do you want me to call someone?” Severus asked, his hand still holding open the door. He’d refrained from asking Mediwitch Persimmons to accompany him back, longing for a couple of minutes for himself. 

“No,” she mumbled, “just … could you close the curtains?” She gestured to the windows, and the disgustingly bright sunlight seeping in.

“Sure.” He pulled the door closed and his wand from his pocket. A second later, dim orange light filled the room. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He slowly returned to his bed, arching an eyebrow when he spotted the cane that was leaning against it. Blinking, he looked back at Granger. “You should drink some water.”

She hummed non-committally before reaching out for her glass, almost brushing it from her bedstand.

Sighing silently, Severus batted her hand away and helped her to take a few sips. “Do you need anything else?” he asked in a dark voice when she waved for him to stop. “Pain-relief? Cleansing spell? Time-Turner?”

She huffed, her mouth curving into the tiniest smile. “I’d take that one if you happen to have one.”

He clicked his tongue. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Thought so,” she muttered, “All those empty promises …” It was meant as a joke, but the fact that she teared up saying it turned it into some bitter kind of truth hitting harder than it should have. 

“Try to sleep some more,” Severus mumbled and receded to his bed, hoping that she would do exactly that. There was a lot he needed to think about.

Chapter Text

Although sitting in Healer Sanders’ office, Severus had thought that he could do another week or two of being hospitalised, he quickly found that a week or two were shockingly long if they were still to come.

The smugness of having somewhat cracked his body’s new code waned quickly, leaving behind the disappointing realisation that spoons and naps and limits and thinking ahead would be the centre of his life as of now. So far, he’d always had full control over his body, pushing it to its limits – and beyond – regularly, only to come out of it with maybe a miserable night or a migraine. Which he used to deal with by taking potions. 

Now, however, his body was paying him back. Harshly! One push too far, and he was in for not only a miserable night but a miserable next day as well, forced to deal with even fewer spoons than he already had. And no potion could give him more spoons. 

Well, the Strengthening Solution could, but he needed to eat enough to be able to take one because otherwise, that would backfire as well and most likely make four or five weeks out of the two he’d been promised.

Getting control over his potions was only a mediocre source of satisfaction, either. It gave him something else to think about, something else to optimise, and it did spare him a call or two because they gave him all of his on-demand potions as well. Lined up on his bedstand was everything from pain-relief to Dreamless-Sleep, a battalion like he hadn’t seen since last delivering a batch of Pepper-Up to the hospital wing. 

Oh, the vials did tempt him to experiment! To take a Strengthening Solution even though he hadn’t eaten enough the day before, after all; maybe one time would be fine? To leave out a dose of pain-relief when his pain levels weren’t as high as usual; maybe the pain was lessening in general? To take a drop more of Euphoria Elixir when his night had been particularly fitful; maybe nobody would notice?

But when Mediwitch Persimmons had brought him his potions, she’d not only let him explain everything to her so she wouldn’t bore him with a lecture about things he already knew but had also made him promise that he wouldn’t do something stupid with all the potions he had at hand now. “And with something stupid, I first and foremost mean things like skipping your pain medication or underdosing your fever potion. You have to stay ahead of your pain, or else you will need an even higher amount of potions to get it back under control. And too high a fever will drain you and cost you another day or two to recover. As little as possible isn’t what it used to be anymore, all right?”

He’d harrumphed to that, annoyed to see that they’d provided him with the potion he’d got twice already to treat his rebelling stomach as well. As it seemed, there were few parts of his body left that did their job without liquid support anymore. 

Thank god this will be over soon.

But the worst thing about his new normal was that it actually worked if he played by the rules. If he took his potions, if he respected his limits, if he was attentive about what he did, then he actually felt all right. Not as he had before the final battle, let alone the Dark Lord’s return three years ago, but so much better than a few weeks ago that he had bouts of being grateful – right before getting annoyed again. 

How dare his treacherous brain sneak something as vile as gratefulness into this situation?!

And how dare it do so while it kept plaguing him with nightmares?!

Unbelievable …

That was one, but not the only reason why he and Granger had some grim fights during the days following his talk with Healer Sanders. They were both just thoroughly fed up with the situation they were stuck in. That they’d increased her dose of epilepsy potion for the first time wasn’t helping either. 

One morning he was so annoyed realising that he couldn’t take his stupid Strengthening Solution, damning him to reduced training and a whole day of being utterly bored with books, that he snapped at finding the bathroom littered with Granger’s stuff after she was finally done showering. 

“Do you really need to leave the bathroom in utter chaos?” he hissed, tossing her wet towel onto her bed after picking it up from the floor and almost toppling over doing so. “You’re not the only one using it anymore!”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t wait for me to finish! I’ve forgotten my bloody knickers!”

“Tidying up behind yourself costs two seconds and a spell! Don’t tell me you’re too naked down there to cast it!” He nodded at her middle section that was well-hidden by some loose trousers.

“Excuse me that I dared do something not in the perfectly neat order you have imagined, sir!” She turned up her nose at him. “But we’re not at Hogwarts anymore so I’ll do whatever the fuck I want and if you fail to communicate with me you will have to deal with some bloody wet towels on the floor!” She snatched said towel and gave it a shake in his direction.

“Maybe I would communicate with you if you weren’t such a menace lately,” he sneered, curling his fingers around the door to keep his balance.

She scoffed at that. “Regret that you can’t deduct points from Gryffindor anymore to make me shut up?”

Glancing along the length of his nose, he said, “It would take me less than two seconds to make you shut up if I wanted to. You would be well advised to remember that.” Not waiting for her answer, he banged the door closed to finally scrub the sticky remains of too many nightmares off his skin.

Curiously, nothing ever came of those fights. Neither of them expected an apology, and half an hour later, they talked as before, completely ignoring what had transpired. Maybe they just both needed those fights to let off some pent-up steam.

Be that as it may, the days suddenly seemed to have doubled the amount of hours, and Severus ran out of ideas on how to fill them. He tried involving Mediwitch Gerble in some meaningless chats, but he wasn’t her only patient, so she couldn’t spend more time with him than planned. Next, he took a book Mediwitch Persimmons had lent him, one of the medical ones, and fetched his cane to stroll to the staff room. But it wasn’t Mediwitch Persimmons answering his knock but some mediwizard he didn't know, causing him to only give back the book and return to his room. The following day, he did the same with another book and still didn’t meet her. So he gave up on that and tried distracting himself with some theoretical potions experiments, but there was only so much you could deduce from thinking things through. 

Never assumed feeling better would be that boring … 

So boring, in fact, that the next day without any planned training (because Mediwitch Gerble needed a day off every now and then as well, apparently), he looked at Granger and asked, “Want to visit the park?”

She returned his gaze moodily, and he couldn’t even blame her; she’d spent the last day mostly knocked out again after an attack, and so far, only her bad mood had recovered sufficiently. “Do I look like I want to see the sun?”

“No. But I’ve been told that’s when you need to see it most.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, mumbling, “I hate you,” before folding her duvet aside and struggling out of bed.

This time, it was Severus pushing her around the park in a wheelchair and needing a break at the same bench they’d stopped a few weeks ago. “Will you faint?” she piped, smiling smugly.

“No. But I might strangle you if you don’t shut up.” He leaned back, trying to will his heart to beat slower and stop the faint trembling of his arms and legs. Maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew. Tonight’s temperature would tell.

“You’re about to be discharged, aren’t you?” Granger asked while he was still focusing on his body, her tone suddenly less snappish than before.

Severus blinked. “I am.” If I don’t fuck up after all.

She nodded, fumbling with the hem of her t-shirt.

He curled his lips, tempted to tell her to pull herself together. They’d known that one of them would leave earlier (he’d just not thought it would be him). But he knew how empty and utterly depressing their room felt when nobody was there – and he was a person seeking solitude whenever possible! It’d probably be even harder for her.

So he looked away, telling himself to pull himself together instead. He wouldn’t feel fucking guilty for leaving this place the first chance he got! Ridiculous!

“We’d better go back upstairs,” he muttered when the silence lingered for too long, not even disrupted by children playing because there were none today. Only the soft ruffle of leaves and the void spreading between them.

“Yeah,” she mumbled and clumsily manoeuvred the wheelchair around while he got back up.

“Hands up,” he ordered when he grasped the handles, and Granger put them back into her lap, lowering her gaze while he returned them to the monotony of yet another afternoon in the hospital.

He’d mentally ticked off the first week when Granger returned after meeting her friends, exhaustedly leaning against the closed door. Severus arched an eyebrow at her, fascinated by how her flush tried to win against her paleness, causing her face to look patchy like a cow’s fur. “Did you run back here?”

“No,” she panted and pushed off the door to virtually collapse into her bed, “fuck …”

He observed her for a couple of seconds, frowning, then he looked back at his notebook as if he didn’t know almost all of his data by heart. 

He was almost grateful when Granger had sufficiently recovered to tell him, “Harry says hello. You’ve been acquitted three days ago, cleared of all charges.”

Despite himself, his heart skipped a beat. “Am I now?” mumbled. How in Merlin’s name … Did they really already forget what he’d done? He briefly pinched his eyes closed, mentally bracing his Occlumency against the uproar of memories as he would against a door being attacked by giants. He would rectify that decision soon. Would rid the world of a man like him and -

He blinked when he heard a rustle from Granger’s side of the room, just in time to see her nod and sit up. “Yes. Although that needed a little deal.”

His face fell. “What do they want me to do?”

“Nothing. On the contrary. They want you to never set foot into Hogwarts again.” She grimaced slightly. “Some of the Wizengamot’s members have children …”

“I see.” Absent-mindedly, he brushed his flat hand across the page of his notebook, grounding himself until he was able to snap out of it. “Well, they will be disappointed to hear that I wouldn’t have set foot into Hogwarts again anyway.” He folded the notebook shut and put it back into the drawer of his bedstand before he took his evening dose of pain-relief and downed it, grimacing from the foul taste.

Granger hummed softly. “Harry’d hoped you would write him again so he could have told you himself.”

“Why didn’t he just write to me?” Severus grouched, rinsing the lingering taste down with a huge gulp of water he wished had been whisky. 

“He doesn’t want to mess up.”

Severus snorted. “Didn’t know there was something to mess up.”

“Yeah, well … I didn’t know you’d answered his first letter.”

Severus glanced at her. “I needed a notebook,” he said.

“That was your only reason?”

“Obviously.” And since not even the side effects of her epilepsy potion could make her ignore his scowl, she dropped the subject, albeit with a telltale shrug of her eyebrows. 

Insufferable girl.

Miraculously he made it through the last week of his recovery without any major fuck-up. It cost him a lot of patience and more nerves than he ever thought he possessed, but he willed himself through hour after hour of forced rest and talk after talk about his living conditions. We need to know you’re able to provide for yourself, Mr Snape. We can’t discharge you into an unsafe environment, Mr Snape. We could assist you with home care, Mr Snape.

Ugh! 

But he succeeded in being the picture-perfect patient he’d told himself to be. He even succeeded in gently dispelling any worries of the staff about his suicidal ideations. Of course, he could provide for himself! There was a Tesco not far from his house, he could get everything he needed there … 

Well, there was a Tesco. He just didn’t plan to get anything there.

No, he didn’t need any home care. He had a neighbour he could ask for help if necessary, but it probably wouldn’t be. Everything in his house was easy to reach for him, it was a small house … 

And it was! But it was also crammed and narrow and old and a safety hazard even for the healthiest of persons. Good thing he didn’t plan to be safe there. 

And there was a good chance he actually had a neighbour. There always was the odd squatter staying in one of the deserted workers' houses for a month or two. He’d just rather bite off his tongue than ask anyone of them for help. 

Really, Severus didn’t expect to have to manoeuvre through a conversation like that ever again with the Dark Lord being dead and all, but here he was, easily slipping back into the spy’s shoes. 

Well, this time it would be the last time for sure. 

Still, slipping into his actual shoes after a final exam, a final talk, a final lecture, and a final scowl to stop an impending hug was one of the best feelings he’d experienced for quite a while. 

“Be good to yourself,” Mediwitch Persimmons had said; she’d come on her day off just to say goodbye to him! Stupid witch. 

“Don’t hesitate to ask for help,” Mediwitch Gerble had said, giving him a stern look.

Healer Sanders, however, had only given him a firm handshake and a gaze that made Severus swallow thickly. “Anytime, Mr Snape.” 

Now he was grasping his cane with his right hand and his bag full of shrunken clothes, potions, and other things with his left, straightened his back, and -

Found Granger standing at the door, her hands stuffed into the back pockets of her too-large jeans, and on her face a wobbly smile and a sceptical frown. She and Healer Sanders were probably the only ones his charade didn’t convince. 

“So, um,” she mumbled when he stepped closer, “I wish you well, sir.”

“Thank you,” he replied stiffly, raising his chin a bit. Since their little trip to the park, they hadn’t talked much anymore, and being back in his old clothes, buttoned up and clad in all black, he felt so much like her teacher again that -

“Would you mind if I write to you?”

What? He blinked at her, feeling uncomfortably stupid. “Come again?”

She blushed, making her look almost healthy. “I-I just thought that – Well, I mean …” She stopped, taking a deep breath and visibly steeling herself. “We shared a significant time in here and I’d love to stay in contact with you.”

Stay in contact? “To what end?”

A glint of anger hardened her lips when she stepped back. Only a tiny step, but still. “I see,” she muttered, “As it seems, I was mistaken. How foolish of me to think we could be -”

“We could be – what?” he pressed, tightening his grip around the handle of his cane.

“Friends!” Granger spat, “I thought we were friends! But clearly, we’re not so … Get home safely, sir, don’t let me keep you.” She whirled around and disappeared into the bathroom because that was the only fucking way for her to get out of that nightmare of a situation she’d summoned.

Friends … Ridiculous!

Casting a last scowl at the bathroom door and studiously avoiding giving any weight to the heavy thumping of his heart, Severus opened the bloody door leading him out of what had felt like a prison from the moment he’d opened his eyes, quite accurately two months ago. He pulled it shut with a bang loud enough to release Granger from her hideout and limped down the hall, grateful that his plan to wait for the medical round to begin worked out, and he met nobody until he reached the lift. When the doors pinged open, a mediwitch bustled out, not minding him one bit, and Severus took a deep breath before he stepped in – and another one before he turned around to have a last look at the ward. 

The doors silently slid closed.

Chapter Text

Stumbling out of the fireplace, Severus almost lost his balance. His bag thumped to the ground when he reached for the backrest of his threadbare armchair, a heavy gasp escaping his mouth. His heart was thundering painfully, and steadying himself, he cast a scowl at the dying green flames, only to click his tongue. 

The magical world was severely lacking a gentle means of transportation. 

When the last crackle had died, though, the thick silence pulled his thoughts another way, and he let his gaze wander across the floor before he slowly looked up. Books, table, couch, books, scraps of paper, pens, books, empty vials, old newspapers, and more books.

Everything was as he remembered it, even the smell, plus a thick layer of dust. It clouded the windows and dampened his hesitant steps around the armchair. Step, step-thump, step, step-thump, step. He drew his wand to clean the dark green cushions from dust and lint before sitting down and closing his eyes. 

After the ruckus of the hospital, the absolute silence made him feel as if he’d gone deaf, the sound of his own breaths like tendrils winding around his chest and tightening with every beat of his heart. It wasn’t until his hands began to shake that he realised he was slipping into a panic attack.

Fucking hell …

Occluding hard, he tore his eyes open, focusing on the slow dance of dust grains in the milky light of a dull Thursday in early July. 

When the mounting panic had subsided to a gentle leaping of uneasiness against the rigidity of his Occlumency, he swallowed thickly and opened the buttons holding his cloak closed, struggled out of the sleeves, and rolled his shoulders. 

Here I am again. Like a bloody rubber band, this place kept pulling him back, no matter how hard he tried to escape. Good thing he didn’t plan to hesitate passing over to the other side, else he would probably even haunt this place as a ghost. 

He huffed, despite himself. And drew his fingers through his hair. 

What was he supposed to do now? Unpack? Was there any sense in doing so? Or should he just go and get the poison he had been hiding in the lab years ago? An emergency exit, just in case somebody found out he was a spy and he had to prevent the wrong side from interrogating him. He’d never been under any illusions; with the right means, everybody would talk at some point, even he. Except he killed himself first and saved the secrets of the Order. So that’s what he’d made provisions for. He’d always carried a vial of poison with him, and he’d hidden vials at additional places. Here, in the Headmaster’s office, in the small room behind the Great Hall, at his usual Apparition point outside of Hogwarts’ grounds. 

Had somebody found one of them already? Apart from the one he’d carried with him, that was. They’d destroyed that one, of course.

Or hadn’t they?

Leaning his cane against the table, he looked around for his bag and pulled it closer to heave it onto his lap. The dozens of vials St Mungo’s had provided him with clinked against each other in the box holding them. Unpacking everything he’d stuffed on top of his bag, he finally found the bag they’d put in the clothes he’d been admitted with. He was greeted by an intense smell of dried blood and dirt and -

A sharp knock on the door made him flinch violently. 

Reflexively clawing his fingers into the bag, he looked up, holding his breath. Who was that? He hadn’t been here for almost a year, who was still trying to talk to him, who -

“Severus! Let me in! I know you’re there!”

Ugh. Slumping in his armchair, he closed his eyes. Minerva. What the hell did she want?

She pounded against the door. “Severus! Let me in or I’ll do it myself!”

He bristled, stuffed his clothes back into his bag, and snatched his cane to struggle to his feet and limp over to the door. Putting on his deepest scowl, he tore it open. “Who told you I was discharged?” he snapped.

She slightly baulked at his sight, swallowing and straightening her posture. “You did,” she said, “when you stepped out of the fireplace. I put a charm on your house to be informed if someone enters it.”

“You’re spying on me?”

“Well, I had no other choice. You refused to talk to me.”

“I wonder why …” Still, he turned around and limped back to his armchair, leaving the door open for Minerva to come in. She wouldn’t leave him alone before they’d talked anyway, and since he wasn’t up for prolonged standing around, they could just as well sit down to get that over with. 

That didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes when he heard her close the door, though. 

“Actually, I do wonder why you forbade me from visiting you,” she said, and he hid a smirk watching her inspect the couch and the layer of dust that was covering the worn cushion. She cast him a glance before discreetly doing away with the dirt and sitting down at the edge of it. Her knees neatly pressed against each other, she put her hands on her thighs and looked at him. “Why you forbade any of us from visiting you. What did you think we would do? Hex you?”

“No,” he drawled, kneading the handle of his cane. “I just wasn’t keen on hearing all of your apologies and rather waited for you to be annoyed enough with me to forget about that.” He gave her a calculated smirk. “It worked out as it seems.”

Minerva’s expression soured. It seemed as if she was not only annoyed with him anymore but also by the fact that she would have to either swallow her pride and apologise this instance or prove him right. “Well, I am sorry about how I treated you last year … generally speaking. But you are still insufferable.”

“Noted,” he said. “Was that all then, or …”

“You wish,” she huffed. “I want to hear everything, so you better offer me a cup of tea.”

This time, he openly rolled his eyes. 

Severus saw Minerva scrutinise the shabby house while he got up to fix them some tea. She slowly followed him when he crept into the kitchen with as much dignity as possible, her eyes taking in the old carpet, the battered furniture, the shake of his cane. 

“Before I forget,” she said, crossing the threshold after him and pulling a stack of letters from her pocket to lay them on the table. “Kingsley thought it better not to bother you with those as long as you are in St Mungo’s.”

He cast them a glance. So, Kingsley had been the reason he got to know about his trial via the paper. “Thank you,” he mumbled. Could have just as well spared me a day longer.

She was quiet while he got some tea bags and two chipped mugs from the cupboard. “I don’t have milk,” he muttered and poured some boiling water from his wand into them. 

“I don’t mind.”

Yes, you do. But he didn’t say anything.

“Has it been your decision to leave St Mungo's yet?” she asked warily after he sat down opposite her at the tiny wobbly table.

“No,” he said, not giving her the satisfaction of adding any further information. But the way he was squirming in his chair to find a position that would hurt a little less than any other probably told her more than he wanted her to know anyway. 

She hummed softly. “And you are sure you will manage? On your own, here …” She arched her eyebrows, once again letting her eyes roam over the rundown interior of his kitchen.

“I am.” Although he would have been curious to see what she would have done had he said no. Since he wasn't allowed to return to Hogwarts, there was no alternative to this. At least none he knew of.

“I could send you a house-elf to assist you.”

“That won't be necessary.”

Again, she hummed, sipping her tea. She didn't say anything, but he knew she missed her splash of milk. “Well, in case you change your mind, just call for Beeky. She would be delighted to serve you again.”

But I wouldn't. In fact, having the elf around that rescued him against his will was the last thing he wanted.

“You and Miss Granger were sharing a room, weren't you?” she picked the conversation up again when she realised he wouldn't say anything anymore.

“We were.”

“How is she?”

“As can be expected given the circumstances.”

“Please, don't tell me too much,” she quipped.

“Go and visit her if you want to know more,” he retorted, “since I'm discharged now, you're free to do as you like.”

She huffed softly. “Well, I hope you treated her decently.”

“She didn't complain.” Much. While Minerva was sipping her tea again, he carefully shifted his weight on the chair. It was hard and uncomfortable and giving him back pain already. A churning dull sensation as if someone was driving a screw into his lower back. He wished he could inconspicuously cast a cushioning charm.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Minerva distracted him.

Curling his fingers around his cup, he looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is your plan? You're obviously not up for working again, I'm not even sure you're able to provide for yourself. So, how do you plan to get along?”

Now we're talking. He wanted to huff or at least arch an eyebrow because her whole turning up at his door the moment he was discharged suddenly made sense. Someone had tipped her off that they were afraid he would do something stupid, as they'd all called it. Probably Granger. Healer Sanders or someone else from the staff wasn't allowed to, confidentiality. But Granger could tell everybody everything. 

Friends my arse …

“I assure you,” he began, “they wouldn't have let me go if I weren't able to care for myself. Mediwitch Gerble was very pleased about my progress lately, so much so that everybody else was annoyed because I kept roaming the ward and interfering with their work. I didn’t leave at my own request, I was officially discharged and had everyone’s blessing. I might not be able to kick someone’s arse anytime soon but I am absolutely able to manage everyday life.”

“Severus,” she softly scolded him for his language. 

“And,” he ignored her interjection, “I have some reserves, so I don't need to work yet. I can take my time to settle back in.”

She scrutinised him as she always had, back when he'd been her impertinent student as well as when he'd been her impertinent colleague. And as always, he didn't let her see behind his façade. 

But even if he had, she wouldn’t have found any lie. That was the beauty of his situation, he didn’t need to lie. If he had wanted to, he would have been able to manage his everyday life. Slowly, yes, with a considerable amount of effort, sure; what he used to do in passing would have become his main task. But he would have been able to manage. 

So there was no lie she could have found in his eyes. Still, he was glad it was her sitting opposite him and not Dumbledore. Dumbledore had always been able to see through him, even through the lies he did not tell. But Severus himself had ensured that Dumbledore wouldn't see through anyone anymore …

He occluded harder, against both kinds of pain, the emotional one and the physical one. God, those chairs were a pain in the arse, literally! 

“Very well,” Minerva eventually murmured, still wary. “I will just pop by regularly.”

Oh, for goodness' sake! “Do as you see fit.” She still wouldn't stop him from going through with his plan, he only needed a couple of minutes after all. And somebody would have to find him. That he couldn't change. (Still, it was a pity it would be Minerva.) “Do you want more tea?” he asked casually, gripping his own untouched cup so hard that he was afraid he might break it when his back pain spiked all of a sudden. Mhhh …

“No,” she said – thank Merlin! “I need to head back to Hogwarts and have an eye on the repairs.” She stood up smoothly, brushing down her cloak.

The table wobbled, even harder than usual, when Severus pushed himself up, for a second afraid his legs wouldn't carry him. But they did, albeit reluctantly. He only failed to stifle a tiny gasp. 

“Are you all right?” Minerva inquired at once, reaching out for him.

“Yes,” he said, “I'm fine. My leg just turned numb.”

“Mh,” she hummed sceptically, waiting for him to regain his composure. 

Tentatively, he moved his allegedly numb foot, holding his breath while some intense throbs of pain washed through him. Fuck … He needed a potion as soon as Minerva was gone. “Okay,” he breathed when the worst had passed, hoping the cold sweat wasn't as visible on his face as it felt. 

He grasped his cane and nodded for her to precede him out of the kitchen, clawing his free hand around the doorframe when she couldn't see it.

“Reach out if you need anything,” she said, stopping at the open door and turning round to him.

“I will,” he said, ready to promise her anything if only she left! 

But she wasn't in a hurry, taking some more time to smile at him first. “I'm glad you survived, Severus. You deserve a new start, another chance in life.”

“And I got it,” he forced himself to say. Hell, he even smiled! Picture-perfect Severus … 

He still wailed softly when she finally, finally Disapparated, making a stumbling dash for his potions. 

He needed a lie-down after taking the pain-relief, unable to keep himself upright, unable to look through his bag for the poison or get the other dose from his lab. Lying on his old couch, he drifted in and out of sleep for a while, first trying to move as little as possible, then trying to do some tentative stretching as Mediwitch Gerble had shown him. 

When he felt well enough to sit back up, it was getting dark already. Another day gone, wasted for nothing more than returning home and fixing two cups of tea. 

Although it hadn’t been spoons, he’d been lacking. He would have had enough energy to get some stuff done. Only the pain had knocked him out. Curious how a piece of furniture he’d spent a considerable amount of time on throughout his life could suddenly turn into a source of agony. 

All on its own, his brain began comparing the old chairs in his kitchen with the ones St Mungo’s provided for their patients. There had been some cushioning on the one at St Mungo’s, a luxury his parents hadn’t been able to afford, and he could never be bothered to add. Maybe there even was some magic woven into them he hadn’t been aware of. 

Or today’s attack had been additionally amplified by having to justify himself to Minerva. 

How lucky he was that he wouldn’t have to figure out the exact reasons anymore.

Grasping his cane, he circled the low table and ignited some lights to look through his bag again. He put the notebook aside, some clothes probably Minerva had brought from Hogwarts when he’d still been unconscious, a bag holding all the things he’d stored in his pockets. Only one look was enough to tell him it wasn’t among those. Then he found the bag with his blood-soiled clothes again, grimacing from the intense stench that wafted up to him. Not only dried blood and dirt, but the sharp tinge of urine as well. “Tergeo!” he mumbled; it didn’t do a lot of good, his formerly white shirt was still rusty-brown and stiff, but at least the unbearable stench disappeared. 

Piling most of his clothes on the floor, he finally found his cloak and held it up to make out the collar. Then he slid his hand down the lapel until he felt it. A pocket, hidden from view between some folds. His heart began beating faster. He held his breath before he dove in and -

Exhaled in a huff.

There you are.

A tiny smile curved his mouth when he pulled out the small vial. It was about the size and shape of a lighter, easy to miss. Yet he’d been sure they’d found it. Or perhaps he just wanted to believe they’d found it because first, he hadn’t been able to get it, and then he’d let himself be talked into that deal. 

But, truth be told, he probably wouldn’t have taken the poison at a place where Granger inevitably would have been witness to his suicide anyway. He didn’t want to hurt anybody, he just wanted … 

His breath hitched. 

He just wanted this nightmare to end. 

The now-empty bag slid to the ground, followed by the cloak he pushed aside. The soft light glistened on the clear vial and the soft blue potion it contained. He could remember brewing it, two days before the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. He’d known the Dark Lord would return. He’d known he would follow his call. He’d known there was a chance he wouldn’t survive that.

Closing his hand around the vial that had carried him through three years of agony, Severus closed his eyes, overcome by all the moments he’d held it just like he did now. A familiar shape pressed against his palm. Oh, how often he'd wished he could just take it and … 

But he never had. And never would have. Not as long as the Dark Lord had been alive. 

Now, however?

Severus smiled. Nothing was stopping him now. He’d done what he promised to do. Fulfilled his one purpose. Was free to go. 

I’m sorry, he thought, directed at Healer Sanders while popping the vial open, for destroying your hope.

Chapter Text

Severus smelled the sharp scent of the poison before the rim of the warm glass vial even touched his lip. How would it taste? Bitter, he assumed, judged by the ingredients. Since one drop was enough to quite safely kill a person, he’d brewed it using the Bubble-Head Charm, taking no risks although he’d been tempted. And morbidly curious. How did a poison as deadly as this taste? Nobody ever lived to tell. 

Well, he would find out now …

…

Would he see Lily again? Would she forgive him for what he’d done? Could she? And did he deserve to be forgiven? Had he really done enough? 

Holding his breath, he tried to summon the sound of her voice, of her laughter, of the way she’d said his name. 

Sev. 

His stomach plummeted, a trembling sob escaping his lips. It was all still there, her Let me see your essay and her Stop taking the piss out of me, Sev! Her wondrous Have you seen the ceiling? when they’d stepped into the Great Hall for the first time, and her I show you my common room if you show me yours. Her hysterical laughter when he’d slipped off his broom and landed prone on the ground, and her pout about him doing the same when she landed on her buttocks mere minutes later.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and Severus didn’t bother brushing it away. Would that be what she remembered about him as well? Or would she only recall him calling her a Mudblood and telling the Dark Lord about the prophecy? Would she know how petty he’d been to her son all those years? Would she hate him even now? 

Would she think him a coward for doing this? For choosing to die, although he didn’t need to, while she … 

Or wouldn’t she be there at all? Would death just be nothingness, an end so final no human brain was able to imagine it? Would the last time he’d seen her alive remain the last time he’d ever see her? 

His heartbeat accelerated at that thought. 

Or maybe it was the first particles of the poison reaching his nostrils that caused it, his body sensing what he was about to do. His stomach churned, his breath trembled. Within seconds, the fast thumping evolved into a loud rushing that clouded his senses, drowned the silence pressing down on his ears until there was once again only the sound of his frantic breaths. 

… 

“Professor Snape?”

… 

“What’s wrong with him?”

He gasped a breath, squinting his eyes against the sound of Granger’s frightened voice, the night he’d almost died. God, how would she react when she learned that he’d really gone through with his plan? Would she hate him? 

Would she think him a coward for doing this?

Or would she cry?

Would Minerva cry? 

Fuck, she would find him. Slumped in his armchair, his head dropped to his chest and his hair … She would find him. 

He blinked, brushing his free hand along his running nose, sniffling, and popped the stopper back into the vial before he Accio-ed a piece of paper and a pen. 

Please don’t cry for me, he wrote, then the pen hovered above the paper while he contemplated writing more. But nothing came to mind, there were no other words left in him, so he put both on the table. 

Given time, they would realise it’d been better this way. He would only be a burden, would constantly need help, cause trouble, his mere existence would unsettle the people. Looking at him, they would only remember what he’d done. What he’d let happen. What he’d failed to prevent. 

He was not a coward for … for ending his life.

Thump thump thump thump thump …

… 

Minutes passed until Severus blinked and stopped staring at his own words without seeing them. And when he reached for the vial again, his hand was trembling. 

He was doing the right thing.

For them.

For himself.

He couldn’t do this any longer.

Couldn’t live a life like that, bereft of almost everything that defined him. And strictly speaking, he’d been dead for a long time already. He’d died when Lily died, they’d just refused to bury him. 

It was time for him to finally go. 

So he popped the vial open a second time. The sharp scent filled his nostrils again, and his pulse, that stupid thing, sped up, becoming the metronome for his brain’s last shots.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthu-

I cannot not care about him anymore.

-mpthumpthumpth-

I’m glad you’re back. 

-umpthumpthumpthump-

Life’s just … too precious to throw it away like that. 

-thumpthum-

You don’t have to endure this.

-pthumpthumpthumpthumpthu-

Why is your life worth less than other lives? 

-mpthumpthumpthumpthump-

I couldn’t have made it without you, sir. 

-thumpthump.

He took a strangling breath, and another one, trying to calm himself down, adding some Occlumency for good measure, but failed. His hand holding the poison trembled as more voices flashed through his mind, refusing to guide the vial closer to his lips.

I just don’t know how I am supposed to do this for the rest of my life. 

I … can understand you so well. 

Anytime, Mr Snape. 

I will just pop by regularly.

You deserve to experience something else than pain. 

I’m glad you survived, Severus.

He took a hitching breath, trying once again to occlude but in vain. The little trick that saved him a myriad of times just slipped him like water from cupped hands as his body was panicking, knowing all too well what he was about to do. Every nerve ending was alert, every single hair on his skin seemed to stand on end.

I’m sorry, he found himself thinking, I’m so sorry. 

But no apology in this world stopped his brain from firing enough feral signals to build up like a crescendo, ending in a flourish of … 

Friends! I thought we were friends!

And maybe it was one of those feral signals of his brain, maybe it was some other damage Nagini’s venom had caused, maybe it was just nerves. But his hand, the one holding the vial, gave a sudden jerk, violent enough that the small flask slipped his grip and spilt its content all over him. 

“No!” Severus whimpered, attempting to jump up but failing; wouldn't have done any good anyway. The poison, one of the most potent poisons the magical world knew, seeped into his shirt, and he didn’t even have enough time to grab his wand before his heart seemed to explode and he blacked out. 

Granger was standing in front of him, her hands stuffed into the back pockets of her too-large jeans, and on her face a wobbly smile and a sceptical frown. “I thought we were supposed to be friends?” she said, but didn’t sound like herself, “Best friends?”

He blinked. “We are, Sev, but …”

Then the moment faded.

He woke up with a pounding headache and on his tongue the sour taste of vomit. Blinking, Severus found that he had thrown up all over himself while unconscious. His shirt was sticking to his chest, half-dried and reeking abominably. 

“Bugger,” he breathed, gagging from the smell alone, and carefully flexed his fingers before he leaned over and angled for his wand. “Scurgify!” he mumbled and breathed a sigh of relief when it worked. 

Then, there was pain. Throbbing, hot, intensifying with each passing second, spreading all over his body like wildfire, so violent it felt like his nerve endings would curl to ash. 

If only they would … 

He tensed up, a stunted wail billowing from his clamped lips as if that could stop the wave from crushing him like a flobberworm, but of course, it didn’t. 

He wheezed.

And looked around for his potions. Panting pathetically, he leaned in to grasp the edge of the box and drew it closer. Agonisingly slowly, it slid over the table until he was able to grab a vial of his pain-relief. 

All it did, though, was take the edge of the monster that was rearing its head inside of him. 

Fuck.

He slumped back in his armchair, trying to sort through what the hell had happened.

Ah, right. He’d been a bloody idiot at handling a poison. 

Huffing a bitter laugh, he brushed his hand down his face. Pity that the dose his skin had absorbed hadn’t been enough to kill him. 

But it had been enough to hurt him. Grimacing, Severus fumbled to open his shirt and inspect the harm. He hissed when he peeled the fabric from his stomach; it was stuck in some places. Popped blisters, as he realised, as the sparse light of dawn hit the angry red skin. 

Fifty points from Slytherin. A thought ridiculous enough to prompt a laugh despite everything.

“Accio Murtlap!” he muttered – but nothing happened.

It wasn’t as if the charm hadn’t worked; he did have enough magic in him to cast a simple summoning charm. But apparently, he’d forgotten to refill his stash. 

Bloody hell. “Accio Dittany!” he tried plan B, and this time, a vial came flying. 

Severus caught it and poured the water-clear essence over his burnt skin. It did some good, but not nearly enough. The angry red tint lessened somewhat, the open blisters scabbed over, but it still hurt and was far from being healed.

Will have to do.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t summon the second dose of poison he’d stashed in the lab. He’d locked it away when Wormtail had spent the summer here because he’d not trusted that rat one inch. And in the end, he’d forgotten to unlock the cabinet again. He’d planned to rectify that omission, but he’d been so busy all year and then things had gone pear-shaped so quickly that he’d never managed to do so. He'd always had his dose on him, after all. No need to fret about the dose here. There were so many others he could get if necessary…

Well, now he would have to go and get it himself. 

But even after taking the whole arsenal of potions he had at hand – yes, even a Strengthening Solution, although he shouldn’t have taken that, and a double dose of EE – he barely managed to reach the couch. Poisoning himself a bit instead of properly had been the stupidest thing he could have done. And feeling so utterly sabotaged by his own body caused him to claw his nails into his scalp until they almost ripped his skin open. Grunting in frustration, he relished that kind of pain, a more bearable one compared to what his body was doing to him. 

But in the end, there was nothing he could do about the situation. He could only wait, maybe sleep some more, and hope that Minerva wouldn't notice anything amiss when she popped by later. 

So he used the last of his magic to recast the nappy charm and fill a glass with water that he slowly sipped to get rid of the foul taste of pain-relief potion. 

Lying back, he put his arm over his eyes, indeed trying to fall back asleep. He himself was surprised by the sob that burst from his throat a second later, so fiercely that he almost choked from it. The tears came next and, curling up on his side, wincing from the sharp pain his raw flesh was causing him, he cried, about what, though, he couldn’t say. 

When Minerva made good on her promise – or rather threat – Severus had regained his composure and returned to feeling numb and exhausted. He’d somewhat tidied up the mess he’d made, turned around the note he’d written for her, warily sipped another pain-relief, and checked his temperature for the first time since coming home, finding it was too high even that early in the morning. But what else had he expected after poisoning himself like a bloody amateur?

He’d thoroughly fucked up in literally every regard. Too stupid to kill himself, too stupid to stick to some lousy rules. 

Anyway … Since he didn’t plan to let himself be dissuaded from his second try of putting an end to this pathetic existence, he had to see the day and Minerva’s compliance visit through first. 

So he forced himself to cross the backyard for the privy that he’d magically modified first thing when he decided to stay here after turning Dumbledore’s spy, adding a shower stall and a warm water supply, and stayed underneath the spray for quite a while, sitting on a stool he normally used to stash his bathrobe while he was showering, scrubbing away the reek of vomit that was sticking to his hair and ignoring the burning pain his raw skin was causing him. He deserved that. Stupidity needed to be punished. 

His hair was still damp when Minerva knocked around noon, and unfortunately, his stomach chose that very moment to announce its displeasure about several skipped meals, resulting in him not only being forced to talk with Minerva yet again but also to accept a full meal from Hogwarts’ kitchens that she had a house-elf bring them. 

At least she took a bite with him and didn’t just sit there while he ate. 

When she finally said goodbye, he was too tired to fetch the poison from the lab, and so he lay down on the couch for another nap. 

Granger was standing in front of him, her hands stuffed into the back pockets of her too-large jeans, and on her face a wobbly smile and a sceptical frown. “I can’t pretend anymore,” she said, “You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

“No – listen, I didn’t mean -”

“- to kill yourself? But you did! And that’s it, isn’t it? Your path ends here, Sev. You’re alone. I cannot follow you any longer.” Then she turned and left.

He woke up with another sob and a heart thumping so hard he gulped for air. Pressing his hand against his chest - ouch! - he felt it, the erratic struggle of his body, fighting for a life that … 

Why did those memories return to him now?! They shouldn’t. They should be dull and quiet, vanishing in the mud at the bottom of his mind after he’d given the originals to Potter. Black and white copies of his mistakes, that was what they should have been, not vivid like movie scenes to serve his mind as toy bricks for distorted dreams. 

Replacing Lily with Granger … Ridiculous!

Coughing, he reached for his potions, letting his hand hover over them, contemplating which one to take, which one would make him feel a little less terrible. And he’d already fucked up, hadn’t he? One more time wouldn’t hurt, right? 

He chose another Strengthening Solution. 

A pang of guilt churned in his stomach. He grimaced fleetingly, moving his shoulder blades to get rid of that sensation. But it stayed. Reminding him that he shouldn’t take another one of those. He didn’t eat enough, he -

Stop this! It doesn’t matter anymore!

And to shut his trained inner voice up for good, he reached for the EE as well and spiked the Strengthening Solution with another two drops of that. 

He sank back, smiling when the potions kicked in. 

Later, when the first high had subsided, he got up and staggered to one of the hidden doors behind his bookshelves. The one he’d added himself. The one he’d needed after building a cellar underneath the old house to have space for his lab. 

He huffed, genuinely amused by that. Today, he wouldn’t even be able to magically lift a bookshelf, let alone a whole house up in the air to build something underneath it. And he probably never would be able to do something like that ever again either. 

Perks of surviving, I guess … 

He kept one hand on the wall while descending the stone stairs, squinting his eyes closed against the self-igniting lights. It was baffling how easy he could do that now, descend those stairs, after taking two blasted Strengthening Solutions. Even his pain had somewhat subsided. Not completely, but still … 

Retrieving the second small vial holding a dose of poison, he stilled again. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine, Lily Granger’s voice echoed through his mind as if his dream had grown tendrils to wrap around his brain even while he was awake.

“Damn right,” he muttered, “I have.”

Yet – and Severus himself couldn’t tell why that was – he didn’t take the poison.

He didn’t take it down in the lab – there he only snatched a half-full bottle of firewhisky before he went back upstairs – and he didn’t take it there either. He just put the small vial on the table, right in front of him, turned the note he’d written for Minerva so she could read it when she came to find him, and leaned back on the couch to sip the whisky while he stared at the little glass vial, observing his mind toying around with the dreams and memories and things people had said to him in the last couple of weeks. 

The sun went down, night rose, and when he’d built up a good enough buzz to fall asleep, he lay down on the couch and slept a while, dreaming absolutely nothing, at least nothing he later remembered. Then he lay in the dark, staring at the faint shape of the vial, bursting into tears every now and then, but always quelled them with whisky to sleep some more.

He wanted to take that poison so badly!

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. A fact that left him feeling completely helpless and more desperate than he’d ever been since being faced with the task of killing Dumbledore. 

Killing, as it seemed, wasn't in his blood, regardless of whom it concerned.

In hindsight, those hours felt a lot shorter than they’d been. As if he weren’t part of the course of time anymore. They just whirled by, as did his thoughts. And when the bottle of whisky was empty, long after the sun had risen on him yet again, he curled up on the couch and kept staring at his exit plan blankly. 

He didn’t even flinch when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t get up to open, he didn’t move one muscle. Pain was covering him like a thick woollen blanket, and he knew, the moment he moved it would explode, so … he didn’t.

But Minerva did. She called for him, twice, thrice, and when he didn’t react, she opened the door and -

Stopped short. 

She needed some seconds to take in the situation, then she gasped, and that sound made him reflexively close his eyes. “Oh, Severus!” she shrieked, and the next thing he knew, she was kneeling beside the couch and grasping his face. “Oh, oh boy, what did you do?” she asked, brushing his hair from his face. Her fingers felt cool against his skin, but he assumed they weren’t. He assumed his skin was just so hot. “Talk to me, Severus!”

He blinked and met her gaze. Moving his lips, his tongue, his mouth felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. “I … I think I need help,” he croaked, wincing when a tear leaked down her cheek.

“Yes,” she whispered, “yes, you do.”

Chapter Text

Minerva helped him take all the potions he needed to function – fever potion, pain-relief, nausea treatment. The only potion he didn’t have at hand was a sober-up potion, and he regretted every single drop of whisky he had drunk last night. Not because it made him feel more miserable than he was anyway; the hangover hadn't kicked in yet, and he was grateful for the light-headedness that lingered. But the smell of alcohol clung to him even after Minerva had helped him put on some clothes he hadn’t sweat through (gasping at the state of his chest and stomach but not commenting on it), causing him to squint his eyes closed against the shame when she manoeuvred them both into the fireplace and hugged him tight so he wouldn’t get lost. 

Contrary to the light-headedness, he didn’t particularly enjoy that strange feeling of having fallen out of time that he couldn’t shake off and that made him feel overwhelmed with the sounds and brightness in the hospital. It was especially bad when Minerva left him to find Healer Sanders, and so he flinched when somebody touched his shoulder. He needed several seconds to realise it wasn’t Minerva. 

“Mr Snape,” Mediwitch Persimmons said gently, crouching down in front of him and taking his hands while her concerned gaze roved over his face. 

He looked away, pulling his hands from her grasp. 

She sighed. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you,” she promised and stood back up before she took his arm and linked it with hers since he’d forgotten to bring his cane, urging him to come with her. 

He did. Too battered to set up a fight. 

The next chair he was left in was soft and comfortable and tilted back a bit, inviting him to close his eyes and let go, so that was what he did. 

Ease. At last.

He woke up slowly, unable to tell how much time had passed. For a long time, he held his eyes closed, only listening to the sounds of someone doing paperwork. He knew those sounds intimately, the scratching of a quill on parchment, the rustle of pages being turned, the deep sighs and tiny huffs betraying an inner monologue.

Slowly, his bodily sensations returned to him. He felt sore, raw in the worst kind of ways, slightly in pain – but probably not as much as he’d have deserved to be. The chair he was lying in was both firm and soft, stable, padded, with high armrests that seemed to hug him. Severus was so relaxed lying in this chair that his mouth had been hanging open, as he now realised. He closed it the moment he blinked. He looked around, took in the two huge bookshelves towering against the wall opposite him, a framed certificate he couldn’t read at that distance, a single potted plant that was in serious danger of withering and yet looked better than he felt.

The moment Severus turned his head to the source of the sounds, Healer Sanders looked up and met his gaze, worry and relief and a lot of sorrow mixed on his complexion. “Welcome back,” he said, sounding neither happy nor sad. It was just a statement. 

“Where am I?” Severus asked hoarsely, and when he tried to sit up, the chair tipped back into an upright position. “Where’s Minerva?”

“You’re in my office, and Professor McGonagall had to return to Hogwarts. But she insisted that I would call her as soon as we talked.”

“Mh,” he mumbled, squinting his eyes against a bout of dizziness and rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

Healer Sanders stood up and came around his desk, handing him a glass of water when he reached Severus. “Take your time, but I want you to empty the whole glass until we’re done here,” he said, and when he was sure that Severus wouldn’t drop it, he turned around and fetched himself a chair to sit down as well. 

The first sip of cool water ran over his tongue like a balm, soothing and tasty as water could only be if you were horribly thirsty. 

And he was! The last time he’d drunk something, it had been whisky and that had to be about … he didn’t know what time it was. “Thank you,” he remembered to say eventually. Then he squinted his eyes closed again, slightly shook his head; a fruitless attempt to get rid of that numb, distorted feeling. 

“Are you in pain?” Healer Sanders seemed to be misinterpreting his doing.

“No. Not too much. It’s just …” He rubbed his forehead, the spot right between his eyebrows, sighed softly. “I’m tired, I guess.” And as an afterthought, he added, “Why have I been sleeping in your office?”

“I assumed you would prefer that to a hospital bed. And I wanted to have an eye on you.”

“Working overtime again?” Severus mumbled. It was meant as a joke, but sounded like a sneer. He grimaced. “Sorry.”

Healer Sanders hummed softly, and when Severus looked up, the worried part of his mix of feelings had won. “Do you think we can talk now, or do you want to spend another night with us first and do the talking tomorrow?”

“I can talk,” Severus said at once. Healer Sanders had been right, he did prefer his office over a hospital bed - because he wouldn’t return to being hospitalised, not even for one night, not if he could prevent it.

“All right,” the healer said. “Then … tell me what happened.”

Severus gulped. But what else had he expected the other man would do? Without knowing how massively Severus had fucked up within forty-eight hours of being left unsupervised not even Healer Sanders could do anything for him.

And strangely, Severus found that he wanted him to do something. 

So he cleared his throat and gripped the glass a little bit tighter, needing something to hold on to when he said exactly what he’d just thought, namely, “I fucked up.”

“I assumed as much,” the healer said softly. And after a brief pause, he added, “Did you try to commit suicide, Mr Snape?”

He gulped again. “Yes.”

A slow exhale. “Do you need any medical attention before we proceed?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t examine me with your neat little diagnostics the moment I set foot into the hospital?”

“Yes, I did,” was the serious reply, accompanied by a level gaze that instantly stripped Severus of the tiny shield he’d tried to hide behind. 

He lowered his gaze again. “I’m fine,” he whispered.

“Okay. What did you do?”

He huffed, taking another sip of his water before he arched his back and leaned his head against the back of the chair. “Poison,” he said, “but I spilt the first dose and couldn’t take the second.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence settled between them.

So Severus forced himself to meet the healer’s eyes again. “Honestly. I can’t tell you. I stared at the vial the whole night, thinking about how much easier it would be to take it, but … I did not.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Oh, really? I’m not …”

The other man sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I take it you’re here because you want me to help you?”

Reluctantly, Severus nodded, only once.

Healer Sanders mirrored it. “Then let me begin with some advice you can take or leave, it’s just an offer.”

Severus twitched his eyebrows at him, finding that slowly the uncomfortable, distorted feeling began to wane, leaving him even rawer than he’d already been. And what Healer Sanders said next wasn’t helping.

“Choose your battle, Mr Snape. Choose a side. Switching back and forth between wanting to die and wanting to live … That isn’t going to do you any good. Whichever way you choose to pursue, focus on only that.”

“What if I can’t?” Severus asked before he’d even consciously phrased the question in his mind.

Healer Sanders smiled faintly. “Well, given the fact that you’re here and still alive, it seems as if one way has recently ruled itself out.”

The glass began trembling in Severus’ hand, and he looked for a place to set it down before it slipped from his grip. In the end, the healer took it from him, and Severus stood up, swaying at first but regaining his balance soon. He needed to move, as draining as that might be. He couldn’t sit still any longer, facing that conversation indifferently. His heart was thumping too wildly, his hands were too clammy, breathing hurt too much.

“Mr Snape,” Healer Sanders addressed him again and waited until Severus had at least cast him a glance. “I don’t want to take away your … emergency exit.”

“But?” Severus huffed because it damn well felt like that!

“I want you to focus your efforts. Keep your emergency exit. Keep the poison for all I care – but stop wasting your energy on thinking about taking it if something is obviously stopping you from doing so. Maybe there will come a day when nothing will stop you anymore, and that’s okay. The poison will still be there. But now? Now you seem as if you want to pursue another route, and that won’t be an easy one. You will need all the energy you can muster for that. So take your emergency exit, put it in your pocket, and trust that it will still be there if you need it. Until then, focus on the path that’s now ahead of you.”

When Healer Sanders was done with his little speech, Severus found himself leaning against one of the bookshelves, not entirely sure how he got there. Several seconds passed in silence before he admitted, “I … don’t even see another path.”

The healer smiled sympathetically. “Then let’s create one.”

Severus took a deep, slightly trembling breath, curling his fingers around a shelf in his back as if it were the physical manifestation of the suicidal path Healer Sanders had challenged him to let go of. His grip even tightened while he seemed to fall into the brown eyes of the man who was everything Severus was not. Composed, likeable, determined, good. Severus was sure there were some rough edges in Healer Sanders’ life as well, he was far too old to believe there was even one single person on this planet who had a perfect life; but those edges didn’t define him, and that was a feat Severus had never mastered. 

“Okay,” he surprised himself by saying all of a sudden and as if his fingers had waited for that signal, they let go of the shelf. 

“Okay,” Healer Sanders echoed and invited him to sit back down, handing him his water back when Severus did. “So … I guess your messing things up includes your potions?” he then asked and angled for what was probably Severus’ chart.

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. Before getting on was getting clear. He’d been there once already, he knew how the cat jumped, was just glad that this time, it wasn’t Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes watching him collecting his courage to say, “I didn’t stick to the timetable, I took too much Euphoria Elixir, Strengthening Solutions when I shouldn’t have taken them, and the fever potion only right before I came here. Plus, I drank an ungodly amount of alcohol.”

“Mh,” Healer Sanders mumbled, scribbling it all down before raising his gaze. “When was your last dose of EE?”

“Sometime last night.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “To be completely honest with you, Mr Snape – considering that alone, I’d prefer to keep you here for another couple of days just to get you back on track.”

“No,” Severus said at once, “I will not stay here.” Bad enough that Mediwitch Persimmons had seen him, he didn’t want anybody else to see his failure, least of all Granger.

“I was afraid you'd say that. Then let’s make a compromise: You stay at home, and I will pop by morning and evening to supervise your medication. You won’t have access to most of your potions, only the pain-relief will be at your disposal.”

Severus gaped at him. He wanted to visit him? In Spinner’s End? “No, that’s too much of an effort …” 

“It’s my effort, I decide if I want to do it.”

“But -”

“It’s that or staying here,” Healer Sanders interrupted him firmly. “Choose.”

Severus gulped. A burden, would constantly need help, cause trouble … Occluding as best he could, he tried to quell that siren song trying to lure him back onto the abandoned path. 

But when he succeeded, there was a whole different matter towering up in front of him: Spinner’s End. The hellhole. Everything he didn’t tell about his living conditions. 

Fuck. 

His hands began shaking so badly that some water sloshed over the rim of his glass and wet his fingers. Severus stared at it in horror, trying to will himself to stop that, but it only did when Healer Sanders grasped his hand, prompting Severus to look up at him. 

“It’s all right, Mr Snape. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you.”

Severus tore his gaze away, squinted his eyes shut and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over them for good measure until the ominous burning disappeared. Drinking some more water, he swallowed the uneasy feeling of having to show Healer Sanders how he lived. “Okay,” he breathed.

“Okay, to what? Visiting you?”

“Yes.”

The healer nodded. “All right. Then we’ll start tonight. I’ll be there every day at seven a.m. and p.m. We’ll see how long you’ll need that until you can trust yourself with your potions again.”

Severus perked up. Until you can trust yourself. Not until I can trust you. For too long a moment, that simple wording baffled him so much that he didn’t know what to say. 

“Do you agree?” Healer Sanders probed.

“Yes,” Severus mumbled again, blinking out of his disbelief and taking yet another sip of water. Gods, he was parched …

“Good.” He scribbled that down as well. “We can use those brief encounters to talk about how you are as well. I think that’s a good measure to get you started.”

Severus just stared at Healer Sanders’ hand moving across the page. 

“Do you have an idea about how to fill your days at home?”

His eyes snapped up. Sneering slightly, he said, “Judging by the last two days, I’m lucky if I get everything concerning my self-care done. I don’t think there will be much time left to fill.” The task of actually sleeping in his bed instead of on the couch would cost him a good amount of spoons already, the stairs would see to that.

And he needed to go to the shops at least twice a week as well. He needed to prepare some easy meals for himself that would still nourish him enough to ensure his daily Strengthening Solution because not being able to take that now would ruin his whole schedule even more than it had being hospitalised. If he didn’t have enough spoons to get some food prepared only once, it could end up in a cascade of days he would fail and … 

He spiralled. 

“Easy!” Healer Sanders said, apparently sensing Severus’ distress. “We’ll get to whatever is worrying you. First, let’s talk about our charms team.”

Panting covertly, Severus tried to focus on the other man’s face and words. “Charms team?” he asked hoarsely.

A smirk spread on the healer’s face. “Yes. A couple of colleagues and I set up the team about three years ago when the number of patients we had to release without being able to heal them completely began to increase. We visit them at home and optimise their living conditions to accommodate their needs. So, if you’d like us to visit you and remove some barriers …”

God, please, no! No more people seeing Spinner’s End … Severus lowered his eyes, sensing a hysterical laughter bubble up his throat because tumbling from panic to panic like that was just more than he could bear at the moment. Heat was throbbing in his chest and rising with each heartbeat until his cheeks seemed to pulsate and he felt like opening a button of his shirt or Disapparate on the spot. There was a tingle crawling up the back of his neck and his throat … his throat was -

“Or I could take a look at your home alone first,” Healer Sanders suggested and somehow managed to not let it sound as rushed or placating as it doubtlessly was. “Maybe I can do a thing or two on my own.”

Severus nodded jerkily, his free hand digging into his knee until it hurt, and grasped for Occlumency like a drowning man for a plank. He really shouldn’t have fucked with the EE … 

Healer Sanders was scrutinising him warily when Severus blinked, but stayed calm and gave him a chance to come round on his own. “We’ll talk about that some other time,” he eventually decided.

“Yes,” Severus mumbled, greedily taking another sip of water when he became aware of the glass in his hand again. He almost choked on it.

After giving him another minute or two to calm back down, Healer Sanders cocked his head.

“What?” Severus asked huskily.

“I’d like to get back to our deal.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Healer Sanders nodded slowly, his lips pursed. “I assumed you’d forgotten about your part of it. But I did not.”

“Well, enlighten me then.” He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the last cobwebs of panic. 

“When I agreed to give you the Strengthening Solutions, you promised me to think about going to therapy.”

… fuck.

“Did you think about that, Mr Snape?”

No.

Healer Sanders smiled mirthlessly. “Well, better do it now because I’d very much like you to give it a try. Let’s say five sessions to see how it goes. Do you think you could do that?”

Could he? Did he even want to tackle his problems with therapy? Did he want to talk about what was haunting him at night and sometimes even by day? He’d planned to push things down with Occlumency for as long as necessary to regain his peace of mind. That was what he’d always done. Worked for eighteen years, probably would work for a couple more. 

But only with Euphoria Elixir.

Or at least some potion, as it seemed, and that thought quickly brought him down a peg. He’d needed to increase the EE dose once already, and he knew that he would develop a resistance to it, so he would most likely have to increase it again at some point. And again. And again. 

There was a reason why Euphoria Elixir was rarely used by healers; you had to think about how to discontinue it from the moment you began taking it. 

“Fine,” Severus eventually said, defeated, “but on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I want to try the calming draught Miss Granger gets and scratch the EE.”

Healer Sanders grimaced, he seemed to hate that idea. “Yes, to the calming draught, it looks really promising, and I think it could do you some good. But I’d prefer to keep you on Euphoria Elixir for a while longer. The calming draught does nothing about your depression, Mr Snape.”

“I’ve been depressed for my whole life, that’s the least of my problems.”

“It’s the main problem for me.”

Exhaling slowly, Severus closed his eyes. The EE was the potion he trusted himself with the least. He could manage every other one of his potions, but he’d probably need some kind of supervision with that one for as long as he had to take it.

“Let’s discuss this again tonight, all right?” Healer Sanders suggested gently.

“Mh.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to give therapy a chance, though.” 

A slight sneer curled Severus’ lip. “I don’t promise anything beyond those five sessions.”

“That’s all I’m asking of you.” Healer Sanders got up and fetched something from a drawer in his desk. There was a twitch of fondness around his mouth when he looked at what Severus eventually recognised as a business card. “You can write her an owl to make an appointment.”

Severus took the card, his eyes fixed on his healer’s face. “She’s your wife, isn’t she?”

Healer Sanders froze. “Wha- How did you know?”

“I was a spy for a reason,” Severus retorted, trying to be a bit smug about baffling his healer at least once during this conversation, but failing. Finally, he looked down at the card. Juliet Reames. Hm. 

The other man huffed. “Well, I assure you that she tells me nothing about her clients, never. So you don’t need to be afraid that what you tell her, I will know as well.”

Severus harrumphed. “I’ll give it a try,” he mumbled, stashing away the card, trying to ignore that his hands were trembling. “Is that the path then?” he added afterwards.

“Yes, I think we’d better leave it at that for now. One step at a time.”

“That’s more than one step.”

“Touché.” He smiled and closed Severus’ chart. “There’s just one more thing, and it’s not about you first and foremost.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

Healer Sanders sighed. “This is nothing I usually do, but given what you’ve been through already, I at least have to ask, else I would regret it.”

“So?” Severus pressed again.

The healer pursed his lips, fighting with himself for a second. “Could you imagine staying in contact with Miss Granger? Since you’ve been discharged, her condition is declining, and I hope that maybe it would do her some good if she could talk to you now and then.”

Bugger. Severus averted his eyes, brushing his hand over his mouth and frowning at the stubble covering his chin; he was in dire need not only of a shower but of a shave as well, as it seemed. But first, Granger … “Why doesn’t she talk to her friends?”

“She does, as far as I know, but … they are young and healthy. I assume she doesn’t find the kind of understanding she needs with them. I wish I could place her in a support group, but there is none.”

“So you want me to be her support group?”

“No. I just ask you if you could imagine being available for her as a -”

Don’t you dare say friend!

“- confidant.”

Thank Merlin. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you should first ask her whether she even wants to stay in contact with me. The way we parted the other day might be a reason for her declining condition.”

“I see,” Healer Sanders murmured. “But you’d be willing to meet with her?”

I thought we were friends!

He gulped. “I’ll think about it,” Severus muttered. He was still too drunk to make such a decision.

“Thank you.”

He harrumphed again, draining his glass.

“Well, do you want me to tend to the wounds on your torso now, or do you prefer them to scar?”

Honestly, Severus wished that had been a quip. But as always, Healer Sanders’ face was dead serious. “Do you get a bonus for every stupid decision you don’t talk your patients out of?”

He smiled. “Not financially, if that’s what you mean. But usually letting my patients make their own decisions leads to them trusting me, and trusting patients are compliant patients, which makes it so much easier for me to do my job.”

Severus swallowed thickly. “Did that ever go wrong?”

The smile smoothed into thoughtfulness. “I was scared stiff it might go wrong with you. But luckily, my gut feeling didn’t mislead me.”

Severus looked down at his empty glass. “You’ve been surer about that than I was …”

“I’m glad I was right. So, treatment or scar, Mr Snape?”

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Treatment.”

Chapter Text

Healer Sanders took him into a treatment room and gave him a dose of a calming draught before he began tending to his burnt torso. “Take another two drops of EE as well as soon as you get home, or you’ll end up with a headache from hell due to withdrawal.”

Severus harrumphed at that (he already had a headache) and emptied the little glass the healer handed him, breathing a sigh of relief when everything that had been on edge in him during the last hour or so finally calmed down. Thank god …

Yet he needed the other man’s help to undo the buttons on his shirt. The stupid things kept slipping through his fingers due to them being more numb than usual. Probably the residual effect of his poisoning himself.

The healer clicked his tongue, seeing Severus’ skin. “What did you do?” he asked, sighing, and urged Severus to lie down on the examination table. 

“The poison slipped me,” Severus murmured, brushing his hand down his face.

“Do I want to know which poison it was?”

“No.”

“Very well.” Then he set to work, cleaning the wounds and giving them a rinse with Murtlap essence. But since it’d been more than twenty-four hours since it happened, the essence wasn’t enough anymore to heal them. So Severus ended up with a thick layer of bandages covering an equally thick layer of balm. “I’ll check on that again when I stop by tonight.”

Despite the potion, he winced from the reminder of what he’d agreed to let Healer Sanders do. Burden, chaos. “As you wish.” He sat back up, dangling his legs over the edge of the table.

“You can close your shirt back up. Will you manage on your own?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll be right back then.”

Severus looked up when the healer left the room, and briefly closed his eyes to exhale a deep sigh. Bloody hell … This was not what he’d imagined his next days to look like. Being mollycoddled by his healer of all people. The last time he’d been so ashamed of himself had been waking up in the hospital wing after returning to the Dark Lord for the first time about three years ago. He’d been so battered that he didn’t remember how he’d been able to return to the castle and had had even less control over his bodily functions than now. It’d taken him the better part of the term to be able to look Poppy in the eyes again. 

Well, he’d probably have come around faster if he’d known in what kind of situation he would be three years later …

He sat alone in that examination room for at least fifteen minutes, uncertain about what he was supposed to do, wait or leave, and when the door opened again, it was Minerva entering. He gulped, seeing her distraught expression, quickly averting his eyes. 

“How are you?” she asked.

“Splendid,” he muttered, “obviously …”

She clicked her tongue as well and cupped his face to make him look at her. “Will you kindly stop lying to me?”

He pulled away from her grasp and cast his eyes down. “No.” Not now, that was. “I just want to go home.” And when she was about to object, he added, “Please.” Still not looking at her. 

“Very well.”

They didn’t speak, leaving the hospital, and Severus refused to share the Floo with her again. He was smelling even worse now after going through some bouts of cold sweat, and he was sober enough again to keep himself upright while the green flames whirled him back to Spinner’s End. 

The first thing he did was pocket the small vial of poison, his emergency exit as Healer Sanders had called it, and crumple up the short message he’d scribbled for Minerva. He was under no illusions that she’d long seen it, but … 

He was just popping open the vial of EE to count the two drops Healer Sanders had instructed him to take (and no more; that was the hardest part about it, stopping after two drops while he exactly knew how good four would feel) into a vial of pain-relief when she stepped out of the fireplace behind him. His headache lessened considerably when the potions kicked in, and since he didn’t want to think all too much about which potion exactly was accountable for that, he turned around to her. 

Minerva eyed him warily, her brows furrowed and her back straight as a pole. 

“Tea?” he asked before she could say anything because he knew she wouldn’t leave him alone any time soon anyway. He could probably call himself lucky if she didn’t insist on staying the night. 

“Please.”

So he snatched his cane and limped over to the kitchen to repeat the same steps as yesterday and two days ago, causing the abandoned path to grin at him madly despite the EE he’d just taken. Two drops my arse … 

“Did Healer Sanders talk to you?” he forced himself to ask when he took the first cup to give it to her, then the second for himself and sat down. Although he’d cast a cushioning charm on the chair yesterday morning, it was still far from comfortable. But he’d got through their shared meal yesterday without another (serious) pain attack, so he probably would manage. 

“He did. But he didn’t tell me enough to ease my mind.”

“Hm,” he hummed, breathing a silent sigh of relief when five seconds of silence washed over him. 

“Severus, you will have to give me a bit more than that!”

“Why?” he asked exhaustedly. “What are you still afraid of? I already failed to top myself, didn’t I?”

She baulked at his words, huffing annoyedly. “Well, that might come as a surprise to you, but I do, in fact, wish you to be well and not only alive.”

He lowered his eyes, a pang of guilt churning in his stomach. “I apologise,” he mumbled; two drops of EE weren’t enough to make him less of a bastard either.

“I’d rather you tell me what you discussed.”

Rubbing his eyes, Severus sighed silently. “He will come by every morning and evening to give me my potions. And he offered to … remove some barriers around the house so I have an easier time getting along.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Minerva commented. “Although Filius and I could help with the house as well. Mr Sanders learned everything from us, after all.”

“Mh,” he mumbled again. He might get back to that if necessary.

Huh. Fascinating how indifferent he felt about that whole topic now that he was dosed up on two potions, keeping his emotions at bay …

“I hope those are not the only measures you discussed.”

“No,” he sighed, “I will see a therapist as well. Apropos … Could you send off an owl for me?” He pulled the business card from his pocket and laid it on the table. 

“Why, yes!” Minerva took it. “Is that therapist a Muggle? I never heard of her before.”

“Squib. She’s Healer Sander’s wife.” 

Minerva cocked an eyebrow, looking at him over the card. “Did he tell you?”

“No. I told him.” There was a faint smirk curling his mouth.

“Oh, you …” But she smiled as well. “I’m glad you’re giving her a chance.”

“Mh … We’ll see what comes of it.” Thinking about seeing a therapist alone made him feel uneasy and a bit queasy.

Now it was Minerva uttering a non-committal hum. “What about food?” she then asked. “Are you up for preparing meals for yourself already?”

“I have to be,” he said, “but first, I’ll have to go to the shops. Don’t have much food in the house anymore.” He rubbed his itching eyes when the weight of those chores bore down on him. That he didn’t feel like eating at all right now didn’t help matters. He frowned. Had been a lot of potions lately. Maybe his stomach was acting up again. Just what I need on top of everything else.

Minerva’s voice snapped him out of his musings. “Well, I could send a house-elf to do that for you, but I guess you still don’t want that?”

“No.” He needed to get along on his own, didn’t want to have a house-elf in the long run.

“At least let me send you meals from Hogwarts for a couple of days, then. Take some time to recover.”

He would have loved nothing better than to object to that as well, but knew he couldn’t afford to. Staying here instead of at St Mungo’s came with a price, and it would be other people paying it.

Burden, chaos … 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

He shifted his weight on the chair. “There’s something else, Healer Sanders asked me about …”

Minerva, who’d just taken a sip of her tea, put it back down on the table and arched her eyebrows. “What is it?”

Severus grimaced. “Miss Granger. He asked me if I would be willing to stay in contact with her.”

“Oh? Well, are you?”

He looked at Minerva, a pained expression twisting his face. “Don’t you think that would be … inappropriate? She was my student …”

“And you were mine,” she returned, “Doesn’t stop me from staying in contact with you, does it?”

“That’s hardly the same. We’ve been colleagues in the meantime. After I graduated, you would have never stayed in contact with me.”

“Admittedly,” she conceded, “but that was not due to you being my former student.” She twitched her eyebrows at him. “I do stay in touch with some of my students. Don’t you?”

“No. But that’s not what I mean anyway. Miss Granger and I … Sharing a room made us both witness more than we’d have ever … tolerated otherwise. Healer Sanders doesn’t want me to stay in contact with her for some career advice.” He swallowed thickly when his uneasiness intensified.

“I assumed as much. But I also assume Healer Sanders had his reasons to ask you for help.”

He averted his eyes. That doesn’t make it the right thing to do …

Minerva sighed. “I may not fully understand what you went through in there, Severus, but I went to visit Miss Granger the other day and if Healer Sanders thinks staying in contact with you could do her any good I’m fully endorsing you giving it a try because … Well, I was shocked to see her again. You two are seriously worrying me. And nobody says you shall marry that girl!”

“Merlin …” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Thinking about it, it would indeed be understandable for her to feel a certain kind of connection to you after that long time of sharing a room. But knowing you, you didn’t even think of that.”

“No,” he admitted weakly.

“Let me guess: You were your loveliest self saying goodbye to her when you were discharged?”

He just scowled at Minerva.

She sighed. “Oh, Severus …”

“Just leave it be.”

“Very well. But since you asked me about my opinion: I think you should give it a try. It might do you good as well to have someone to talk to and feel a certain kind of obligation to. I see nothing inappropriate about it. You’re both adults, after all, she will never be your student again.”

He hummed softly, still doubting that Minerva really got what he’d meant. 

When Healer Sanders stepped out of the fireplace that evening, Severus was in the kitchen, vomiting into the sink because he wouldn’t have made it to the privy quickly enough. 

It was indeed his stupid sensitivity to too many potions that was acting up again, causing his stomach to burn and cramp. He’d looked for the gastritis potion in the box St Mungo’s had given him, but found none. So he’d tried to stick it out by slowly sipping some tea, glad that he hadn’t touched the meal Minerva had sent him, and decided to ask the healer for a potion when he came by, but his stomach had had other plans. 

Right now, for example, it forced some vile-tasting drops of bile up his throat, mixed with a tint of what was probably blood. 

Fuck.

He coughed, rocked by another violent retch, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Easy,” Healer Sanders said, “breathe in through your nose, and slowly out through pointed lips.” He demonstrated to Severus what he meant, and slowly, the heaving subsided, and Severus let himself be guided to a chair. “What happened?” Healer Sanders asked, crouching down and feeling for Severus’ pulse as he always did. 

“Too many potions,” he panted hoarsely, brushing some cold sweat from his face and tensing up against the roiling pain in his middle, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” the other man said, but his furrowed brow didn’t bode well.

“I’m not returning to St Mungo’s,” Severus mumbled, heaving drily and shuddering from sheer exhaustion (and probably too high a fever).

“I don’t ask you to,” Healer Sanders replied with arched eyebrows. “It was to be expected that you would still be pretty miserable tonight. I’m prepared for that.” He finally let go of Severus’ wrist and stood back up to pull another shrunken box of potions from his cloak. After enlarging it, he studied the vials, pursing his lips and making those chirping noises again. “Ah,” he mumbled when he’d found what he’d been looking for. “Here, take it slowly.” He handed him the vial and Severus settled to sipping it like normal people would whisky. Not he, but normal people … 

When the churning pain and nausea slowly subsided, he slumped against the wall in his back and closed his eyes, groaning in relief. 

“Maybe we should make this potion a long-term medication for now,” Healer Sanders mused, sitting down on the other side of the table, studying what was probably Severus’ chart. “Single intakes don’t seem to do the trick …”

“I’ve always been sensitive to too many potions,” Severus mumbled groggily.

“Mh,” the other man replied, nodding, “that’s a known phenomenon. Some people just react with gastritis to too much magical exposition.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I could just have taken one of those -” He raised the vial he was holding. “- and be done with it every time my stomach acted up in the past?”

“Probably.”

He huffed. “Unbelievable …” All those nights he’d spent suffering in his quarters … Maybe I should have consulted Poppy about that after all. But since all of those nights had been preceded by some form of neglecting himself and he hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in getting a dressing down from her, he’d never done so.

“Well, since you will be dependent on a number of potions for quite a while to come, I think it’s best to give you ten drops of it each morning.” He scribbled it down before closing Severus’ chart again and leaning back on his chair. “How do you feel apart from that?”

“Pretty miserable was an accurate description,” Severus said and downed the last of the potion. “But I guess a good night’s sleep will help immensely.”

“How about your suicidal ideation?”

He shrugged his shoulders. What was he supposed to say? The EE was waning already … 

“On a scale of one to ten?” Healer Sanders pressed.

Severus twisted his face. “Four or five, I guess.”

“All right,” the other man sighed. “Then let’s talk and check your wounds tomorrow morning and get you into bed now.”

“Yeah, about that …”

In the end, it took Healer Sanders less than five minutes to turn the narrow staircase leading up to Severus’ bedroom into a moving staircase, an option Severus hadn’t even considered so far – for whatever reason. Even the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts had stairs like that and yet … 

But to be fair, the level of magical proficiency that charm required was unattainable for him at the moment anyway. 

“Just step onto the bottommost or uppermost step and it’ll begin moving,” Healer Sanders explained.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Now, will you manage, or do you need any more help tonight?”

“I’ll manage.” Just a burden, causing chaos … “Only the potions …” he mumbled, unable to meet the healer's eyes.

“Right.”

Severus sat down on the couch, eyeing the vial of Euphoria Elixir, his pulse thumping, while Healer Sanders took his time checking his vitals and especially his fever. It was high enough to cause the poor man to scratch his head before turning to the potions. 

“You won’t spend the night here, will you?” Severus asked in an attempt to lighten the mood and take his mind off that blasted potion and the uneasiness churning in his mind, rippling down his spine and enveloping his torso like poisonous tendrils.

“No,” Healer Sanders sighed, “but I will cast a monitor charm on you that will alert St Mungo’s if your condition should worsen worryingly.” He hunched his shoulders apologetically. “I respect your wishes, but I need to play it safe. If you die tonight, Professor McGonagall will sue me to the moon and back.”

“Fair enough,” Severus mumbled and took every potion he was handed, watching greedily as Healer Sanders counted four drops of EE into his stronger night-time pain-relief. Thank god! Four drops would bring him through the night … 

Severus tried not to seem too visibly high from that mix while Healer Sanders was busy dosing his fever potion. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, though; the man slightly frowned at him when he gave him the last potion and carefully placed all vials back into the box before shrinking and pocketing it, only leaving two doses of pain-relief on the table. 

But right now, Severus only had a limited capacity to be bothered about that. After downing that last potion, he felt almost normal again, suddenly aware of how thick a fever haze he’d been sheathed in. The buzz of the monitor charm’s magic made him shudder, though. 

“Well, I’ll get going then,” Healer Sanders said, refraining from helping Severus back onto his feet although he visibly itched to; Severus had to manage on his own. “How will you spend the evening?”

“Sleeping,” Severus huffed, “what else am I supposed to do?”

“All right. I want you to drink a huge glass of water before you do, though.”

He harrumphed.

“Do you want a Dreamless-Sleep?”

Did he? “No. I’m tired enough on my own.” 

“Okay. See you tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yes.” He bid the healer goodbye with a nod, and when the green flames had died out, Severus slowly made his way to the privy to at least brush his teeth. He didn’t have enough spoons for the shower or the shave he was craving, but he had to get rid of the miserable taste throwing up and taking the potions had left in his mouth at least. 

When he was done, he took his toothbrush and paste back and placed them in the kitchen; since he wasn't using the loo at the moment, maybe that would save him a trip or two in the following days. 

Travelling up the stairs absolutely effortlessly then made him shake his head after all; moving staircase … Why didn’t he think of that? Well … 

His magic was sufficient to cast a cleansing spell on himself and a refreshing charm on his bed, and after changing into his own nightshirt instead of a hospital gown, Severus lay down, sighing in relief. Gods, his bed felt like heaven … Especially after the last night he’d spent on his lumpy couch. Silence pressed down on him like a weighted blanket, making him sleepy and, curiously, uneasy. 

He needed a solid five minutes to figure out where the uneasiness was coming from, and when he did, he groaned softly. He missed hearing the soft breaths of someone else sharing his room. 

Chapter Text

The following days, Severus spent mostly sleeping. He got up in the morning to talk to Healer Sanders and take his potions, then he went back to bed to sleep some more until Minerva popped by around noon to eat lunch with him. When she returned to Hogwarts, he was exhausted enough to slumber another hour or two on the couch before he forced himself to stay awake for a while until Healer Sanders came by again. 

It was some bleak days until he felt that he was slowly getting better and weathering his failed attempt at ending his life; despite the months that lay behind him, he was surprised by how hard a blow both the poison he’d spilt over himself and the potions he’d abused had been for his body. As it seemed, he still hadn’t fully realised that he wouldn’t get over ignoring his limits as easily as he used to anymore.

Anyway, it was two days after that disaster of a suicide attempt when the therapist answered him and suggested an appointment the following week; Severus accepted it before he could change his mind and tied the note to the owl’s leg straight away. 

Fuck, he thought, watching the bird getting smaller and smaller in the sky, needing to sit down from a sudden bout of dizziness. 

On day three, Healer Sanders told him that Granger indeed still wanted to stay in contact with him. “She was very relieved to hear you’re …” He faltered.

“Still alive?” Severus prompted.

“… Yes. I’d hoped there was a better way to phrase it, but I guess it is what it is.”

“Indeed,” Severus mumbled, downing the potion the healer gave him without checking which one it was.

And on day five, he could finally take a Strengthening Solution again, a moment that felt like a milestone he’d slowly lost hope of ever reaching. 

He used that bout of energy to go to the shops and asked Minerva if she had some time to spare to accompany him, unsure of whether he would manage walking the way and carrying his groceries, Feather-Light Charm or not. 

But he did. He needed some short breaks to catch his breath, and the whole trip cost them more than an hour, whereas he’d used to cover the distance in ten minutes in the past, but he managed, and thanks to his regular intake of EE he could actually feel a bit pleased with himself about that. 

A tiny bit. 

And a bit more when he could make himself a cup of coffee the next morning. Ugh, yes, this is it. Smirking, he sat down at the kitchen table, savouring that simple cup of coffee, the first after the end of the war that was exactly to his liking. St Mungo’s coffee had been all right – but dishwater compared to this. 

With a little huff, he stilled and looked down at his cup, hit by an unexpected thought: If I’d had it my way, I’d never have got that cup of coffee. Strange how his heart was beating a bit harder at that.

But the chairs still needed a better cushioning charm, so that was what he asked Healer Sanders about when he came by that morning. 

The way the man was scratching his head, looking at the old and battered kitchen chairs, however, didn’t bode well. 

“Well, I can try …” he eventually said slowly, “but those chairs are …”

“Old, I know.”

“I wanted to say ancient. I can cast a charm on them, but I don’t know how well it will stick.”

Leaning hard on his cane, Severus looked at him sullenly, unable to stifle the thought that he could have made those chairs feel like heaven with a flick of his wand only two months ago, and that charm would have stuck for at least a couple of weeks.

“I think,” Healer Sanders ended Severus’ musings, “you might need to warm to the thought that most of your furniture has seen better days and needs replacement in the near future.”

He harrumphed and hobbled back into the living room, unwilling to trouble himself with that kind of thing right now.

Instead, he troubled himself with the therapy session lying ahead of him. What would that woman do with him? What would she ask him? Had Healer Sanders told her about him already? Was that the reason why he’d got an appointment so quickly? Or did she have so few patients that she wasn’t fully booked? Was she really as good as Healer Sanders had said? Maybe he’d just said it because she was his wife. 

And what would she make him talk about? The war? Had she read about him in the Daily Prophet? Did she know about his trial and the ridiculous verdict they’d decided upon? 

Did they have children? Did she know what he’d let happen while he’d been headmaster and judge him through the eyes of a mother? 

She should.

Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to push away the screams of too many students, feeling nauseous despite the potion he got each morning. 

Was he ready to talk about things like that? Was he ready to let himself be watched and judged and pushed into facing things he just wanted to forget? 

And what was he supposed to do about Miss Granger? Should he really visit her?

Ever since Healer Sanders had told him about Miss Granger still wanting to stay in contact with him four days ago, he’d avoided thinking about it. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something about that was wrong on a level nobody seemed to see, let alone understand. He just wasn’t the kind of teacher students wanted to stay in contact with. Granted, he’d got a Christmas card every now and then, maybe three or four each year, but he would have bet his right hand that he wouldn’t get a single one this year. He was just … vile.

Not a person someone like Hermione Granger should associate herself with, and he couldn’t understand why nobody seemed to get that. 

Maybe he should talk about that in his upcoming therapy session. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. A plan that gave him two more days so he wouldn’t have to make a decision. Perfect.

But two days were a laughably short time, even if you didn’t spend most of those days sleeping, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure about his plan anymore.

The morning of his first therapy session, Severus only grunted and harrumphed at Healer Sanders, who either genuinely didn’t know what that was about or was a better actor than Severus had ever given him credit for. 

Was it really possible that his wife hadn’t even told him when she would meet with Severus?

He didn’t come to a conclusion about that, though, because he had to make himself presentable. He not only had to shower but get rid of that beard as well, and when he was digging through his wardrobe for some clean clothes, he realised that he would have to do the laundry soon. 

So it was an old long-sleeved shirt he finally chose to wear, old enough that it looked grey instead of black, paired with some jeans he had to shrink to keep them from slipping off his hips. He scowled at himself in the mirror, missing his shirt and frock coat and cloak and all the buttons, but it was about thirty degrees outside anyway, she would think him a lunatic without him needing to say a single word if he turned up there in full armour on a day like this.

Fuck, what if she would have him committed? What if she made him say something stupid and did what her husband had always refrained from doing?

He sat down on his bed, trying to will his pulse to calm down by reaching for some Occlumency.

That was ridiculous. He obviously wasn’t a danger to himself anymore. He’d been there and failed. There was no reason for her to have him committed if he didn't behave like a complete idiot. And after tricking the Dark Lord into thinking him his loyal servant, he should be able to not give this therapist a reason to lock him away in some asylum. 

Yet he took a dose of that new calming draught Healer Sanders had allowed him to have a bottle of. “Do I need to charm it so you don’t overdo it?” he’d asked, not in a mean kind of way but for Severus to evaluate his self-control.

“Will it kill me or make me high if I take too much?”

“No. Just very calm and probably nauseous.”

“Then why should I overdo it?”

That seemed to convince him, and so Severus had a vial at his disposal and permission to take up to four doses of ten drops per day if he needed it. 

So far, he’d only taken one and that had been two days ago during a particularly bad night. 

But despite the potion, his heart was thumping when he stepped into the fireplace and called out the address on the business card. 

He was pushed out of the Floo into a room that vaguely reminded him of Healer Sanders’ office. At least the huge bookshelves did. And the broad desk. And the withering plant. Neither of them has green fingers, as it seems.

“Ah, Mr Snape,” a voice to his left said, and he turned around, spotting a blonde woman in the doorway smiling at him kindly.

“Good morning,” he said, and when she’d shifted what looked like a cup of tea into her left hand, he shook the right she offered him.

“It’s nice to meet you. Please, take a seat, I’ll be right with you! I just need to complete some notes first.”

“Take your time,” he mumbled and turned around to where she’d gestured. Two armchairs were standing at twelve and three o’clock around a focal point, which was a small table. He chose the one closer to the door, grimacing at his involuntary display of not wanting to feel trapped as soon as he’d sat down. 

Holding on to his cane, he watched Juliet Reames taking a tentative sip of tea while she scribbled away. Should he have come a bit later? He had a habit of being a couple of minutes early, and since he expected to end up in some kind of waiting area, he didn’t think that would be a problem. 

Was it a problem? 

He narrowed his eyes, peering through the still-open door without moving his head. What he was able to see looked like a hallway, not of a business place, but a private place. 

Was she meeting with her clients in her own home?

But this room didn’t look as if it were used privately. What book titles he was able to read were professional works about psychology and the human psyche in general.

Before he could further immerse himself in his musings, she stood up and fetched her mug to come to him. “Do you fancy a cuppa as well?”

“No, thank you.”

“All right. And do you prefer the door to stay open or be closed? We’re alone in the house, but some people don’t like closed or open doors, so …”

He blinked. “I don’t mind either.” 

“I’d leave it open then to get the air moving a bit.” She sat down in the vacant armchair and fanned herself with her hand. “How do you cope with the heat?”

Not by drinking hot tea. “It’s rather cool in my house,” he decided to say. Truth was, he’d lost so much weight over the last week that the faded Dark Mark on his arm had not been the only reason for him to wear a long-sleeved shirt today.

She hummed, smiling. “Well, I’m happy you decided to give me a chance.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re husband talked me into it.”

“He said he did, yes,” she smiled.

“Is that something he does regularly?”

“No. Usually, it suffices to give his patients my card and let them decide on their own.”

“I see. What did he tell you about me?”

“Nothing, really.” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and leaving her tea on the table. “He just told me he had a patient he was worried about and hoped to convince to come and see me. And when you agreed to do so, he told me to look out for your name and try to find a timely appointment because he was afraid you might change your mind.” He huffed, she smiled, and when she looked him in the eyes for a second too long, he glanced into her mind – only to find that she was telling the truth. “But of course, I read a thing or two about you in the paper lately. It was hard to miss.”

“I can imagine,” he said in a low voice, gripping the cane standing between his knees harder. Now she would surely start questioning him about the war and the atrocities he’d committed.

“How do you feel about being here now?”

He blinked. Hm. “I don’t know yet. How do you feel about me being here?” 

“I’m interested in getting to know you. So far, my husband has never been so invested in somebody’s wellbeing that he dropped a name.”

“He doesn’t talk about his patients?”

“Rarely. And if he does, he never mentions names. Both of us are very strict about confidentiality.”

Severus hummed softly, uncertain about whether he could believe that or not. But he still couldn’t find a hint of a lie in her eyes or voice or demeanour. “Then,” he eventually decided to say, “I should probably warn you. I only agreed to take five sessions, and I’m not planning to make it more.”

“That’s all right. You decide how long you want or need my help. You don’t even need to take five sessions if you find that coming here doesn’t help you. I won’t tell my husband.” She smiled.

Don’t tempt me … But he only nodded.

“So, I guess you’re not comfortable giving me an overview about your recent past or childhood if you’re planning to only come here for a couple of sessions. But I always find the time’s going by faster when we’re having a chat instead of just sitting in silence, so … is there anything you would like to share, now that you’re here?”

“Like?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Like problems, you think I might be the right person to help you with. Things that are troubling you, either right now or in the past, conflicts you think an outsider could provide another perspective on – in short, anything everybody who’s ever mentioned therapy around you said we would love to talk about. I’m afraid they are all right.”

He huffed, genuinely amused by her unapologetically shrugging her shoulders. Then he exhaled and thought about what he might like to share. There was still the Granger matter, but now that he was sitting here … Ugh, no. 

He needed something, though. Although he wasn't generally above sitting in silence the whole time just to prove straight away how stubborn a person he could be, he surprisingly found that he didn't want to do that now. 

Severus had not the foggiest why that was, though; so far, he’d always sat in stubborn silence whenever someone had tried to make him talk about anything only slightly emotion-related. Albus, Minerva, Poppy, even Lily back in the day – he’d always evaded their questions and scoffed his way out of those situations. 

But scoffing felt awfully exhausting right now. Resisting did. 

I might be getting old …

And the worst part was: All of this had been his choice. He could have long been dead if he’d really wanted to. As much as he loathed to admit that, Healer Sanders had been right. He apparently wanted to try another path before he chose his emergency exit. And scoffing and telling nothing was definitely a part of that old path. 

But old path or not, he didn’t want to bare his soul to that woman within their first ten minutes of talking either. Probably never would, but definitely not now. Plus, he was tired of people trying to help him with his current condition. Minerva did that enough, Healer Sanders did, he couldn’t bear having a third person pick and tug at him at the moment. Couldn’t take a single more advice about how he might feel better. 

So, what else?

… 

Miss Granger swam back into his mind. He eyed the therapist from the corner of his eye, finding that she watched him calmly, showing absolutely no intention of probing or pushing him in any way. Dammit. Maybe she could provide another perspective on that. And maybe Granger indeed was the least humiliating topic that wasn’t small talk at the moment. Plus, he really needed to put an end to his constant musing about that question, and obviously, he wasn’t able to achieve that on his own.

Well, then … “While I was in St Mungo’s,” he began slowly after at least three or four minutes had passed in absolute silence, “I had to share a room with a former student of mine.” She nodded, listening with what felt like not only her ears but her whole body, although he couldn’t have put into words what he meant by that. “She was … seriously hurt during the war as well and struggling at least as much as I did, so we got to know each other quite … intimately.” He briefly curled his lip. “We witnessed a lot,” he felt the need to add.

“I see,” she said softly and left it at that.

Severus swallowed reflexively. Her not asking any questions was more unsettling than the opposite would have been. Blinking, he shook that thought off. “When I was discharged, she asked me to stay in contact, and I … rejected her.” Quite roughly. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that out loud. “I didn’t think we would ever see each other again -” He swallowed. “- but things went another way and …” He huffed. “Your husband then asked me if I could imagine staying in contact with her after all, because her condition is apparently deteriorating since I’ve left.”

She nodded slowly, and when Severus didn’t say anything else, she asked, “And you’re unsure of whether you should do that? Stay in contact with her?”

He exhaled slowly. “Yes. She was my student. And I’ve not been a kind teacher! Plus, I’m twenty years her senior.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, once again stricken by the whole situation. “It feels inappropriate to stay in contact with her,” he mumbled eventually.

The therapist hummed. “Do you have an idea why that is?”

He looked up. “What do you mean?” Wasn’t the fact that Granger had been his student and was twenty bloody years younger than him reason enough to feel like that?

“Well, since I’ve seen your age in some of the articles I came across during the last weeks, I assume she is eighteen?”

He nodded jerkily.

She mirrored it. “So she is of age, an adult, and as far as I know will never be your student again.”

“No,” he said when she looked at him for affirmation. 

“So, no kind of power imbalance apart from life experience on your part either. There’s nothing inappropriate about being in contact with adults, even if they happen to be former students. On the contrary, young people generally benefit immensely from being in contact with older people, that’s how human development works: we learn from those older than we are. Which leads me back to my question: Why do you think it feels inappropriate for you to stay in contact with her if there’s no objective reason for that?”

He averted his eyes, fixing the lowest step of a stair in the hallway, the shadowy line where it met the floor, and softly retorted, “Because she wouldn’t learn anything from me.”

“Why do you think that?”

Because I’ve only ever made mistakes! But what he said was, “I just know it.”

She hummed again. “But what if she would? What if she’d genuinely benefit from staying in contact with you despite everything you think to know?”

“What if?” he repeated gruffly, “Well, what if she doesn’t? Isn’t that the more important question?”

“I have the impression you thought about that one for quite a while already, and since it’s my job to provide new perspectives, I’d like to focus on mine: What if it will do her good to stay in contact with you?”

“It won’t,” he sneered. Everybody had always regretted being in contact with him, either because he’d hurt them, or because they’d straight up been murdered because of being associated with him. That was not what Granger deserved!

Silent minutes ticked by, minutes he needed to realise that the therapist wouldn’t challenge him any further, and more minutes that gave him the space to find that he wasn’t satisfied with the outcome of their discussion. It had been the same tiring no he’d ended up at during all of the past days. No, he didn’t want to stay in contact with her. He shouldn’t. It would be better if he didn’t. 

No. 

But never had that conclusion brought him any peace. The topic just kept creeping back into his mind, nagging and bugging him like a rat refusing to die.

Because he didn’t want the answer to be no. 

He closed his eyes. “I … just don’t want to hurt her,” he admitted eventually and only blinked to give his words more emphasis when he added, “I have only ever hurt people, and she deserves better than that, do you understand?”

She nodded slowly, some kind of pain flickering across her features. And even later, he couldn’t tell why that was, because of what she realised about him or because of what she was about to tell him, which was, “But you already do.”

Suddenly, he seemed to sit in a room devoid of air, summer-hot and winter-cold at the same time. “What do you mean?” he found himself asking again, weakly this time.

“She asked you to stay in contact with you, Mr Snape. She obviously benefits from that in some kind of way, otherwise she wouldn’t have approached you. And my husband told you her condition has been deteriorating since you left. That strongly suggests that she’s already hurting.”

He gulped, closing his eyes against a bout of dizziness right before he huffed a mirthless laugh. “Do you mean to tell me that I can only lose, no matter how I decide?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean to tell you that you should make your decision for the right reasons. You have, of course, every right to reject staying in contact with her if you truly don’t want to do that. She will find a way to deal with that, it’s a kind of pain all of us experience, it’s a part of being alive. But rejecting it solely because you think it would hurt her to be in contact with you will not prevent her from being hurt. And it will hurt you on top of it. You don’t gain anything from staying away from her only because of that.”

“How do you know? I might hurt her even more if we stay in contact.”

“Or you might both be fine,” she opposed. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been fully convinced about predicting the future. Usually, you don’t know what’s about to come, no matter how talented a seer you are. If there is something like fate, it always finds a way to play its tricks with us.”

“I’m its whipping boy,” he scoffed. 

She took a deep breath, smiling broadly and nodding. “And like most whipping boys, you’re understandably afraid of the next blow.”

He looked at her, waiting. “But?” he prompted when she didn’t proceed.

“No but. That’s the answer to the question I asked you. You feel it would be inappropriate to stay in contact with your former student because that’s a more palpable reason than being afraid of fate’s next blow. Now you have to decide if you want to act on that fear or not.”

He sneered at her. “So you want me to just go and visit her?”

“I don’t want anything, Mr Snape. I have no desire to control your decisions or your life. My job is to unravel your emotions and show you what’s really controlling you. Then you can make a conscious decision all on your own.”

But it was more than being afraid of fate’s next blow, as his therapist had called it, Severus found when he was lying awake that night. It wasn’t just about what fate or the future or however one might call it would have up its sleeve, and the pain that could potentially cause Granger.

It was about the pain it could cause him as well. 

He’d had a hard time not growing too attached to her while being at St Mungo’s already, if he went back to visit her and stay in contact with her in earnest, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from … liking her. From clinging to her as he’d clung to Lily. 

And from crushing as he’d crushed, losing her.

A fresh wave of nausea sloshed through his stomach when those mingled dreams he’d had the other day came rushing back into his mind. Fuck. 

This wasn’t just about being fate’s whipping boy, but it definitely was about being afraid. Scared stiff, really. That was what he was. 

When his heart began thumping heavily and the familiar tingle of an impending panic attack crept up the back of his neck, Severus sat up and put his feet on the cool wooden floor, forcing himself to breathe slowly. 

Hold out, sir, this will pass, I’m here, we will get you through this. 

He breathed a short, hysterical laugh when Granger’s voice echoed through his roiling mind. He would never find peace with that no, would he? 

God, I’m so fucked …

Chapter Text

Severus spent his night slipping in and out of restless sleep, plagued by muddled dreams, borderline nightmares, of Granger crumbling to dust the moment he touched her and Lily looking down at him in disgust. He gasped awake at least two times to go through another panic attack, paralysed, unable even to sit up. His body was buzzing with pain when he finally managed to wake up properly, only minutes before Healer Sanders was to stop by; throwing over his dressing gown almost caused him to black out. 

“Why didn’t you take another pain-relief tonight?” the healer asked, sounding surprisingly aghast while he was once again busy checking Severus’ vitals. 

“Didn’t think of it,” Severus mumbled, slowly sipping the stronger pain-relief Healer Sanders had fetched from the box of potions he always brought. Truth was, he did think of it – but only in his dreams. There, he took several potions, but naturally, none of them had eased the pain. And in between dreams, he'd failed to wake up enough to realise that he'd actually not taken any potion.

“What do you mean? How can you not think about taking a pain-relief if you’re in so much pain?”

Had other things to work through. “Does that really matter?” he asked instead, relaxing as the potion kicked in.

“Yes! I need to know if this is another way of yours to hurt yourself, or if I need to readjust your potions, or if your symptoms are worsening, or if it’s something else entirely! It does matter, Mr Snape!”

Oh, boy … Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “I just had a miserable night, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

Healer Sanders glowered at him. “Well, did you do anything yesterday that could explain that miserable night or …”

Severus huffed. “Actually, I did,” he replied, smiling mockingly before he let that smile melt into a scowl, “I met with your wife for the first time.” 

Instantly, Healer Sanders' demeanour changed. “Oh?”

Severus harrumphed, putting his elbows on his knees when his pulse sped up and breathing became harder. 

“Well, we should consider Dreamless-Sleep after your sessions then,” the healer eventually mused, feeling Severus’ pulse again until Severus pulled his wrist out of his grasp and gave him another scowl. Unbothered, Healer Sanders arched his eyebrows. “Because your condition is abysmal, I cannot give you a Strengthening Solution, and you’ll probably need some more doses of that stronger pain-relief to get you through the day. You’d better take it easy today.”

“No,” Severus grumbled, standing up despite everything, “I’ve spent enough days being idle lately, just give me those potions and let me handle my day, it’s mine after all.”

Healer Sanders exhaled sourly. “Fine,” he eventually relented, “But keep in mind that I will have you return to St Mungo’s if your condition worsens too much!”

“Fine,” Severus echoed. I’ll return there today anyway. 

Albeit not to stay. 

If there was one conclusion he’d drawn from the last night, it was this: He had to go and see Granger, at least once, because he couldn’t do nights like that regularly. Despite his fears and apprehensions, a part of him obviously wasn’t ready to let go of her and the time they’d shared in there, and he didn’t have enough strength anymore to just push it down and go on with his life as he’d done with other things in previous years. Another rule of his new life seemed to be that he actually had to deal with things, or else things would deal with him – and never in his favour. 

So he scraped up his spoons and made himself as presentable as possible (which meant a cleansing charm instead of a shower and digging through his pile of worn clothes to find the least smelly ones), grimacing at his once again unshaven and pale face in the mirror before he went off. 

Hobbling along the long corridor leading to the room they’d shared for two months, Severus found his palms damp enough he had to grip his cane harder, an uneasy feeling niggling in the back of his neck and his hastily eaten breakfast sitting heavy on his stomach. Partly that might be due to the pain the potion hadn’t been able to stifle; a constant burning like small fires smouldering everywhere in his body. But it was also the familiar sounds of the ward that made the hairs on his arms stand on end, and he wasn’t sure if he’d really made it to th- … to Granger’s room if he’d have met someone on his way. 

But the only thing he met was a question that befell him the moment he reached out to knock: What if Granger got a new roommate?

He gulped, looking back down the corridor. But a shiver ran down his spine, the same as last night, like the first tendrils of whatever it was he couldn’t deal with, and so he knocked. 

What the hell am I even doing here?

Too late to abort the mission, though, because a second later, he thought he heard her voice and his treacherous hand pushed down the handle. 

Granger was lying in her bed, luckily still alone in the room, and took a sharp breath when she recognised him. “Professor,” she whispered, trying to sit up but slumping back down before she succeeded. 

“Snape will do,” he said, not pausing to add, “Do you need help?”

“No,” she mumbled, “it’s just the potions. New mix, I just …” She faltered, and when he saw her chin tremble, he averted his eyes.

“Don’t you dare start crying.”

“Sorry,” she breathed.

Severus decided to give her a second and turned to fetch a chair. He needed to sit down anyway, and since they’d removed his bed from the room, leaving behind an unsettlingly empty space, one of those had to do. When he’d carried it closer to her bed, he carefully sat down (once again stunned by how comfortable they were compared to his kitchen chairs), leaned his cane against her bedstand, and found that she’d recollected herself when he raised his eyes. “You look dreadful.”

She huffed, slowly turning on her side to be able to face him better. “You’re one to talk …”

One corner of his mouth twitched, the left one, then he lowered his eyes. “I apologise for the way I treated you before I left.”

“It’s all right.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah … Just this once.” Her mouth twitched as well. 

He nodded slowly, trying to stop his eyes from travelling over her pale, haggard complexion – in vain. The shadows underneath her cheekbones seemed deeper, her lips thinner, her eyes duller. Healer Sanders had been right; her condition had been deteriorating. 

“You’re staring at me,” she assessed.

“And you are at me.”

“Touché.” She closed her eyes, sighing softly.

“Are you in pain?”

“No. Just dizzy. I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her eyes. “How are you?”

Alive, he instantly found himself thinking, followed by a wave of guilt because he was sure she’d thought the same, if not now, then when he came in minutes ago. What had he been thinking, being so transparent regarding his plans in front of a former student? With a girl barely of age … He cleared his throat. “Been worse,” he said, fighting down his urge to be way too open with her yet again. But there was one thing he needed to know, too open or not. “So, why do you want to stay in contact with me?” His hands missed the handle of his cane, the solid wood he could knead and hold on to, so they held on to themselves instead, trying to disguise it as a gesture of ease, trying not to let on how surprised he was they didn’t just snap under his firm grip.

Granger swallowed thickly, her brown eyes trembling unfocused until she pinched them closed for a second before fixing him again. “I um … I don’t know. I just know that … When I asked you, I knew I’d … miss you.” She swallowed again. “There were days in here … It’s probably a bit exaggerated to say I wouldn’t have made it through them without you, but … you definitely made them a little less unbearable and … there’s not much right now that can make anything about this less unbearable.” She pursed her lips, visibly gnawing at the soft flesh on the inside to stop herself from crying. “So I tried to hold on to that,” she added hoarsely. 

That sound, her visibly fighting against her tears, and the bleakness of this room and the whole situation made him lower his eyes, struggling to draw some air into his lungs.

He needed so long to succeed that Granger seized the opportunity to ask, “And why did you decide to come back?”

Because I couldn’t bear staying away. He rubbed his eyes, grappling for an answer that was both honest and restrained enough. Something that wasn’t I felt like I owed you, or Because Healer Sanders asked me to, or My therapist said you’d be better off without me, isn’t a good enough reason not to come. 

“Less unbearable is hard to obtain for me as well,” he eventually said, forcing himself to meet her eyes after all. 

She smiled timidly. 

Taking a deep breath, he said, “But I do hope your declining health isn’t solely due to me being a bastard when I left.”

She sniffled covertly, probably failing to notice his once again tense fingers, because she just said, “No,” as if it was indeed only a throw-away question, a lousy attempt to end the pregnant silence. “I’ve also made some decisions that … were necessary but hard nonetheless.”

“Decisions?”

She nodded slowly. “I would tell you, but then I will cry so …” Even now tears were welling in her eyes. 

“I’ll survive,” he said. As long as she didn’t cry because of him, he would cope.

“Will you now?” she whispered, a remark so unexpectedly honest that he was lost for words. And then he decided to let it slip because he probably deserved that, and there was nothing to gain from any response. 

Granger made another attempt at sitting up, this time succeeding at least halfway and reaching for her water to take a sip before she pulled the thin blanket higher up her body and her legs closer as if she had to protect herself from what exactly she’d decided. “I um … broke up with Ron, actually.” As she’d predicted, a tear leaked down her cheek; she quickly brushed it away.

“Why?”

She shrugged, her chin trembling and her breath hitching. “He deserves better,” she finally breathed. “He was here the other day when … I had one of those sudden attacks, you know?”

He nodded.

She gulped. “It was the first he witnessed since the battle, and … I don’t know, guess he thought it was less grim by now. He was so … overwhelmed and … scared. I don’t blame him, really, I’d have been too in his stead. But … it would ruin him to witness that regularly.” She brushed some more tears from her face, and Severus took the tissue box to hold it out to her. “Thank you.” She dabbed her face and blew her nose. “Plus, I know he wants children. Not now but … someday. And he can’t have them with me.” Her voice grew a bit steadier. “Not only because I can’t get pregnant anymore, I know we could adopt, but also because I can’t raise children. I’m not resilient enough, never will be. He would be a single parent most of the time despite my being there, and one day the child would feel the need to care for me as well, and I don’t want that. Or Ron would have to sacrifice having children for my sake and watch me suffer regularly, and couldn’t have the life he wants to have and … one day he would hate me for that. So I … ended it. Now.” She picked at her tissue. “We haven’t been together for long, just … two and a half months. He will get over me and find someone he can build a life with.” Her voice quieted while she said it, so much so that Severus was barely able to understand her at the end. 

And then there was silence. A number of seconds ticked by until he said, “I’m sorry.”

Granger huffed softly. “Yeah, I’m too …” She cast him a glance. “But I’ll get over him as well and maybe, someday, we can be friends again, right?” She looked at him as if hoping for his affirmation, then, when she didn’t get it, she nodded and dabbed some more tears away. Pulling two more tissues out of the box, she said, “Gosh, I’m so sorry! You surely didn’t come back to have me lament about … about teenage drama.” She blew her nose again and threw the crumpled tissues over the edge of her bed, where a waste bin was probably standing, for he heard a soft crinkle. 

“Nothing about that is teenage drama.”

She leaned her head back, sighing. “Yeah, doesn’t feel like it either … But I wish it was.” She peered at him, her eyes a bit red. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

He exhaled slowly. “No.” He didn’t know much about Weasley’s plans for his future, but looking at how things had changed and how different Granger’s life would be, it was only fair to free the boy of any commitment. If they got back together in the future, at least they’d both made a conscious decision. “How did your other friends react to that?”

She shrugged again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think Harry understands, though he didn’t say so. Guess he’s disappointed we won’t all be a huge happy family. He’s been here a couple of times and distracted me. Ginny … don’t know, honestly. She was here once after and didn’t mention it. Makes me a bit worried about how Ron’s coping, if I'm being honest.”

“Would you change your decision if he were coping poorly?”

She thought about that for a moment. “No,” she then said, “it’s better this way, isn’t it? One day he will realise that too.”

“Then don’t bother yourself about him. It’s no longer in your power to make it better.”

Granger opened her mouth to object, maybe to tell him that that was easier said than done, but then she met his eyes and seemed to remember who he was and what he’d done and had to let happen and her reply withered until it was merely a nod, summoning another moment of silence, not uncomfortable, just quiet. 

Eventually, she softly added, “But my breaking up with Ron leaves me with some other problems. I planned to move in with him and Harry at Grimmauld Place when I’m discharged, and now I … don’t know where to go.”

“What about your parents?”

She huffed, smiling bitterly and turning her eyes to the ceiling. “They are in Australia,” she began, ending her words with a peculiar rise of her voice, “and don’t know I exist, or ever existed.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. 

“What have you done?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Granger gulped. “Memory charm. They don’t know who they used to be anymore. I had to get them out of England, you know? Voldemort …” Her voice cracked. 

Stupid girl. “When did you do it?”

“It’s too late,” she said exhaustedly, “and even if it weren’t … How would I be supposed to travel to Australia? Plus, the other day Harry told me they sold their house here in England. Guess they don’t plan to come back anyway.”

He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do realise someone else could have gone to reverse that charm?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled, “but would that have been fair? To get them back only so they would be burdened with me?”

“Burdened,” he echoed derisively. 

She hunched her shoulders. “How would you call it? I’m not exactly a pleasure to have around anymore.”

Her words made his heart skip a beat. “You aren’t planning to pick up where I left, are you, Miss Granger?”

She gulped again. “I …” When her eyes met his, something wild and desperate was raging in them. “No,” she eventually breathed, “no, I’m … I’m just tired and … I don’t know what to do. Maybe I can go back to Hogwarts for a start, at least try to graduate or … dunno.”

God dammit … “I’ll think of something.”

Her eyes snapped up. “What? No! I didn’t mean to … I mean, that’s not -”

“Stop your stuttering,” he muttered, silencing her with a scowl for good measure. “When will they discharge you?”

“I don’t know yet. Couple of weeks, maybe? They’re still trying to figure out the right mix of potions.”

“Not very successfully as it seems,” he noted.

“Well … I mean, I only have attacks about once a week lately, that’s something …”

He arched his eyebrows. That really was something …

“It’s just about the side effects of the potions. They’re trying to minimise my as much as necessary, you know?”

He harrumphed. “Do you have any assets?”

“No. I mean, I do have a savings account my parents opened for me when I was born. Don’t know how much money is in it, though.”

“Send Potter to find out,” Severus ordered.

“O-Okay.” She swallowed thickly. “But what do you plan to do? Nobody will rent me a flat without a job and I -”

“Stop telling me what I already know, Granger,” he interrupted her, “I’m just trying to get an overview of your situation.”

“Okay,” she whispered meekly, “Thank you.”

He harrumphed again and, checking his clock, stood up; Minerva would come over for lunch soon, and he’d better spare her the scare of him not opening the door yet again. “I have to go now, but I’ll stop by in a couple of days. Try not to worsen your condition too much until then, will you?”

“Um, sure,” she mumbled, “thank you. For visiting me, I mean. And …” She swallowed. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” 

It was only when he closed the door behind him and a spike of pain forced him to stop, his hand still on the handle, that he fully realised what he’d promised Granger to do. Fuck. So, apparently, he’d really decided to stay in contact with her, so much so that he'd made her his problem. Bloody perfect.

Chapter Text

He stumbled out of the Floo a little more deftly than the last time he’d returned from St Mungo’s, yet he needed to sit down first to wait out a wave of dizziness and surging pain. His eyes closed and his teeth tightly clenched, he groaned, counting the passing beats of his heart. 

At one hundred, he blinked. It seemed as if Healer Sanders hadn’t been lying when he’d said Severus would need stronger potions to get through this day. And Mediwitch Persimmons hadn’t been lying when she’d said he needed to stay ahead of his pain, else he would need more potions to get it back under control; that one he’d taken this morning should have kept him pain-free for much longer than it had. 

What a shitshow … 

A night like the last must never happen again, he needed to take measures to prevent that. Putting a vial or two of pain-relief onto his bedside cabinet to spare him the trip downstairs, maybe setting an alarm for the night to take one before the last one waned. 

Or never take any potion ever again and simply let the matter sort itself out.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, resorting to a bit of Occlumency. He’d chosen his side, he wouldn’t dwell on those kinds of notions. He couldn’t anyway, he’d promised Granger to help her. 

Clearing his throat, he reached for one of the vials on the table and popped it open to down it. 

When the potion kicked in, he turned his head left and right, grimacing from a crack or two, before he got up and went over to the stairs. He was in dire need of some clean clothes and should have enough time and magic available right now to deal with that before Minerva came to pester him with lunch again. 

Ugh, Minerva. He wished she wouldn’t come. Not today. But he needed to talk to her about Granger. Maybe she would agree to the girl returning to Hogwarts for her last year so they'd have more time to sort that matter out. 

But that wasn’t an option he should bank on. Granger’s condition was … subpar, to say the least, she probably wasn't fit enough to approach her N.E.W.T.s. And Hogwarts was no asylum; she couldn’t live there without attending classes. 

Waiting for the stairs to carry him up, he wrinkled his nose. What other options did she have, though? Granger had been right; nobody would rent her a flat without her having a job, no matter how much money she might have in her savings account. At least nobody who didn’t know her … 

Hm. Didn’t Minerva own a cottage? Now that she was headmistress and living in the castle all year round, maybe she would let Granger live there for a while … 

He needed to ask her about that as well, the sooner the better. He sighed. He just had to suck it up and let her come.

When the stairs stopped, he limped into his bedroom and headed to the laundry basket, threw a couple of shirts over his shoulder and stuffed some underwear into his pockets. Then he snatched a pair of trousers and turned to get back downstairs, laden like a sorry excuse for a Christmas tree. 

Maybe Kingsley could get the Ministry to help Granger out? After everything she’d done for the war effort, it would have been the least they could do to provide her with accommodation. He sniffed derisively. As if. Providing Granger – or any Order member – with a place to live probably wasn’t a top priority of the Ministry at the moment, especially considering that Potter owned a huge house. 

Potter … Of course, Severus understood all too well why she didn’t want to move in at Grimmauld Place. Apart from that house being depression incarnate… Even if Weasley decided to move back into the Burrow for the time being, Granger would still be reminded of him constantly, if not faced with him when he visited Potter. Plus, Severus doubted Potter would be better at helping her through her attacks than Weasley.

But who would be equipped to get her through those attacks, apart from medical personnel? What was Healer Sanders’ plan for Granger after her discharge? 

He would need to talk to him as well, Severus ascertained when he stepped off the stairs and crossed the living room, stopping short when there was a knock on his door. 

Bugger. 

He grimaced, glancing at the piled shirts draped over his shoulder and his pockets bulging with dirty underwear. 

“Severus?”

Bloody perfect. Sighing, he limped to the door and opened it, scowling when he noticed Minerva’s relieved gaze roving over his face and his posture, trying to estimate whether he was fine or not – and stopping at the laundry hanging over his shoulder. “You’re early,” he deadpanned, forcing her to look him in the eyes again.

She arched her brows. “I could leave earlier and thought you might need some help.”

His scowl deepened. I need you to stop pestering me all the bloody time! 

“Oh, stop looking at me like that, boy!”

“I’m not your boy!”

“Then behave like an adult and let me help you.” 

Really, he wanted to tell her to fuck off and shut the door in her face but even through his billowing annoyance he knew that would have been a stupid thing to do. There was a time for pride, but this wasn't it. So he briefly closed his eyes and muttered, “Come in.” She did so with a sniff, and like every time he had to appear before the Dark Lord, he schooled his features into indifference while he followed her into the kitchen and pointed to the backyard. “The tubs over there,” he said after stepping into a warm and humid July’s Tuesday, and motioned at the two galvanised tubs which were covered in cobwebs and dirt after more than a year of not using them. 

She looked at him, piqued. “You do know that washing machines exist?”

“You don’t say. But there’s no electricity here and no space in the house for such a huge appliance, magically powered or not, so that’s what I’m using.” Live with it or leave me alone.

She hummed sceptically, pursing her lips and standing up even straighter in her dark green cloak before she drew her wand and let the two tubs float into the middle of the backyard. “Do you have detergent?”

“Yes.” He unloaded his laundry into one of the swiftly cleaned tubs – “Separate white from black clothes at least!” – “No.” – and returned inside. Stopping at the worktop, he rubbed his eyes, trying to push down the crawling sensation on his skin with more Occlumency. 

But moments later, as he watched Minerva filling both tubs with warm water and setting them to whirl and tumble the laundry around, first in the soapy water, then later in the clear, he couldn’t help another crawling sensation he had no problem identifying as envy. Was this really what his life was supposed to look like from now on? Unable to even do his bloody laundry on his own because he might need his magic and fucking spoons for something else, like recasting the ruddy nappy charm his body chose this moment to remind him he direly needed? How the hell did he end up like this?

“Let’s go inside,” Minerva softly snapped him out of his thoughts, “the laundry will sort itself out.”

He made a non-committal sound and limped ahead, carefully sitting down on his usual chair – really, the most uncomfortable chair he’d ever encountered, and how had he never noticed that before?! –, and watched Minerva do the same opposite him.

“Don’t you think you should finally open your mail, Severus?” she asked, nodding at the pile still lying on his worktop. He hadn’t touched a single one of those since he returned.

“No,” he muttered. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

She looked at him expectantly.

And he sneered slightly, realising that he now would have to admit that he’d indeed visited Granger. Steeling himself for the glee or smugness or whatever kind of bloody emotion Minerva would have to spare for that, he said, “I went to visit Miss Granger today.”

“Oh,” she said, “I’m glad to hear. How is she?”

He narrowed his eyes. “It looks like St Mungo’s will soon reach its wits’ end and discharge her. She needs somewhere to stay, then.”

“What about Grimmauld Place?”

“No. She broke up with Mr Weasley.”

Minerva hummed softly, knitting her brows. 

“Do you think there’s a chance she can return to Hogwarts and approach her N.E.W.T.s?”

“Do you think she can?” Minerva asked back. “You’re better informed about her condition than I am, and you know how hard the last year is, mainly because you always took care to make it as hard as possible for your students.”

“I only prepared them as best as possible,” he retorted flatly, once again rubbing his itching eyes, and Minerva scoffed softly. 

“Be that as it may … Miss Granger isn’t fit for her seventh year, is she?” she asked, sadness tinting her voice.

“No,” he sighed. “She’d need more time and a quiet environment to even try to study for her N.E.W.T.s.”

“Well, I can talk with the Ministry about that. Wouldn’t be the first time a student with differing needs was allowed a derogation.”

He harrumphed, his gaze briefly flitting to his laundry. The first pieces were floating up to the clothesline already, leaving a trail of water. He wished it wasn’t his briefs. 

“But why is it you worrying yourself with Miss Granger’s accommodation?” Minerva’s curiosity pulled him back into the kitchen. 

He scowled at her again. “Because you told me I should go and visit her, and then she told me all of that, and I said I would come up with something.”

And there it was, Minerva’s insufferable smugness. “I knew it would do you good to stay in contact with her.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” he muttered and wished the damn house-elf would choose this moment to bring the lunch but, of course, it didn’t. “Anyway, do you have another idea where Miss Granger could stay in the future? Didn’t you have a cottage?”

She clicked her tongue. “Unfortunately, I just sold it. If only I’d known …”

Bugger. 

“But I’ll ask around.”

“Don’t bother,” he mumbled, watching horrified as another pair of briefs floated up to the clothesline. 

When Minerva left about an hour later, Severus felt the last of his spoons fading away and lay down on the couch, fiercely rubbing his eyes while he waited for his pulse to slow down. He’d eaten more than he should have, trying to meet his requirements to get a Strengthening Solution tomorrow, and now his lunch was sitting heavily on his stomach and threatening to travel back up his throat. He swallowed compulsively, scooting a bit up higher so he wasn’t lying flat on his back. 

Gods, he hated to eat so much. Everything about it made him feel disgusting and uncomfortable like a forced-fed goose. 

Pressing his fist against his mouth, he burped softly. Ugh …

Yet he felt his eyes droop closed, exhaustion beating his discomfort at last.

… 

It was a relief until Charity’s face resurfaced from the cesspit that was his darkest memories, her eyes, empty and dead, fixed on him while her body was being devoured by a snake.

Severus gasped awake and struggled to sit up, his heart pounding even harder against his ribs now and on his tongue the acidic taste of bile. 

“Gods,” he mumbled, pinching his eyes closed against that memory. He held his breath, trying to pull himself back from the brink of panic, but needed to exhale in a puff only seconds later, sucked in air greedily, uttering a miserable sound, something between a wail and a groan, when he pushed it out again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He fumbled for Occlumency but to no avail. Blurred voices and images blinded him, an echo of a past he’d smothered with all his might, crushing him at last. 

Severus … please … please … 

Desperately, his hands searched through the odds and ends on the table, trying to find something that would end this, calming draught, poison, didn’t matter, but the only thing he found were parchments, pens, and empty vials. He curled his hand around one of those, hard enough that it began shaking pathetically while he forced breath after breath into his burning lungs.

He heaved, both because he couldn’t breathe and because disgust was surging up inside of him. Disgust about what he’d had to let happen, about him not lifting a finger to save her, about watching Nagini devour her, sunken in Occlumency so deep that he’d been able to go on eating his dinner unperturbed. A picture-perfect Death Eater, the Dark Lord’s right hand, ice-cold and slippery as an eel.

… please … 

When he’d eventually resurfaced from that state of not feeling anything at all, he’d puked his guts out in the Forbidden Forest, hoping it would rid him of his guilt and revulsion, but what had really set an end to that meltdown had been the gnarly bark of a tree ripping his hands open. 

He looked at the vial still clasped in his hand, sturdy and smooth, when Charity’s voice echoed through his mind again. He whimpered, heaved, a drop of sweat ran down his temple. 

Just smash it on the table. He saw shards of glass ripping into his flesh, blood seeping down his wrist and into the sleeve of his shirt, razor-sharp clarity washing through his mind and leaving nothing behind but silence. 

… 

He closed his eyes, forcing his fingers to let go of the vial, and although he’d seen it coming, he flinched when it tumbled to the floor with a dull thud.

Hold out, sir, this will pass, I’m here, we will get you through this.

Something that wasn’t sweat leaked down his cheek, and he buried his hands into his hair while he waited for his panic to pass.

An eternity and some minutes later, he blinked, his breath still trembling, but his Occlumency finally gaining the upper hand. And scanning the table now, he spotted the vial of calming draught, a bit farther to the right than he’d reached, wrapped up in his panic. He cried a bit more when it calmed him down at once, forcing his heart to beat a steady sixty beats per minute and neutralising the fatal mix of hormones tricking his body. 

He slumped back down on the couch, now even more exhausted than before, and hesitated to close his eyes while his clammy skin was cooling.

I could have long been done with this if I hadn’t been too much of a coward to take that poison.

He swallowed thickly, drawing his legs up higher.

No. I chose my battle. And I promised Granger …

Finally, his stinging eyes closed on their own, prompting him to exhale slowly. His thoughts fizzled out at that point, exhaustion pulling him back to sleep, and this time, he dreamt nothing, and it was only a crackling roar that made him flinch awake right before Healer Sanders stepped out of the Floo. 

“Oh. Did I wake you?” he asked, standing in front of the fireplace.

Severus harrumphed and sat up groggily. “Never mind, should stay awake for a bit before I go to bed anyway …” He rubbed his face and his eyes, blinked until he was able to see the healer clearly. “Is it evening already?”

“It is,” he said, smiling his brief, worried smile and sitting down in the armchair. “How was your day?”

“Had worse.”

“Without a doubt,” he said slowly, regarding first Severus warily, then the chaos on the table. And because he was just too good a healer and Severus too exhausted to hide his state of mind, he asked, “On a scale of one to ten?” He didn’t even need to bloody specify anymore what exactly he wanted to know.

“Seven,” Severus admitted dully. And because it didn’t matter anyway because he had, in fact, chosen his side and didn’t plan to switch back, no matter what he felt like, he added, “Ten a couple of hours ago.”

Healer Sanders’ eyebrows arched. “So if you’d had the poison at hand, you would have taken it?”

Severus gulped. “No.”

“Why not?”

His gaze slowly wandered across the table and the crumpled pieces of parchment, the vials scattered across the smooth surface and the one lying on the floor. “I promised somebody to help them.”

The healer exhaled slowly. “Do you want me to dose up the Euphoria Elixir?”

“No. Not yet.” Tomorrow might be better. 

“All right,” he sighed. Then he set to work, lined up the potions Severus needed to take, spiked his pain-relief, dosed the fever potion after casting a quick diagnostic and grimacing from the unpleasant result, and pulled out three vials of Dreamless-Sleep at last. “I want you to take those over the next few days. You need more rest.”

“Mh.” He reached out for the first potion Healer Sanders handed him, huffing softly when the blasted EE kicked in and reduced his seven to a feeble two. No wonder that stuff was so bloody addicting; it was bloody effective. Effective enough, in fact, to clear his head for something else than his self-pity. “Do you have a plan for Miss Granger?” he asked between two potions.

“What do you mean?”

“Her discharge. Do you have a plan for how she’s supposed to get through her attacks after her discharge? Or will she just have to manage on her own?”

The healer cocked his head. “Why do you ask?”

“What do you think?” Severus asked flatly and downed another potion. It freed him not only of the haze dulling his senses but of the peculiar pain his fevers always bestowed upon him as well, that feeling as if his skin itself was hurting, making him feel almost alive again. 

“You visited her?”

He grunted. 

Then the healer connected the dots. “It’s she you promised to help.”

Severus grunted again. “Well, do you have a plan or not?”

The borderline excited smile faded. “Not yet. I’d hoped she could move in with somebody who could help her.”

“And who do you think that would be? Her daft friends?” 

“Maybe her parents?”

“She doesn’t have parents anymore.”

“Bugger.”

“Exactly. You need to come up with a plan while I try to find a place she can stay.”

Healer Sanders sighed heavily, but he nodded before he fetched Severus’ chart to jot down some notes. “Anything else?” he sighed then.

“Yes,” he said on the spur of the moment. “Do you see any chance that my magical abilities will recover further, or do I need to prepare for a life as a Squib?”

“As far as we can tell, the poison directly affects your magical strength. So theoretically, you should be able to work more magic when your condition improves.” He hunched his shoulders. “You need better health management, Mr Snape. You’ve been headed in the right direction at the end of your stay at St Mungo’s, get back to that.”

I was headed in the suicidal direction at the end of my stay at St Mungo’s, he corrected the man silently but decided to keep that remark to himself. Healer Sanders knew that anyway, no need to further emphasise it.

“By the way, have you made a new appointment with my wife already?”

“No,” he grouched, “I've seen her only yesterday! Give me some time to process that session first, all right?”

“Reluctantly,” he said and pursed his lips. “Well, I need to leave now, my shift starts soon. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. Do you know where the hospital purchases the chairs for the patient rooms?”

He huffed, standing up. “No. But I will find out if that makes you swap those torture devices in your kitchen.”

Severus smiled briefly at that. “It might,” he said and leaned back, watching the healer vanish in the Floo. He closed his eyes, trying to grasp the hollow, tired feeling that had befallen him after that panic attack earlier. Or the desperation that had almost driven him to hurt himself. And found that he couldn’t. The mix of potions he’d just taken had built a wall he was unable to even glance over. 

Huh.

Shaking his head, he got up and took his cane to visit the privy. He was in dire need of a shower and had to get rid of that stubble. Perfect activities to use up the few spoons he’d regained from sleeping the afternoon away. And maybe the warm spray would help him come up with an idea for where Miss Granger was supposed to stay …

Chapter Text

The following day, Severus felt slightly better, a fact that caused Healer Sanders some hard-to-bear cheerfulness that Severus rolled his eyes at the moment the man had vanished through the Floo. Yet he decided to keep his mind from messing things up again as best he could, busying himself with tidying up a bit and taking his laundry from the line, sitting down every fifteen minutes or so to give himself a break and contemplate what else he needed to do. 

It was during one of those breaks when he looked at his book shelves-covered walls, that he found he didn’t like that anymore. Not the books; he loved his books. But what had been a tool to create some kind of cave he could feel safe in and shielded from the outside world, felt claustrophobic now. Too much had happened in here, Wormtail, an Unbreakable Vow dooming him to the worst year he’d ever experienced, a failed suicide attempt. 

It probably was the potions talking as well, though. He felt disgustingly optimistic right after taking the Euphoria Elixir, and today, Healer Sanders had ordered him to take the calming draught as well after Severus had reluctantly told him what had driven him up to a ten on his suicidal ideation yesterday. Still, if this, the potion-induced feeling of being, was the state he was working towards, there might be something to his desire to change bits and pieces around the house. 

The question was where he was supposed to put his books instead. He frowned when his bout of enthusiasm oozed away in the thicket of his limited space, never mind his limited spoons and general exhaustion. 

One step at a time, Mediwitch Gerble would say. He could practically hear her voice and huffed.

But she probably was right. And maybe he’d have a spoon or two to spare in the next days, and could at least see if he found some books he might find he could sell?

Reluctantly! Only reluctantly … 

But he probably had to start somewhere.

“I don’t want you to visit me every day anymore.”

The clinking of Minerva’s spoon against the walls of her teacup stopped.

Severus stared at her wrinkled hand for a couple of seconds, then he looked up and met her eyes. “I understand that you needed that after how you found me about two weeks ago -”

“Oh, do you?”

“- but it’s exhausting for me and has to be for you as well. I need to pace myself and sometimes that means I … need to take a nap at noon.” He curled his lip. “Which I cannot do if you’re here. So … I don’t want you to visit me every day.”

Her features softened a bit. “I see,” she said, looking down at her tea again before tapping her spoon against the rim of the cup and putting it down on her empty lunch plate. “So you think you don’t need help anymore?” 

It didn’t sound as accusatory as his mind told him it did; he knew it didn’t. Or … he assumed it didn’t. Still, he had to brace himself against the old song of just a burden, causing chaos, willing it down by occluding and grasping for a sliver of anger as he always did. “I know I need help. But it doesn’t have to be your help! And if I want it to be your help, I will ask for it.”

“Will you?”

I’ll try, okay? Severus swallowed thickly. “I need to get along by myself at some point …”

“Oh, without a doubt. I don’t plan to mother you until the end of time.” She arched an eyebrow, raising her chin a bit. 

“Didn’t ask you to mother me at all.”

“Still, I’d like to check back on you now and then, only for the time being, because I indeed don’t want to find you like I did the other day – or worse! – ever again.”

“Healer Sanders checks on me every morning and evening. You could just trust him, you know?”

“I do. But he will be even more annoyed by me asking him whether you’re all right every day than you are.”

He brushed his hand down his face. “Would you feel better if I told him to contact you first if anything out of the ordinary happens?”

“No. But I would feel better if you allowed me to send you a meal per day with a house-elf and let them check in on you.”

He groaned.

“Oh, don’t groan at me!” Minerva chastised him unperturbed. “Me not stopping by won’t save you any energy if you have to use it to cook for yourself instead. Just say yes, and I will tell the elves to silently place the meal here and leave again without you even noticing them.”

He wished he could have said anything against her reasoning, but there simply was nothing that didn’t make him seem exactly like the child she apparently still saw in him. So everything he said in the end was, “Fine!”

When he went to visit Granger two days later, he was none the wiser regarding a place for her to stay after her discharge, so he hoped that anything new had come up on her side.

When he stepped out of the lift, though, he practically ran into Mediwitch Persimmons. “Oh, Mr Snape! Happy to see you! How are you?”

“Surviving,” he said in a dark voice.

She smiled. “Glad to hear. Are you here to see Healer Sanders?”

Bugger. He straightened his position. “No. I’m actually here to see Miss Granger.”

“Oh, she’s out in the park. Needs a snatch of sunshine just as much as you do.” She smirked.

“Watch your tongue,” he said, “I’m not your patient anymore, but I will always be your former teacher.”

“Sure, sir,” she laughed and got going again, though not without catching the half-smile he gave her.

So he went back downstairs and into the park, hoping that it wouldn’t be too busy today. But it was a bright summer’s day, of course, every patient who was able to leave the sterile walls of the hospital was gathering out here. For a moment, he contemplated going back home. He didn’t even know where exactly Granger was, and walking around the paths looking for her could easily cost him valuable spoons. Then he remembered her warning him about the Daily Prophet being after a photo of him on top of it, and was already halfway gone when -

- an elderly couple moved out of the way, and he spotted her on a bench nearby, reading a book all on her own. Damn … He couldn’t leave her sit alone there now, could he?

Taking a deep breath, he got going, avoiding looking left or right, hoping that no reporter had sneaked their way in here.

She only looked up when he had almost reached her. “Oh, Prof-” She stopped herself. “Hi,” she said instead.

He huffed. “Suddenly reluctant to call me Snape?”

“I’ve never called you that,” she replied, frowning, and shielded her eyes against the sun. “I’ve actually spent seven years telling Harry and Ron to call you Professor Snape. It feels like blasphemy to not do it myself now.”

“Blasphemy,” he scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “Well, do you want to sit down?” she then asked and skidded aside, making room for him on the bench.

“That would be advisable.” Just when he sat down, she hissed beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, sticking her left middle finger into her mouth and fumbling with a beaded bag one-handedly. She stuck her arm in, almost up to her elbow, and finally produced a vial of Dittany that she popped open and poured over a tiny wound on her finger. “Splinter,” she sighed.

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’m glad to see you don’t panic anymore.”

She exhaled slowly. “I practised.”

He looked at her aghast. “Excuse me?”

Granger shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? I need to be able to act if something happens.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he contemplated whether it was worth saying anything to that.

“Isn’t it ironic, by the way,” she interrupted his thoughts, “that you’re the one who got bitten by Nagini and I’m the one who’s become a bleeder?”

Blinking, Severus looked at her again. “That’s what you find ironic?”

“I have a lot of time to think …”

“Well, did you think about asking Potter to check your savings account as well?”

“I did. There are 10.635 pounds in that account.”

He sighed. “Too much to die, too little to live …”

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” he said louder. “I talked with Minerva about you returning to Hogwarts.”

The slight twist of his face was enough to make her understand. “It won’t work.”

“No.”

Granger nodded, putting her bag back onto the bench. 

“But Minerva will contact the Ministry about a derogation for you so you can sit your N.E.W.T.s regardless of attending Hogwarts when you're ready.”

“That’s kind of her.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Severus looked ahead, letting his eyes wander over the other people strolling the park. Nobody of them spared Granger more than a glance, but on him, a lot of eyes rested for a second longer. He scowled at everybody who dared meet his gaze – and then the face surrounding those staring eyes suddenly was a familiar one. 

“You’re on the spot, as it seems,” he said and grasped his cane to stand up and leave.

“What?” Granger mumbled and looked around him until she spotted Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood as well. “Oh. I didn’t know they planned to stop by today.”

“Well, lucky you then.” Until he’d managed to get up, both girls had reached them.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Miss Lovegood said, friendly, her voice featuring the usual lilt; apparently, not even several months of being captive at Malfoy Manor could break her spirit.

“Miss Lovegood,” he grumbled, “Miss Weasley. If you would excuse me …”

“Oh no, please stay!” Miss Lovegood said, “We won’t keep you for long, will we, Ginny?”

“Um … I suppose not.” Her cheeks were splotched, and her brown eyes hard when she looked up at Severus, a gaze she’d given him every time he dared meet her eyes during the last year. A gaze that said I despise you and everything you’re doing.

He couldn’t blame her.

Blinking, he looked back at Granger and swallowed reflexively when he met her eyes. There was nothing hard in them, on the contrary. He didn’t need any Legilimency to see she didn’t want him to leave. Fuck.

“Very well,” he conceded at last and sat back down, hearing Granger breathe a sigh of relief while he bore down hard on his Occlumency and trained his eyes on the ground.

“Well, why are you here if you don’t plan to stay for long?” Granger then asked.

“Luna had an idea.”

“Yes,” the blonde girl beamed, “Ginny told me you broke up with Ron and don’t know where to stay once you’re out of here.”

“Um, yes,” Granger replied feebly and from the corner of his eye, Severus saw her grasping her beaded bag tighter.

“Well, I told Daddy about that, and he said you could stay with us if you want. We have a spare room you could use.”

“Oh,” Granger mumbled, “that’s … lovely …”

Severus pursed his lips to hide a grin. Lovely, sure. Bet you can’t wait to share a house with conspiracy theorist number one.

“When will they discharge you anyway?” Miss Weasley asked.

“Dunno, week or two?”

“That’s wonderful,” Miss Lovegood said, “I’m happy you’re better.”

“Um, yeah,” Granger said. And when the silence got too long to bear, she added, “Thank you, Luna. I’ll think about moving in with you, okay? S-Snape is trying to find something for me as well and um … since I have some issues I um guess it’d be a lot to ask of you and your … father to endure that but … I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fine,” Miss Lovegood piped. “It seems like you and Professor Snape go better together anyway.”

At once, Granger gasped, “What?”, and Severus raised his eyes from the ground and the girls’ shoes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked silkily.

“Yeah, Luna,” Miss Weasley said, “What is that supposed to mean?”

The blonde girl looked from one to the other. “Hmm? I just mean that Hermione and I have very differing opinions on a lot of things and that it probably would be nice for her to stay with someone she shares more interests with.”

“I’m not staying with Snape!” - “She’s not staying with me!”

Their unison reply, exclaim rather, made both girls look at them, Miss Lovegood in surprise, Miss Weasley with a grim edge on her face, saying She’s better not clearer than any words could ever have – and Severus didn’t doubt that Granger was blushing. He didn’t look at her to check, though. 

“Okay,” Miss Lovegood said indifferently. “But you probably should.”

“Luna!” Miss Weasley hissed, glaring at her friend. “Just let’s go!”

“Okay,” Miss Lovegood said again, then she looked back at Granger. “Send Daddy an owl if you want the room after all.”

“Sure,” Granger sighed, and Severus watched Miss Weasley tug at Miss Lovegood’s arm to get her going. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled when they’d disappeared.

He harrumphed, swallowing thickly and loosening his Occlumency a bit before he arched an eyebrow at her. “Well, do you want to take Mr Lovegood up on his offer?”

“No!” she exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously. “I’d rather move in with Harry after all.”

He huffed. “Miss Weasley will probably bend over backwards now to find a place to stay for you …”

“What do you mean?”

“She hates me, Granger. And understandably so. She spent a whole year at Hogwarts while I’ve been headmaster, and the possibility of you staying anywhere near me will probably motivate her.”

She gulped. “You think?” she then muttered. “I guess it might rather cause her to break off contact with me for good. We’ve never been that close to begin with, so why should she bother?”

“Because of Mr Potter.”

She lowered her eyes. “Harry, yeah … He offered me the money I’d need to buy a small flat somewhere.”

Severus’ expression hardened. “And do you want to accept that offer?”

She grimaced. “Not if I can avoid it. It’s never good to bring money into a friendship, is it?”

“No,” he said curtly. Accepting Lucius’ money back in the day had brought him only trouble. Not that Potter would exploit Granger the same way, but owing somebody money was not a pleasant way to live, and Merlin alone knew if Granger would ever be able to work enough to pay it back. 

“Mh, that’s what I thought as well.” She sighed, toying with the hem of her t-shirt.

“We’ll find something,” he felt compelled to say, “you still have time.”

She smiled briefly and nodded. “Right. So, are you interested in the latest hospital rumours?”

“There are hospital rumours?”

“Yes! Buckle up and brace yourself, you missed so much!”

When he returned to Spinner’s End about an hour later, Severus slumped into the armchair. The silence of his living room felt soothing after the constant background noise of birds chirping, people talking, crunching gravel, and children shouting. He pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting out his usual bout of dizziness from travelling through the Floo, and eventually reached for his noon dose of pain-relief. It was the weaker one, an attempt to wane him of the strong potion again. 

Miss Wesley’s glare was still on his mind. It even sent a chill down his spine, reminding him of what she’d seen, what he’d had to let happen, what he could never undo. Yes, it’d helped vanquish the Dark Lord, but it’d also traumatised a whole school of children. 

Exhaling a trembling breath, he reached for the calming draught as well. But just when he was about to open the vial, he hesitated. Didn’t he deserve this? The guilt, regret, uneasiness? How were the students who had witnessed everything that happened at Hogwarts during the last year coping? Didn’t he owe them at least a tiny sliver of satisfaction? Didn’t he owe them to suffer from what he’d let happen as well?

Swallowing thickly, he put the vial back and stood up, leaning hard on his cane to walk through the living room, enduring the delusion that it was shrinking and robbing him of oxygen, the sensation of burning up, then freezing cold, while his mind lingered at the things the Carrows had done. Screaming children, fear, and terror.

Eventually, he tore his front door open, sucking air into his burning lungs. 

Fuck … 

He leaned against the doorframe, clinging to the handle of his cane as if it were a lifeline, a soft breeze brushing his face, carrying the chirping of more birds, a sharp contrast to the decay spreading before his eyes. Old houses, manky and run-down. He couldn’t spot a single intact window or a roof that wasn’t missing some shingles. 

Spinner’s End should long have been demolished, as most of the houses in the area were about fifteen years ago. Slum clearance. Some streets he’d roamed as a child had been completely rebuilt, some had only been heavily renovated. Only at Spinner’s End did time seem to stand still. 

And the only reason these houses still existed was his wards. His Muggle-Repelling Charm encompassed a lot of this neighbourhood, leaving him in peace. Sometimes he saw a squatter or two further down the road, but usually, nobody strayed here for long. 

Spinner’s End kept being frowned upon, just as it always had been. Sometimes he heard people grouse about the fact that nobody did anything about the street when he was visiting the pub close by or grocery shopping at Tesco’s, yet they failed to notice that they’d never even been here because the magic didn’t allow them to. 

It was only when his pending panic was slowly waning that a thought penetrated his haze: Nobody would demand that Granger pay rent here. She wouldn’t be a burden to anybody. She wouldn’t owe anybody money to live here. 

It was just … Well, a slum, on the best of days. But contrary to him, Granger’s magic wasn’t impaired.

He looked at the house next to his. Almost as run-down as the rest, not a single intact window either – but that probably wasn’t much of a problem with about two thousand Galleons to spend on a capable craftsman wizard.

He groaned, suddenly being faced with a whole other dimension of staying in contact with Granger.

I need another therapy session.

Chapter Text

Something was looming in the darkness, just out of reach. A soft rustle, a rattling breath? Some clinking he'd heard before but couldn’t quite place. It brushed along his ears like a whisper, a dark promise, and clung to him like a spider’s web.

He turned around, his breath catching in his throat, and from the dark emerged … something. He narrowed his eyes. A soft shimmer, angular shapes, at long last a door handle. 

Oh god, no … 

He shied back, stumbled, caught himself. The shimmer grew into a light, bright enough to highlight the specks and marks on the wooden door until they jumped in front of his eyes. Small dents from the buckle of a belt and - 

He gulped, his heart beating faster. Something made him approach the door. And when he put his hand on the handle, he whimpered. A wooshing sound was deafening him. 

And yet he heard a soft voice from behind the door, feeble and pleading, and -

Before he got to understand what it was saying, he awoke with a gasp and found that he’d wet his bed because he forgot to recast the nappy charm before he went to sleep. 

Healer Sanders stumbled out of the fireplace several minutes late the next morning, his hair slightly messy, his shirt buttoned up wrong, his shoelaces undone. “Sorry, I overslept," he mumbled. “How are you?” Distractedly, he handed Severus a letter that was probably the answer of his wife to Severus’ request for a new appointment he’d given the man last evening, and a small note with the contact of what seemed to be a furniture maker, considering the scribbled addition for new chairs.

“Fine,” Severus muttered and put the note away before he opened the letter, trying to tune out the healer rattling out the usual charms and sorting through a clinking stash of potions. Severus’ eyes jumped to his hands, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 

“This, this, this, aaand … this,” he eventually announced and lined some vials up on the table, including a new flask of calming draught. “You still have some left, but I don’t want you to run out on it.”

Severus harrumphed and skimmed the letter while Healer Sanders dosed his EE. “Yes,” he said then and reached for the Strengthening Solution he’d apparently been allowed to take.

“Yes?” the man echoed.

Severus grimaced; that potion had no right to taste so goddamn awful. “Your wife asked me a question in her letter. My answer is yes.”

“Okay.” He blinked. “Okay … I’ll um … tell her tonight, I guess.”

“Thank you.” Severus arched his eyebrows and took the next potion, silently amused by the puzzled expression on the other man’s face. He could practically see the questions whirling in Healer Sanders’ mind, even without using the slightest bit of Legilimency, but he didn’t verbalise a single one of them. 

Still, Severus thought as Healer Sanders vanished through the Floo a couple of minutes later, he probably needed an owl soon to contact his therapist without abusing her husband as a postman. 

The house next door changed during the next two days. Not physically; it was still as run-down as ever and just existing, apart from some dust flakes, nothing moved over there. But at the same time, it seemed to be more there than before. Sneaked into Severus' perception unbidden, made itself at home in his mind, as if it was trying to lure him into making a decision he'd better not make.

What would it be like if Granger lived over there? How would it feel not to be alone here anymore? To have someone nearby who at least found him tolerable?

How would it be when she knocked at his door occasionally (because let's be real, that was exactly what she would do)?

First, he pushed those musings down whenever he caught himself, Occlumency, his trusted tool.

But an exhausting tool.

How would their … thing develop if she lived next door? Would they spend time with each other? And how often? Would she come over to him, or would he go to hers? Would they have meals together? Cook together?

Stop this!

He slowly began sorting through his stash of books, did another load of laundry, and frowned at the house-elf bringing him lunch and chancing a glance at him before popping away again. If Granger wanted to move in next door, he would have to talk with Minerva. Ask her if she could spare a craftsman wizard or two from Hogwarts for a while.

But first, he should propose that option to Granger. Maybe she didn't even want to move in there. It was a slum, after all, and a slum she'd have to share with her former Potions professor to boot. Not exactly a thrilling perspective for an eighteen-year-old girl … 

Merlin, she will hate it. Who was he trying to fool? Wanting to stay in contact with him was one thing, but moving in next door? He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing that fluttering in his stomach back down.

But it was the only option he could offer her. He'd promised to help her, and that was everything he could do – an abandoned house in a slum that slipped its demolition because of his wards.

She'd be better off living with Potter after all.

Maybe he shouldn't even bring it up. It was a horrible idea anyway, who wanted to live like this? Was this really better than Miss Lovegood's offer? The Lovegoods most certainly didn't need to cross their backyard to get to the loo … 

Gods, he needed that therapy session. Granger was … And he couldn't … He needed someone else to look at the whole thing, an outsider to provide another perspective, as his therapist had phrased it. That was what he needed. And what he probably owed Granger before making any kind of decision.

So he'd better stop putting the cart before the thestral. Two days, he could manage that.

Still, having someone live next door again was a strange notion. The last time the house had been inhabited, it had been by a family with two children, must have been about thirty years ago; Severus had heard their parents shout at each other at least as often as he’d listened to his own doing the same. When he’d returned to live here after promising Dumbledore to spy on the Dark Lord, they’d already been gone.

Granger would probably be a quieter neighbour. 

But attentive nevertheless. Her backyard would only be divided from his backyard by a mostly crumbled wall. They inevitably would pick up a thing or two about each other’s everyday lives. Was he ready for that? 

Hell, was he even ready to share his living conditions with a former student? And with her to boot … 

He leaned against the back of his armchair, a book in hand, and closed his eyes. A couple of months ago, he wouldn’t even have told Granger his favourite food, and now he contemplated having her move in next door. You can’t make that up.

To finally get himself out of that flurry of thoughts, he decided to go to the shops, on his own this time. Something he probably needed another dose of calming draught to do, so it was just the right task to take his mind off things.

But really, the other day with Minerva accompanying him, he’d been less anxious about something unforeseeable happening. Something like needing to sit down where he couldn’t, or somebody bumping into him and making him lose his balance, or him needing some magic when he couldn’t secretly use his wand.

Or didn’t have enough energy left to cast a spell.

It was a more daunting, more challenging, more exhausting task than it should have been, given that the Tesco he usually frequented was only four streets away. The summer heat was bearing down on him, flies and mosquitoes buzzing around his face, the shop crowded with people doing their weekend shopping. What a stupid idea to come here on a Saturday … 

And maybe that, this disproportionally amount of strength and self-control it cost him just to get some bread, eggs, and butter, a couple of apples, and three Pot Noodles, was the reason why the off-licence nearby caught his eyes when he had to stop to catch his breath on his way back home. Because one thing he’d forgotten to buy: a bottle of water.

Despite the Feather-Light Charm he’d put on his grocery bag, the handles hung heavy on his fingers and beads of sweat leaked down his temples. The dry, dusty air tickled his nostrils, a scent that was unique to this place in summer. He’d never smelled it anywhere else, not around Hogwarts, not in London, and most certainly not at Malfoy Manor. Panting, he leaned against a wall and looked at the shop, blinking slowly, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

Then he went over to get what he was craving. And because he’d earned himself a little treat when he got back home and needed something to get him through the weekend too, he bought a bottle of his favourite whisky and a bag of M&M’s as well.

Coincidentally, his second therapy session was exactly one week after his first. He was both shocked about how fast Granger had driven him to come back here and content because that meant he had two of his promised five sessions done within seven days.

“Good afternoon,” his therapist greeted him when he stepped out of the fireplace, only two minutes before the appointed time. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt and a pair of ankle-length light blue jeans, the epitome of a summer day, while he – as usual – had gone for a black long-sleeved shirt and black trousers.

“Hello.”

She came to him and offered him her hand. “I was happy to hear from you again so quickly.”

“Were you now?” he muttered.

“Indeed. That usually means I did something right.” She smiled, then offered him the armchair he’d chosen last time as well. “Do you fancy something to drink? Water, Tea, I guess we have some orange juice left as well.”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded and sat down as well. “Before we begin,” she then said and took a note from the table, “These are the times you can contact me via Floo. Although I’m sure my husband doesn’t mind taking our letters along, I thought you might like having an alternative that excludes him.”

“Thank you,” he said again and skimmed the few lines before putting the note into his trouser pocket. “I’ll plan to get an owl of my own as well soon.”

She nodded. “Well, is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about or do you just work off your promised sessions?” There was a glint in her eyes that vaguely reminded him of Minerva.

“I’m still contemplating,” he countered slowly.

But instead of another witty remark, she only said, “Take your time.”

He lowered his eyes to where his hands were once again gripping the handle of his cane. He’d thought about leaving it at home, probably wouldn’t have needed it anyway, but there was something soothing in curling his fingers around the smooth wood. Soothing enough in fact that after a moment of silence, he found himself saying, “I did go and visit my former student.”

“Mh,” she said, sounding interested, “How did it go?”

He took a deep breath, held it for some seconds, exhaled. “I promised her to help her find a place to live when she gets discharged.”

Her eyebrows arched. “That’s … honestly not what I expected.”

“Me neither,” he sighed and finally leaned back.

“That you want another session with me about that is slightly worrying,” she said when he didn’t proceed, “You’re not planning to let her move in with you, right?”

“No,” he huffed and gave the poor woman a second of relief before he added, “But I think about letting her move in next door.”

This time, it was her turn to take a deep breath. Nodding slowly, she pursed her lips and finally said, “Well, there’s a lot to unpack here.”

When he returned home later, he resisted the urge to sit down in his armchair and went over to the kitchen. His lunch was still on the table, waiting for him. Earlier, he’d been too tied up in knots to eat, and although he didn’t particularly feel like eating now either, he sat down and faced his task, reminding himself that he needed to eat when he wanted to have a Strengthening Solution again tomorrow. 

He looked at the plate, feeling like it was looking back at him with malicious glee.

I hate all about this.

So, after a couple of seconds of just staring at his meal, something with rice and vegetables and probably chicken, he stood back up and went for the whisky instead. 

Pouring himself a bit, he leaned against the counter and pressed the cool glass against his forehead. Was it him, or was it really warm in here? Anyway, his eyes fluttered closed from how good that felt, the smooth glass against his damp skin. Sadly, it didn’t last for long. (Granger’s flannels had been better.) He blinked and sipped the alcohol, grimacing from how warm it had become. Was he running a fever yet again? Probably. But why? Apart from seeing his therapist, he hadn’t done anything today. 

Maybe it was just the weather.

Or the conversation he’d just had. 

“Okay, I see this is complicated. Then let’s make a list. What would be the pros?”

“She wouldn’t end up homeless or forced to share a house with people who would make her feel uncomfortable.”

“What else?”

“She wouldn’t end up owing somebody money.”

“What else?”

“She would have a place for herself nobody could take away.”

“Are there any pros in this for you as well?”

“I … would have someone live next door who finds me tolerable, I guess.”

“Mhh … And what are the cons?”

“The neighbourhood is miserable. It’s practically a slum. She’d have to get used to having only a privy.”

“What else?”

“I am miserable as a neighbour. And petty. And outright obnoxious sometimes. And her former teacher! She might feel uncomfortable living so close to me as well.”

“What else?”

“Her friends would hate it.”

“Any cons for you in particular?”

“… Depends on how bold she’d turn out with visits, honestly.”

“Mhh … What would be the best-case scenario for this?”

“Best-case scenario would be us getting along without going on each other’s nerves, her friends learning to accept her living conditions, she feeling comfortable in her own four walls and getting to terms with her ailments.”

“And the worst-case scenario?”

… 

… 

“Mr Snape?”

… 

“Worst case would be … me falling for her.”

He blinked when that moment fluttered through his mind and stomach again. Falling for her … Even now, he couldn’t tell where that had come from. But the truth was, neither rubbing his face back in his therapist’s office nor downing his whisky now made the fluttery feeling go away. 

“Do you really think that might happen?”

“Yes.”

“And is that another reason why you found it inappropriate to stay in contact with her?”

“… Yes.”

… 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before you encouraged me to visit her again.”

“I didn’t encourage you, I helped you make a decision.”

“Well, seems like I made the wrong decision.”

“Why? Do you plan to approach her about your feelings?”

“No!”

“Do you think you will treat her differently due to your feelings then?”

“… No. At least not … worse.”

“And do you think harbouring those feelings for your former student might cause your condition to decline?”

“I … don’t know. … Actually, I think the fact that … she grew on me might be the reason why I’m still here.”

“… You thought about committing suicide?”

“Yes. Even attempted it. Didn’t your husband tell you?”

“No. Do you still have suicidal ideation?”

“Sometimes … But I won’t act on it.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised to help her.”

He contemplated adding to his first whisky with a second; maybe more force would get that knot of emotions untangled that sat in his stomach like a ball of lead. But in the end, he just put his empty glass in the sink, ignored his lunch, and went back over to slump into his armchair after all. 

“So, do you think I should offer her the house next door?”

“That is not my decision to make, Mr Snape. I won’t be the one who has to live with its consequences.”

“Oh, please … I didn’t come here only for you to send me back home none the wiser! I could have made a pros and cons list all on my own! You have to have an opinion. Just spit it out!”

“… Considering her situation … and considering your situation …”

“Yes?”

“… I think you should try it. See how it makes you feel and how it makes her feel. There’s always the option to look for another place to live for her later on.”

He still wasn’t sure what exactly he would do when he got ready the next morning. Even Healer Sanders had noticed his lasting taciturnity but didn’t remark on it – for now. Severus knew him well enough to know that would change at some point. But for the time being, his only touching on the topic had been a tentative “Do you want a dose of Dreamless-Sleep for tonight?” yesterday evening.

An offer which Severus had turned down. Since he hadn’t managed to eat his lunch before it had long been time for dinner, resulting in him missing a whole meal and thus saying goodbye to his next dose of Strengthening Solution anyway, a sleepless or dream-ridden night would hardly worsen his lot. But he craved the silence of the night to turn some thoughts around in his head. 

And that was what he had done until about midnight. Then he’d fallen asleep and spent the night without a single dream.

“What are your plans for today?” the healer asked while scrutinising his results.

“Visiting Miss Granger.”

“Mh, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

He harrumphed and took the potions, only nodding when Healer Sanders bid him goodbye, and shuffled to the privy to take a shower.

Now, walking along the halls of St Mungo’s, he tried not to shuffle. Or at least do it inconspicuously. He met a couple of mediwitches and mediwizards he knew, inclined his head at them and went his way – until Mediwitch Gerble left a room the moment he passed it by.

“Oh, Mr Snape! Nice to see you! Only as a guest, I hope …”

“Yes,” he muttered, “I don’t plan to stay here for longer than an hour or two ever again.”

“That’s ambitious,” she huffed, “but I guess that means you’re doing well?”

“I’m mostly all right, yes. You?”

“Better since I got you back on your feet and can tend to some less caustic patients again.” She smiled mischievously.

“And yet you’re here, making small talk with me …” He arched an eyebrow.

 “Yes. A caustic little chat is fine, that’s like a bit of salt in your hot chocolate.”

He huffed. 

“But I’ve got to get going anyway. Have a good day!”

“And you.” He watched after her for a moment, then he walked on as well.

But Mediwitch Gerble wasn’t the only person practically running into him. Granger’s door opened as well when Severus approached it, and this time, it was Potter stepping out. 

Severus stopped dead in his tracks, his usual scowl slipping onto his face as if he’d flicked a switch, he couldn’t do anything about it.

But Potter wasn’t in a good or conciliatory mood either. When he spotted Severus, he first winced, then he scoffed and pulled the door closed with a loud click. “Speaking of the devil …” he muttered.

“Does that make you the imp?” Severus sneered.

“What?”

“Never mind. I’d rather you let me pass, Mr Potter.” He nodded at the door the boy was still blocking.

“Bet you do. I just hope you -”

“You just hope I – what?”

The muscles in the boy’s jaw bulged when he gnashed his teeth, meeting Severus’ gaze defiantly. “I just hope you’ll keep your promises and won’t let Hermione down.” 

As you let down my mother.

He didn’t say those words out loud, but Severus could still hear them. Now it was him clenching his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but rest assured, I don’t tend to make the same mistake twice. Now step aside, Potter!”

He did, albeit not without casting him a last withering glare. Then he turned around and plodded down the hall as Severus had seen him do so often at Hogwarts.

He swallowed thickly and faced Granger’s door, taking a moment to push Lily’s eyes and the boy carrying them today down with another bout of Occlumency. Then he knocked. 

Chapter Text

Granger was sitting at the table, a pack of three doughnuts in front of her, and wiped her eyes when he opened the door. She relaxed slightly, though, when she saw it was him. “Oh,” she murmured, “hi.”

Severus closed the door, facing the smooth surface for a second longer before he turned to her again. “What is this all about?”

“What do you mean?” She sniffled.

“Don’t act dumb, Granger. Potter just told me I’d better not let you down and keep my promises!”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Don’t call me that! He had to bite his tongue not to say it out loud, but no biting in the world could have made the bouquet of shame, awkwardness, and horror that was making the hair on his arms stand on end and his heart skip a beat go away. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he muttered, pulling the second chair closer to him, farther away from Granger, to sit. 

“Harry and I had an argument about some flats he found, he said he could buy one for me.” She brushed her hair from her face using both hands before slumping exhaustedly and meeting his gaze. Wet, red-rimmed eyes, a sight he’d seen too often during the last year or so, and a slight tremble of her lip before she got it back in check. “I just can’t let him buy me a flat …”  

He cleared his throat, looking down. “I see,” he mumbled, “so you told him I would find something for you to live?”

“Not like you make it sound now,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “I told him you were trying to help me and that Luna offered me a room as well. Didn’t know you wanted me to keep that secret …”

“I don’t,” he relented. Just didn’t expect to see disgust in those eyes again today.

She hummed softly. “Fancy a doughnut?”

He just arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, me neither …” She pushed them further up the table, then she put her elbows on her knees and groaned. “How did I end up here? Nothing makes sense anymore …” Her last words came out as a whisper, then she stood and got herself a tissue. 

“You shouldn’t have aligned yourself with me,” Severus said in a dark voice, keeping his eyes down. 

She huffed a laugh, then muttered, “It wasn’t I begging you to accept a letter for weeks, was it?” She sniffled again and dabbed her eyes. “If my being … in contact with you is Harry’s problem, he’s just being ridiculous.”

While she rummaged through her bedside cabinet to find something, Severus dared to look up. She was standing faced away from him, clad in a jumper and wide pyjama bottoms with a cat face print he’d seen her wear a couple of times already, but so far, he’d always only worn a hospital gown himself, so it hadn’t felt half as unseemly as it did now. “As far as I can tell, Potter has always been ridiculous,” he forced himself to say, but even he noticed that his remark was missing its usual bite. 

Granger sighed, finally pulling a hair tie from the drawer and pushing it closed with her hip while she began carding through her locks. “He’s normally not so …” Her voice faded. “But he isn’t entirely wrong either, is he? They told me today they’re planning to discharge me next week, and I haven't the foggiest where I’m supposed to go. This is a nightmare …” He watched her slump onto her bed, her hair now tied in a messy bun, and absent-mindedly scratching her arm. 

“Did you use your salve today?”

She looked up, confused. “What?”

He nodded at where she was still rubbing the sleeve of her jumper over her arm.

“Oh. No, actually …” 

Severus took a deep breath and scrutinised the doughnuts again while Granger pushed up her sleeve and tended to her scars. Should he really offer her the house? Could anything good come of her living next door? Her friends would give her an even harder time, he would have an even harder time … 

But he very well couldn’t let her end up homeless or forced to move in at Number 12 either, could he?

Closing his eyes for a second, Severus found she was right; this was a nightmare. 

But at long last, he cleared his throat and said, “There might be an option …” From the corner of his eye, he could see Granger freeze, the lid only half twisted onto the jar.

“What option?” she asked, breathless.

In for a knut, in for a sickle. He looked at her, squared his shoulders, and said, “There are a lot of uninhabited houses where I live. Run-down, most of them mere ruins, but … the house next to mine might be in a good enough shape to make it habitable again.” He fought against his urge to swallow while he waited for a reaction. 

“The house next to yours,” she echoed, dumbstruck.

“Yes.”

For a moment, she seemed to zone out, her gaze becoming unfocused, her mouth hanging slightly open, the salve jar forgotten in her hand. Then she blinked. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, okay. I'll take it. If you’re fine with me moving in next to you, then … I’ll take it.”

He snorted mirthlessly. “You’re friends will hate that.”

She shrugged. “My friends won’t live there so, don’t get me wrong but I don’t give a damn.”

“Don’t dismiss your friends like that,” he said, grimacing, “You don’t give up friends just like that.”

“I’m not!” she exclaimed, standing back up and finally putting the jar away. “I’ll always be open to working things out! But I won’t let them patronise me! I’m older than all of them, I can very well make my own decisions!”

He took another deep breath, nodding slowly. “All right. But to make an informed decision, you should have a look at the house and the neighbourhood first.”

“Yeah, that … sounds sensible. Now?”

Absolutely not! The only way they could go to inspect the house now was via Floo – which would make her see his house as well, and he wasn’t yet ready to show her his living conditions.

But if they really planned to discharge her next week, time was of the essence. The house still needed to be renovated, it needed furniture, and probably a good piece of spellwork to adapt it to Granger’s needs. 

So he swallowed his protest and instead asked, “Are you fit to leave the hospital?”

She nodded. “Next attack isn’t due ‘til tomorrow, I’m as fine as I can be.”

He huffed, brushing his hand over his mouth, both because of her enthusiasm and her casual remark about her next phase of torture. “Very well,” he said at length and found that it had been worth it when she beamed at him. Merlin, I’m fucked.

“Just let me change quickly.”

“Take your time,” he muttered, leaning against the wall while she dug through her wardrobe and slipped into the bathroom. 

He was occluding hard starting the moment he and Granger had to share the Floo (her scent, her warmth, her startled gasp), occluded even harder when he led her through his living room (her curious glances, her hesitant smile, her awkwardness), and only somewhat loosened it as they stood in the remains of the neighbouring house and he saw her gulp when she met his empty eyes. 

“Um …” she mumbled, the sleeves of her jumper pulled over her hands although it was a disgustingly warm day, “are you sure this can be fixed?”

He followed her gaze, taking in the rubble of what had once been a fireplace, the small trees sprouting in the holes in the floor, and the rotten remains of at least three animals that had died in here. And that was only the living room; they hadn’t peeked into the kitchen or upstairs yet. Although they probably shouldn’t use the stairs anyway. “I don’t know,” he said plainly. “We’d have to ask a craftsman wizard, not only if it’s manageable but also how much it would cost.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, turning around only to find another mostly collapsed wall. 

“And another thing to keep in mind,” Severus added coolly, “there is no electricity and no bathroom. Only a privy in the backyard. A shower can be magically added, but building a real bathroom adjoining the kitchen, as they’ve done with most other houses of this kind, would probably cost too much. You'd be dependent on magic.”

She didn’t reply this time, only nodded and cautiously stepped over some rubble to get to the kitchen door. He saw her grimace when the whole extent of decay spread before her eyes. 

Watching her intently, he curled his right hand around his cane, balled his left into a fist behind his back. A strand of her golden brown hair danced in a waft of air coming from the backyard, so there probably weren’t any intact windows in the kitchen anymore either. 

At long last, she turned back to face him. “If it can be fixed, I’d like to take it,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound as enthusiastic as earlier in the hospital.

Severus exhaled a puff of air, his Occlumency slamming back into place. “You should sleep on it for a night,” he said, and before she could object, he added, “I’ll stop by again tomorrow and then we can talk things through.” 

She gulped again. “Okay.”

He nodded once and turned around to teeter out of the house. He heard her follow him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, shielding her eyes when they were once again bathed in sunlight.

“Don’t mention it.”

“But I mean it. I know that … I know what it must mean to you to bring someone here. Well, at least I can imagine. Showing me where you live must be -”

“We’ve witnessed worse,” Severus interrupted her, a bit harsher than intended, and fixed her with a glare that shut her up. After some silent seconds, he tore his eyes away from her and nodded down the street. “That way is a Tesco, a pub or two, and -” He swallowed thickly. “- a park. That’s pretty much everything around here. You’d need to connect with the Floo to get anywhere.” 

“I don’t mind.”

He harrumphed, then he turned and went back to his house, holding the door open for Granger to follow him in (more curious glances, more awkwardness). “Do you want me to accompany you back?” Say no!

“Um … no, I … think I’ll manage.”

Thank god. 

But she cast him another glance, another hesitant smile before she stepped into his fireplace and was whisked away by the green flames the next second. 

Leaning his head back, Severus groaned softly and let his Occlumency slip. What it revealed made his heart stutter for a moment. 

He spent the following night dreaming of Lily calling him a creep and a lecher until her face morphed into Potter’s, who was then calling him a bloody bastard, all while Granger was bleeding to death at Severus’ feet. When he finally succeeded in waking up, it was because his pain-relief was waning and the piercing ache crept back into his limbs.

For some minutes, he just lay there, listening to its whisper, feeling where it was worst and imagining that he would just stay lying here forever, not moving a single muscle ever again. 

Then he turned his head to glance at the clock and found that Healer Sanders would arrive soon. Severus groaned, brushing his hand down his face. It was just the EE waning as well. He would feel better when he got up and went downstairs to take his potions. He would feel better soon … 

But that didn’t stop the healer from regarding him warily. “What number?” he asked.

“You shouldn’t ask before you give me my potions,” Severus muttered and sat down on the couch, clad in a pair of tracksuits and an old t-shirt.

“Considering that you were toying with the idea of stopping the EE, I think I should ask before you take it.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know that I need it, and probably will for some time to come.”

Healer Sanders nodded slowly. “You might even need a higher dose,” he said softly. “So, what’s your number?”

Gulping, Severus blinked. “Seven.”

“Okay.” Then he set to work doing his healer thing, dosing the potions and lining them up for Severus to take before he took the chart and noted everything down. 

“For how much longer will you come to give me my potions?” Severus asked when he’d taken all of them and felt like the world had suddenly lost its thorns. 

The other man looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how much time do I have to find a way to get along without the EE? Because I will never be able to trust myself with it.” 

A slight frown settled onto the oval face. “Well, since it was me giving you the potion in the first place, I intend to help you for as long as you need it.”

Severus swallowed thickly.

“What’s your number now?”

“Two.”

He smiled faintly and wrote that down as well. “And what are your plans for today?”

“I … told Miss Granger I would stop by again.” He hesitated for a moment but then added, “I brought her here yesterday, showed her the house next door. It needs a lot of refurbishing, but she could stay there for the time being. I wanted her to sleep on it, though.”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Does it?” Severus murmured, grimacing from some of life’s thorns returning.

Healer Sanders shrugged his shoulders. “From what Miss Granger told me lately, it seems to be the best option for her. And, to be honest, I like the thought of someone who knows you living nearby.”

“It’s not her job to have an eye on me!”

“It isn’t yours to help her either, and yet you do.”

“She was my student, my responsibility.”

“Yes. Emphasis is on the past tense. Everything you do for her now is your own free choice. And she seems to be interested in your well-being.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about people liking you either, and yet here we are …”

Severus scowled at him.

Prompting Healer Sanders to smile a bit more genuinely now. “It’s her free choice to want to see you well, isn’t it? She will have her reasons. You have to allow other people their own judgement. I rather like you and want you to be well, too, and not because it’s my job. No matter what you think of yourself, there will always be people who like you, and that’s a good thing. Try bearing that without belittling their judgement.”

But liking me makes you bloody idiots!

And he was the biggest idiot of them all. Developing feelings for his former student just because she was somewhat cordial towards him … How pathetic.

Healer Sanders would probably talk differently if he knew about that. But Severus couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud again. He’d used his own shock at that thought crossing his mind to tell his therapist because he’d wanted an honest opinion; she’d needed to know the whole extent of his decay. Now, however, it was too late to change anything about what he’d decided to do, and it was his job to keep his feelings hidden away and his bloody hands off Granger. 

A resolution he broke within two hours. 

At least regarding the literal sense, because when Severus entered Granger’s room, she was in the midst of the attack she’d anticipated having yesterday already, causing a hot jolt to rush through his body. “Why are you alone?” he demanded, “Didn’t they tell you to call for help?” He was about to tap the emergency spot, but -

“N-No,” she pleaded, reaching up a trembling hand, trying to stop him; she would have failed had he chosen to ignore her. 

He glared down at her sweaty face, contorted in agony, her bloodshot eyes, her dry lips. She was curled up into a fetal position again as if the pain could be compressed if only she tried hard enough. “I-I’m to try and get … get through my attacks on m-my ownahhh …” She bit her lip, holding her breath when a violent shudder rippled through her. 

“Be careful,” Severus murmured, afraid her teeth might tear the chapped skin open.

Granger blinked, exhaling shakily. “I’m fine,” she breathed, “I’ll manage, I’m fine …”

“Like hell you are,” he muttered and went to snatch a chair and shove it over the linoleum floor with a loud screech. “That’s the plan?” he groused after sitting down, “Having you get through this alone?”

For a second, something resembling a smile curved her lips. “No,” she breathed, “I’ll get a-an emergency device.”

“An emergency device,” he echoed lamely.

“Yes.” She swallowed thickly, once again holding her breath, bracing herself against another wave of pain. “Oh god …” she breathed.

Severus grimaced. “Tell me what to do, Granger.”

But she kept her eyes tightly closed, breathing out labouredly, completely immersed in her world of agony. 

Severus gulped, putting his cane away and skidding his chair closer to her bed. He flinched, though, when suddenly her leg jerked violently, escaping her control and banging against the turned-up side rails. 

She cried out. “Bugger …” And turned her head to scrutinise the jars and vials sitting on her bedside cabinet.

“I'll tend to that,” he murmured and took the bruise salve.

“No, I … I am to do … do that alone,” she sobbed.

“Oh, shut up! You can practise doing that alone another time.” Scowling at her, he turned to her leg, grasping it hard enough to keep it somewhat still without causing further harm, and shoved the cat face-covered pyjama leg up. A huge bruise was already blossoming underneath her pale skin, growing as only that blasted curse could make it. Rudolphus, you bloody bastard! If you’re not rotting in hell by the time I get there, I will drag you down myself! “Keep still,” he muttered, although he knew she couldn’t control her spasms. “Why are the bloody side rails up anyway?”

“Tumbled mhh! Out of b-bed the other day … fuck!” Once again, she held her breath.

Severus focused on her leg, though, trying to somewhat tune out her sounds of agony. He’d forgotten how bad those attacks were during the last couple of weeks … 

When he’d tended to her contusion and twisted the lid back onto the jar to put it away, he’d somewhat steeled himself to face her again. “Look at me,” he demanded, surprised when her eyes flew open at once to stare at him. “You have to breathe, Granger! Don’t hold your breath when it gets bad, breathe through the pain!”

She hummed miserably, her teeth clenched and her eyes watering.

Unable to stand her look, Severus searched for her hand and took it. “It’s all right, we’ll get you through this,” he mumbled and began breathing with her as she had breathed with him during his panic attack, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Chapter Text

More than an hour later, Granger was finally out of the woods and able to relax at least somewhat, her mighty convulsions abating into shudders and shivers. “Sorry,” she mumbled and released his hand.

“It’s fine.” Yet he stretched and bent his fingers, forbidding himself to grimace from the pain. “Are you still to take the Draught of Peace?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes closed, “but not yet. We need to talk first.”

He wished he could have disagreed and let her sleep as she deserved to, but she had a point, so he kept quiet until she’d found the strength to blink. He swallowed thickly when her bloodshot, teary eyes met his, so exhausted and broken that he had difficulty breathing, thinking about how alert and quick-witted they used to be. 

“I still want the house,” she said hoarsely, “provided you’re really fine with it.”

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

She scrutinised him sceptically and had she been in a better condition, she probably would have challenged his statement. But as things were, she just nodded groggily, right before an aftershock crushed her, wrestling another miserable yelp from her sore throat. “Mhhhh,” she hummed, exhaling slowly as he’d repeatedly admonished her during the last hour. 

Severus rubbed his face, then his eyes, then he put his elbows on his knees and waited until that echo of agony subsided. “You should take the potion,” he said in a dark voice when she stilled.

“In a second,” she breathed, keeping her eyes closed for another minute or so. “But some water would be amazing.”

He took the glass sitting on her bedside cabinet to help her drink because her hands were still trembling, twitching, and cramping. “It’s beyond me how you’re supposed to get through this alone,” he muttered. 

She slumped back, panting exhaustedly. “Will have to find some tricks, I guess.” 

He harrumphed. “So, what is it that keeps you from taking your potion as you should?”

She blinked. “There’s more we need to discuss, right? I need to get the money from my savings account, I need to find …” She exhaled labouredly. “… someone who can fix the house, I need …” Her face hardened as a wave of pain he couldn’t see washed through her, causing more tears to leak from the corners of her eyes. “Bugger …”

“The only thing you need to do is recover,” Severus said softly, balling his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out to grasp hers again. “I’ll ask Minerva if she can send someone over from Hogwarts’ building site to deal with the house, and you can give me the money back later.”

“Are you sure?” she whimpered.

“Course I am. Can you get some furniture from somewhere?”

“Dunno. Maybe Harry has some spare furniture at Number 12. Don’t know if he’d still give it to me, though.”

“He will. He might be a blighter, but he’s not an idiot.”

She looked at him worriedly as if she’d just remembered something. “Are you fine with my friends visiting me there as well?” 

“Stop worrying your brain on my behalf, Granger. There’s nothing about this whole arrangement I didn’t think through already.” At least nothing that concerns you.

She gulped. “Okay.”

“So will you now finally take that potion, or are you keen on risking another epileptic seizure just because you can’t stop blabbering?” 

“Fine,” she huffed and leaned up to get the Draught of Peace. And because she was supposed to get through this on her own, Severus leaned back and just watched her laboured attempts to twist the lid off the vial and get the enclosed pipette ready to count five drops into the water she still had in her glass. The whole ordeal cost her several minutes, and she just about managed to put the vial away again before the next aftershock would have knocked it out of her hand to have had it shatter on the floor. 

“How is that emergency device you’re supposed to get meant to work?” he asked while she breathed through another bout of spasms. 

Another minute or two passed before she was able to answer, though. “An item,” she panted, “charmed with a Proteus. A medimage will Apparate to me if I activate it.”

“And what if you’re unable to activate it? What if it slips your fingers and disappears underneath your bed?”

She met his eyes bitterly. “I don’t know, Snape. That’s probably a risk I have to take, or else I have to stay here for the rest of my life.”

He huffed. So that’s what it needs to make you call me Snape. “Take the potion and get some rest. I’ll contact Minerva.”

She snorted, and after Severus had dragged the chair back to the table, he looked back at Granger, surprised to see her eyes were already drooping closed. He swallowed thickly and got going.

Minerva, naturally, was coolly accepting of his offer to eat lunch together, carrying her nose a tad bit higher than usual when she knocked on his door. “You could just as well have used the Floo, you know?” he said instead of a greeting, “We’ve already been talking.”

“Do you want me to Apparate back so I can come through the Floo instead?”

He rolled his eyes, letting her in. “Thank you for coming over on such short notice,” he forced himself to say instead of what was actually crossing his mind. 

Minerva stopped dead in her tracks. “What do you want from me?”

He smirked. “I want to have lunch with you.” She took a breath to say something. “And then I will ask for your help as I’ve promised you I would.”

“Mhh,” she muttered, eyeing him sceptically but preceding him into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose, though, when she sat down on one of his wonky chairs again. “You’re in dire need of new furniture.”

“That’s actually part of what I need your help with.”

They were interrupted by the house-elf bringing them lunch, and Minerva waited until everything was sorted and the creature had left again before she said, “I hope you don’t expect me to fix those magically. I don’t think even Filius himself could do that …”

“No. I wanted to ask if you could accompany me to Diagon Alley. I need an owl and I need to visit this address …” He searched for the note Healer Sanders had given him in the pile of still unopened mail.

“Seriously, Severus,” Minerva chastised him, noticing that.

“Open them yourself if you’re so keen on it.”

She looked at him, annoyed, then she took the uppermost letter.

“After lunch!” Severus added and scowled at her while he pulled the letter through her fingers.

“Don’t test me,” she said in a sharp but lowered voice, accentuating it with a twitch of her eyebrows. 

He harrumphed, then he finally found the note. “Here. Healer Sanders gave me this, apparently, that’s where St Mungo’s gets their patient room chairs.”

“You want to buy medical furniture?”

“They are chairs, Minerva! They just happen to be comfortable chairs. And they’re only meant for the kitchen anyway.” Finally, he took his fork and looked down at his lunch – only to curl his lip when he saw that it was a bowl of salad topped with tuna. Marvellous. 

“As you wish,” she sighed, putting the note back down. “But I don’t think you should show yourself in Diagon Alley yet. Rita Skeeter is still adamant about getting a picture and some kind of impression she can use to weave her fairytales around.” 

“I can’t stay here forever,” he grouched.

“But maybe for a while longer. I will go to Diagon Alley alone. Do you need anything else besides an owl and new kitchen chairs?”

“Nothing I can’t order myself as soon as I have an owl.”

“Mh,” she muttered and began eating as well, not without casting him a piqued glance.

Now or never. “But there is something else.”

She arched her eyebrows, mouth full of a piece of tomato.

Severus took a deep breath. “Miss Granger will move in next door.”

He’d fully expected her fork to clatter into the bowl, but instead, complete silence was all he got from the other side of the table. Chewing mock innocently, Severus raised his eyes, finding her incredulous gaze resting on him. She swallowed thickly. “Come again?”

“You understood me perfectly well. There’s nowhere else for her to go, at least nowhere she can stay for as long as she wishes to and feel comfortable, and the house next door is vacant, as are most of the houses in this street. It just needs a bit of refurbishing.”

“A bit?” she echoed. “Severus, I've had a lot of time lately to take a closer look at this area and the house next door is only held together by pure luck and your wards!”

“Yeah, well, if you don’t have anything else to offer, that has to be enough. Could you spare a craftsman wizard or two to try their luck with the house? Miss Granger gets discharged next week and -”

“Next week?!”

“Yes. If you keep repeating what I’m saying, this conversation will take us longer than necessary.”

“Why yes, I might need a moment longer to digest what you’re telling me, Severus!”

“Very well,” he sighed and stabbed his fork back into the salad, “Just tell me when you’re ready to hear more.”

About half an hour later, Severus found himself standing amidst the rubble of the house next door again, this time accompanied by an older Gryffindor, resulting in a blunter conclusion. “This is a ruin.”

“Never claimed it to be anything else.”

“And yet you think Miss Granger can move in here next week?”

“I hope so, yes.”

Minerva furrowed her brow, exhaling slowly. “I never knew you were such an optimist.”

He scowled in response, pushing aside a piece of debris with his cane. “Will you send someone to look at it then?”

“No.” She stepped over what looked like a raccoon, which had died about two or three winters ago, to return to him. “I’ll bring someone here while you stay in your house and don’t let yourself be seen.”

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

She patted his shoulder. “Believe me, you don’t want Skeeter to find you yet.”

He turned his head to look at her, stiffening from how close she was standing to him. “Now or later, it won’t make a difference, Minerva. The press will eat me alive no matter when they find me.”

“No need to make it any easier for them.”

“Very well,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. When she finally walked on to inspect the stairs leading to the upper floor, he turned on the spot. 

“I don’t like the thought of Miss Granger living here.”

“I’m sure that’s a sentiment everybody involved shares.”

“I never liked the thought of you living here either. Nobody should live in an area like this nowadays.”

Nobody should have lived in an area like this in the past, either, but it’s not as if we had a choice.

When he didn’t answer, she faced him again. “I hope you’ll treat her decently.”

“Actually, I planned to terrorise and ridicule her.” But despite his cool retort, his heart was thumping away, Occlumency once again his means of choice to keep his inner turmoil hidden from Minerva’s vigilant eyes. 

She huffed. “Well, fixing the house is all very well, but have you thought about how Miss Granger is supposed to furnish it? Does she have enough money?”

“It might be enough for the most important pieces, depending on how much the fixing will cost.”

“Judging by the bills I have to file for the Board of Governors regarding Hogwarts, I’d say … about seven hundred Galleons?”

He grimaced. That was more than he’d hoped for. “She might have to resort to second-hand furniture then. Maybe she can get some pieces from the Room of Lost Things?”

Something in Minerva’s eyes changed, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it wasn’t good. “The Room of Lost Things was destroyed. Mr Crabbe used Fiendfyre, trying to kill Mr Potter and his friends when they retrieved another Horcrux. Sadly, he fell victim to his own fire, as did the Room of Lost Things.”

He swallowed reflexively, mumbling, “I see …”

“I’m sorry,” Minerva said softly when that was all he said.

Severus nodded, briefly closing his eyes to push down that information. “Maybe Potter can help her out with a piece or two after all …”

Minerva hummed. “If I were her, I wouldn’t put anything from Grimmauld Place in here without thoroughly checking it for curses, though.”

He snorted softly. 

“Well, first the house. Is it okay if I come here tomorrow to let Miss Bricks have a look at this? She’s the construction site manager over at Hogwarts.”

“Sure.” The earlier, the better. 

She nodded. “Anything more you need my help with?”

“No.”

“All right. I’ll Apparate to Diagon Alley then. Do you prefer a special breed of owl?”

“As long as it has wings and is willing to deliver mail, I don’t care.”

“Mh. I’ll be back soon.” She touched his arm as she passed him by and left the house. He heard her Apparate away seconds later.

Sighing, Severus loosened his Occlumency, tilting his head left and right to ease some tension, and went back over. Lunch was sitting heavy on his stomach, he needed a lie-down.

That evening, Severus sat down at his new table on one of his new chairs – which weren’t the same as St Mungo’s used because, “You’re not living in a hospital, Severus! These are kitchen chairs that look like it and are still comfortable.” He had to admit Minerva was right. They were comfortable and being of a warm wood, maybe oak, they blended into his old kitchen better than the white chairs from St Mungo’s would have – although there was no denying that they still stood out like a sore thumb in between all of the old stuff littered with scratches, dents, stains, or chipped spots. 

Also, it had been a strange moment seeing Minerva vanish his old furniture. Part of him wanted to protest and tell her to leave it in the backyard for now, a part he didn’t fancy exploring any closer. 

So little actually that he preferred to finally open the damn mail that had been piling up on his table, wincing when his new owl on its new perch standing in the corner of the kitchen shook out its feathers. Minerva had chosen a barn owl, a beautiful young female with a heart-shaped face and a feathering in white, amber, and grey, watching him with alert black eyes. “Do you desire a name?” he asked.

She just blinked.

“I take that as a no.” Calmly, he looked back down at the stack of letters. A lot of them were closed with the Ministry’s seal, the capital M with a wand in its centre. He assumed all of them were about his trial since he hadn’t received any new ones after being discharged. So he shoved all of those aside for now and turned to the remaining ones. 

Which was a much smaller stack. 

The first one was information about his Potions Monthly subscription being cancelled because they’d been unable to debit the fee from his vault when Gringotts had been closed off after Potter and his friends had broken into the Lestrange’s vault. He skimmed the lines until he found the notion that he’d have to sign up anew to resume his subscription and that they were looking forward to welcoming him back among their subscribers. Conveniently, they’d also enclosed a new registration form. 

The next letter was from Gringotts informing him about the reopening of his vault and a rise in his activity charge. “Seizing the opportunity,” he mumbled, frowning. 

He moved to open the next letter, but when he took it up, the one beyond caught his eye. It wasn't addressed, only his name was scribbled on the envelope. Frowning, Severus took it, ripped it open and … pulled out a birthday card. What the … He turned it around, but it was blank. 

Who the hell was sending him a birthday card in Spring? And why was it blank?

He blamed it on his condition that he needed almost a full minute to connect the dots. Rita fucking Skeeter! 

No easier way to find out where somebody lived than sending off an owl and following it. Luckily, his wards prevented human beings from finding his house unless they were with him or already knew where they were heading. 

Snorting, he ripped up the card and the envelope. Nice try, bint.

A soft hoot from his new familiar made him look up, finding that she eyed the shreds of paper he’d discarded on the worktop eagerly. “Want them?” Severus asked.

The owl met his eyes.

“Then go and have fun!”

Instantly, she flew over and slid a bit over the smooth surface before she began ripping the card and the envelope into even smaller shreds and pieces with ecstatic glee. 

I might have to have an eye on my books …

It was in the following night that his mind once again did what it was doing all too often lately, using his faltering Occlumency to throw back at him what he had pushed down during the day. That night, it was Vincent Crabbe dying in a Fiendfyre.

He felt nauseous and overheated when he gasped awake from his dream, blinking around the darkness, panting. He got up then and went downstairs to get himself a glass of water, trying and failing to dispel the dream like a stubborn wasp from a glass of soda. 

And just like the wasp, he felt like he was drowning in the echo of the war, finding himself changing his water for whisky soon, which he drank sitting in the backyard, the tranquillity of the starless night pressing down on him in the best way possible. 

Healer Sanders wasn’t happy with his vitals the next morning but Severus had a hard time giving a damn. The day was doomed to be miserable anyway; his owl casting a pellet onto his kitchen floor just when Severus wanted to force some scrambled eggs into his grumbling stomach without the slightest bit of appetite supporting his efforts wasn’t making it any better.

Having Minerva knock on his door sometime around three in the afternoon was a bigger relief than Severus would ever voluntarily admit, but she probably saw it anyway. There was a lot written into the lines on his face and the bags under his eyes lately.

“Surprisingly, it is possible,” she spared him any closer inquiry, though, “but it will cost roughly 650 Galleons.”

He harrumphed, leaning back on the couch. “Tell them to do it. I’ll go and inform Miss Granger tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget it’s Mr Potter’s birthday tomorrow. She might have either guests you don’t want to meet or she’s out and about visiting him.”

“Bugger. Then she’ll have to wait for another day.”

Minerva smiled faintly, perching on the edge of the armchair. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No.” It was a habitual answer, as ingrained into his brain as breathing, a fact that forced him to add, “Yes,” when a sting and a lurch somewhere in his chest reminded him of his last night.

“What is it?” Minerva asked softly.

Gulping, Severus leaned forwards, put his elbows on his knees and – the haze which suspiciously felt like his body temperature rising once again thickening – asked, “Who died?”

Chapter Text

“What have you done?” It wasn’t even a question asked in shock, it was just a sigh before Healer Sanders sat down and scratched his eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Severus muttered. Which – for once – was right. It hadn’t been him doing something, it had been his body. Waking him up in the middle of the night with cramps knotting up his intestines, culminating in a torrent of diarrhoea. Had kept him shivering and sweating for the better part of an hour, and sleep had evaded him afterwards. 

The healer scrutinised him warily and seemed a tad bit annoyed if Severus interpreted the slight curve of his mouth correctly. “You do realise your stats are right there?” He pointed at the shimmering numbers floating above Severus’ head.

He reached up and waved them away. “Just leave it be, okay?”

Another sigh. “Very well,” he mumbled, beginning to jot down his notes. “But I cannot give you a Strengthening Solution today.” 

“Then don’t.” I don't give a fuck.

A minute or two passed in silence until Healer Sanders said, “I think it’s time to increase your EE dose.”

Ugh … “No,” Severus said, not unfriendly, but assertive.

“Mr Snape, this -”

“No!” he repeated, louder this time. “I don’t want a higher dose of Euphoria Elixir, I don’t need a higher dose of Euphoria Elixir. All it does is make me an addict!”

“While it keeps you from committing suicide,” he said bluntly.

Severus scoffed. “I didn’t need that potion to fail, did I?”

The healer’s mouth thinned.

As did Severus’. “Those are my emotions,” he ground out, “I have a right to feel them. I felt them all my life and didn’t top myself. A couple of weeks ago was the most determined I’ve been for a very long time, and I failed.” He hesitated for a moment, then, “Don’t worry, I won’t make you end up in Azkaban.”

Yet Healer Sanders’ gaze jumped back and forth between Severus’ eyes for a moment longer. “Fine,” he said softly, “I leave the dose unchanged.”

Severus exhaled.

“But I want you to make another appointment with my wife and talk about this with her.”

Don’t trust me, eh? Good. “Fine,” Severus echoed him. He had another three sessions to go anyway.

Since your husband doesn’t trust me not to kill myself, I require another appointment, he wrote shortly after Healer Sanders had left, still clad in his nightshirt and dressing gown, and flinched when there was a bang in the neighbouring house. Apparently, renovation works had begun. “Bloody perfect,” he muttered, and after he’d sent off the owl, he grabbed his cane and hobbled into the basement lab, forfeiting his plan to try and get another hour or two of sleep. He needed a potion for his upset stomach anyway. 

After he’d wandered back and forth between his stack of ingredients and his work table several times, carrying one storage jar after the other over, he leaned against the table to catch his breath. His heart was thrumming in his chest, probably causing him that slight stinging pain darting through his ribcage as well. 

The Dark Lord wouldn’t even have needed his bloody snake to kill me now, forcing me to run up some stairs would suffice …

He gulped and slowly began moving again, for the first time ever taking a stool out from under the table to sit down while he was preparing the ingredients. What a sight … He knew a whole bunch of students who would have paid to see him do what he’d always forbidden them to do and laugh at him.

A few of them weren’t even alive anymore.

He stilled, closed his eyes, trying to push Minerva’s voice listing off names back down. 

…

… 

“Too many. Too many have died.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in surrender.

He’d known about Fred Weasley. 

He’d just learned about Vincent Crabbe. 

But he hadn’t known about Colin Creevey. About Cynthia O’Neil. Lavender Brown. Marvin Peters. Abigail Chatman. Jerry Olsen. Dorothy Leonard. 

And he hadn’t known about Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. He hadn’t known about the next orphan child, and that thought alone still made him feel sick. What had all of that even been good for if it hadn’t prevented another child from growing up without its parents?

He swallowed compulsively, failing to get rid of the taste of bile spreading on the back of his tongue.

Blinking, he returned to his task at hand, mustering a fickle excuse of Occlumency. 

It wasn’t enough to keep the knife away from his finger.

“Bugger.” 

The taste of blood mixed with the taste of bile as he got up and groped his way to his storage cupboard to get the last flask of dittany he had in stock. It almost slipped him when another bang from the neighbouring house echoed through the basement. He scowled at the wall and sat back down, took the finger out of his mouth and unstoppered the flask.

But just when he was about to pour some drops on his mishap, he stilled. Tilting his head, he watched a lazy drop of blood blossom on the clean cut, branching out in his saliva, and suddenly it wasn’t Minerva’s voice echoing through his head anymore but Granger’s. And what she was saying was, “Isn’t it ironic, by the way, that you’re the one who got bitten by Nagini and I’m the one who’s become a bleeder?”

Huh … Why wasn’t he bleeding?

Stronger, that was. Thinking of Arthur’s injury, profuse bleeding had been the number one effect of Nagini’s venom. And as far as he knew, Arthur didn’t sustain any permanent damage, especially no nerve damage. 

It was a slight quaking of his whole house that snapped him out of his musings. What the hell are they doing over there?

Shaking his head, he healed his cut and went back to work, hoping that brewing a potion would suffice in distracting him where Occlumency was failing.

By the time the noise from next door ceased, Severus had a headache from hell despite taking two extra doses of pain-relief and was lying on the couch just counting the passing seconds. He exhaled slowly when silence descended, carefully relaxing his tense muscles.

Only to flinch violently at a knock on his door.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, then he added a louder, “Come in!” Because there was only one person on this godforsaken earth who would knock on his door at this exact moment. 

“Severus?” Minerva asked, puzzled, because he’d closed the curtains and the door leading to the kitchen, submerging the living room in blessed darkness.

Now he harrumphed, making her aware of where he was. “Are they finally done?”

“For today, yes.”

He groaned. 

“Do you need help?”

I need this day to end. “Silence will do,” he said instead and blinked, finding her standing in front of the couch. 

“For how long have you been lying here?”

“Pretty much all day.”

“Mh. Don’t you think it would do you better to get up and let some light in?”

“Don’t you think I would have done so if I’d been able to do so?”

She sighed. 

And he exhaled slowly before rubbing his eyes. “Why are you here, Minerva?”

“There’s a problem with the flooring. They had to completely replace it, and now it is plain concrete, a terrible base for any kind of charm to make it more comfortable or warm. So they advise you to cover it with another kind of flooring.”

“Can’t they do it?”

“They can. But it would cost another 200 Galleons for the material and the additional working time. Do you want them to do it?”

Another 200 Galleons … The number bounced through his head like a rubber ball and hurt as much as that imagery suggested. “Can’t you go and ask Miss Granger?”

“Very well,” she said softly, “very well … Are you sure you don’t need help?”

He was quiet for some seconds. “If you could cast an Imperturbable on Granger’s house,” he then whispered. He couldn’t bear another day like this.

“Of course.” But before she left, Minerva also conjured a flannel and soaked it with cold water to put on his throbbing hot forehead, and Severus was thankful for the dim light because there was a chance she didn’t notice the tears leaking down his temples.

“Why am I not bleeding?” he asked that night after Healer Sanders had given him another pain-relief potion to soothe his lingering headache.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Nagini’s venom causes massive bleeding, and since it is still in my body, one ought to think I might have at least as much of a bleeding issue as Miss Granger. Yet I'm not bleeding more than before I got bitten. Why is that?”

He hummed in understanding. “Honestly, the only answer I have for you is house-elf magic.”

Severus just looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

Raising his hands in defeat, Healer Sanders added, “Apparently, the house-elf who found you used its magic to stop your bleeding for long enough to get you to the hospital, and you’ve never shown signs of abnormal bleeding while under my care. The elf’s magic seems to have somehow altered the venom, making it act in another way than before. But neither am I skilled enough nor free enough to research what exactly happened there. I’m just glad bleeding is none of your problems.”

Severus harrumphed and took another potion. “Do you have any analyses about the venom?”

“Sure, we have, our potions department tried to concoct an anti-venom after all – in vain, unfortunately. Do you want a copy?”

“Yes.”

It was two days later – his condition had improved again with a good night’s sleep and some proper meals, and Healer Sanders had calmed down a bit as well, probably because Severus had another appointment with his therapist at the end of the week – when there was a knock Severus did not anticipate. 

Leaning over so he could see the door, he frowned. Minerva was not supposed to stop by today. Yet his curiosity got the better of him, and he took his cane to peek through the window and see who it was.

His heart somersaulted as he spotted Granger’s bushy hair, causing him to grimace. The same shit as with Lily back in the day … bloody perfect.

She smiled at him uneasily when he opened the door. “Hi,” she said, a book clasped in her hands, “I’m trying to do some renovating and … there’s this spell I fail to get right. I wondered if you could help me?”

He blinked. “I can’t do much magic at the moment.”

“Oh, that’s all right! I’d rather you tell me what I’m doing wrong instead of doing it for me anyway.”

He hummed softly, unable to keep his eyes from scanning the abandoned street. “Very well,” he eventually said and motioned to follow her over.

“Thank you!” She turned and walked back to her door, her hair bouncing with each step.

He sighed silently and pulled his door closed before he trailed behind her. “Did they already discharge you?”

“Oh, no. Mr Weasley just connected my fireplace with the Floo today, and I thought I’d use the time to get something done here instead of waiting for my next attack, you know?”

“I see.”

She stepped aside to let him into the house that was her house now, only because nobody else had wanted it in the last twenty years or so, and she needed it, and Severus couldn’t stop himself from uttering a sound of surprise when he saw what Minerva’s people had accomplished. 

The rubble was gone, as were the partly collapsed walls, dead animals, and general air of decay. Instead, everything was neat and clean, still a bit dark because there was only one window in the living room, but it didn’t look nearly as cave-like as his, undoubtedly because it was still mostly empty and probably would never see as many bookshelves as his living room. So far, only a couple of cardboard boxes were standing in the corner.

“Didn’t think this was viable,” he murmured.

“Neither did I,” she said. “I even was a bit afraid to come here today and might have cried when I saw this.” She smiled shakily. “First time I’m looking forward to being discharged soon.”

He nodded, still taking in the light wooden floor, the pristine white walls, and the clean fireplace. “Well, what do you need my help with?”

“Right.” She reopened what seemed to be a book about handicraft charms (Nifty Knacks for Pesky Problems) and showed him the page she’d marked with her finger. “I’m trying to perma-charm my tap in the kitchen with an Aguamenti so I can trigger the water flow by turning it on and off and give me hot water as well when I need it, but it just keeps flowing, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You already got a kitchen?” he asked in surprise.

“Um, yes. I went to get some newspapers the other day and checked the small ads. Someone was selling theirs, and Mr Weasley went with me to get it. I needed someone who's allowed to alter memories because I needed to shrink it to get it here, so … It was the first piece of furniture I mounted in my life, though.” She smiled again, her eyes larger than usual and her cheeks redder.

Severus swallowed compulsively. “I see,” he said again. “Well, then …” He nodded towards the kitchen and took a deep breath before following her over. 

Seeing the cupboards elicited a small huff from him. 

“I know,” she said, “it’s terribly cliché, isn’t it?” 

“Well …” The red fronts and beach-wooden, almost golden-looking carcasses had a certain Gryffindor charm, he couldn’t deny that.

“I think I’ll alter the colours later, but first, I need the important stuff to work.” She gestured at the sink and the culprit of her failure. 

“Can I see the book again?” 

“Sure!” She gave it to him, and Severus skimmed the text. It had been a while since he’d performed that particular piece of magic, but he also wanted to see if the book itself was false. All seemed to be correct, though. 

Visualising the details of the magic she was attempting to perform and silently doing some rough arithmantic calculations, he wandered over to a spot where he would be able to observe her doing better. “Show me how you tried it,” he said then and handed her the book back.

Instantly, the same old nervousness he’d seen so often with her settled back into her body. Her breath hitched, she twisted her wand, nodded at herself as if in silent reassurance. 

“I won’t grade you,” Severus reminded her in a dark voice. 

She laughed tensely. “Right.”

“And I won’t ridicule you either,” he added more softly, a statement that made her look up at him in surprise and her clear hazel eyes hit him unprepared, so hard it seemed to rock his whole body. I’m sorry I ever did.

“I … thank you,” she murmured.

He gulped. “Well,” he then muttered and nodded at the tap.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat and checked the text again before she gave the charmwork, a combination of three individual charms, another try.

Water whooshed from the tap and gurgled down the drain, which she seemed to have successfully perma-charmed with an Evanesco already, for there was no puddle forming on the floor. 

“That’s what I mean,” she sighed and cancelled the charm. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You need to emphasise the second syllable, not the third. And your wand movement has to be more determined. It’s not that this kind of charm lives on intent, but it does help tremendously if you don’t hesitate.”

“Okay,” she mumbled and faced the task again.

This time, the tap only began to drip, and Granger gave a small yelp of excitement. 

Swot, he thought, catching himself smiling. 

“Give the incantation more of an o sound instead of an a sound.”

“But it’s written with an a!” She pointed at the book.

And looked up when Severus didn’t answer, only to find his eyebrow raised.

“O, not a, got it,” she sighed, her cheeks now even redder than before and once more cancelled the charm to try again.

And this time, nothing visibly happened. Granger took a deep breath and held it, her eyes glued to the tap as if it might explode any second.

“You should try it,” Severus advised her at length.

“Right,” she breathed and reached out to turn on the tap.

Water began to flow.

“It worked!” she exclaimed. Then she turned the other knob on and felt the water. “Ouch!”

Severus huffed a laugh. “There you have it.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you!”

“Never mind. Is the privy fixed already, or do you need help installing a shower as well?”

“Oh, no, the bathroom is done. But um … do you fancy a cuppa? As a thank you. I only have tea here so far, haven’t charmed the fridge yet.”

I should leave, he thought, I should spend as little time as possible with you. But when he thought about his own house, the narrow paths and gloomy interior, he found himself nodding. “Thank you,” he murmured and took a seat at the kitchen table that was just as small as his own and, now that he had a brand new one, actually looked more used, yet so much better than the one Minerva had vanished. 

He watched Granger open a cupboard that was empty apart from two mugs and a box of Yorkshire Tea, and although she’d just successfully installed her kitchen water supply, she filled the mugs with boiling water from her wand. “I’m afraid I don’t have milk here yet,” she said meekly when she brought the mugs over and sat down as well.

“I prefer it black anyway.” 

“Lucky me,” she smiled right before the absurdity of the moment, of her having tea in her own virtually squatted house with her former teacher, caught up with her, causing her to swallow thickly and stare at her mug. “Well, um … How are you?” she eventually mustered the courage to ask.

“Have been worse.”

She nodded, her widened eyes now locked on him. “That’s … good, I guess?”

“Yes.” He bobbed the tea bag in his mug.

“It’s just …” She faltered, taking a hasty breath and a second. “It’s just that you never talk about how you are. I mean, I guess that figures as I’m … me and you probably don’t consider this a … a real friendship, but … I’d love to hear about how you are and what’s happening in your life if you … want to share it.” Her last words were almost a whisper, her awkwardness seemingly getting the better of her at last, and when he met her eyes, she looked like a rabbit sitting with a fox, hoping it wouldn’t eat her.

And in some way, she was, right? Sitting with a kind of predator. Just not the kind she might have in mind. “I’m fine,” he chose to say, “still adjusting, but I’m getting there.”

“That’s awesome.” She smiled genuinely and proceeded to vanish their tea bags before they shared their tea in companionable silence. 

Chapter Text

The day Granger moved in – two days later than planned because she’d been hit by another attack the morning she’d been scheduled for discharge – was the day of Severus’ third therapy session as well. He didn’t mind that too much; Granger’s friends would probably help her settle in and get some stuff sorted, it was better to get out of the house for a while, considering that Minerva’s Imperturbable charm had surely worn off already. 

What he did mind, though, was the topic this session would centre around and that it hadn’t been his decision to talk about it. 

He spent the morning restlessly pacing around the house, unable to focus on the analyses of Nagini’s venom Healer Sanders had given him. It was a lot of paper, sprawled out over his living room table, and he had yet to make sense of it. The influence of house-elf magic was evident and so far nobody had ever bothered to do in-depth research about elf magic – and if somebody had, nobody had bothered to publish the results, at least if his contact at Flourish and Blotts could be trusted, so he had to try and understand it on his own.

But not today. Today, he’d given Healer Sanders the silent treatment when he popped by for his morning visit, and yet Severus was frustrated because the man had just accepted it! It was petty, but how dare he?!

However, since he’d vanished through the Floo, a whole ant colony had awoken in Severus’ stomach, keeping him from sitting down, focusing on anything, and even eating a proper breakfast. 

Not drinking the whisky he was craving was all he accomplished.

Luckily, he’d been a model patient yesterday and eaten enough to warrant him the Strengthening Solution he needed to be able to pace around.

Finishing another lap, he stopped, his eyes fastening on the yellow thousand-leaf he’d got for Granger, a small gift for her moving in. The potted plant had been standing on his worktop for four days now and was spouting some new buds that would soon bloom in a rich sunflower-type yellow. Prepared as an infusion, they had a muscle-relaxing character even if not processed in a potion. 

He doubted that it would do Granger any good with her curses, though, given that they were too strong even for St Mungo’s to get under control. It probably was a stupid idea to gift her that plant. Maybe it would spark false hope. Maybe he should have gone with bread and salt instead. Maybe -

He closed his eyes and, exhaling slowly, he emptied his mind. It didn't matter. He'd chosen that plant, and neither had the time nor the energy to get something else instead. So it was that or nothing. And interestingly, nothing prompted an uncomfortable niggling somewhere in his chest, a feeling that …

Better not think about it.

So he began pacing again.

But in the end, the therapy session wasn’t half bad.

Or rather, it could have been worse.

“So, to return to what you mentioned in your letter: Are you planning to end your life?” his therapist asked bluntly after their usual small talk.

“No.”

“Great.” She smiled.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Is there anything else you want me to say?”

He huffed. “Considering that your husband keeps pestering me with his ‘What’s your number?’ nonsense, this is a bit anticlimactic, yes.”

Her smile grew into a short laugh. “That’s what he does?”

“Every single time he stops by,” Severus growled, not half as amused as she was. 

She shrugged her eyebrows but didn’t share her thoughts about her husband’s behaviour with Severus. Instead, she asked, “Well, are those suicidal thoughts something that worries you then?”

“No,” he said again, but with less emphasis than before. “I’m used to it, they’ve always been there.”

Her amusement turned serious. “Always?”

“… Yes.” A second too long. He’d hesitated for a second too long, and judging by the brief narrowing of her eyes, it hadn’t slipped her attention. But he wasn’t ready to talk about the only time in his life when he hadn’t thought about death as a mysterious lover he wished would welcome him in her arms. He wasn’t ready to talk about the two years of his enthusiastically being a Death Eater. 

She hummed softly. “And would you like to do something about it?”

He snorted. “If there’s a magical cure, enlighten me!”

“No magic, I’m afraid. And the two and a half sessions we have left won’t nearly be enough to tackle the root of your suicidality …”

He swallowed involuntarily.

“… but if you’re open for a little mental experiment, you can at least try to set a stop to those meandering thoughts.”

“I usually -” Severus began before he caught himself and stopped abruptly.

“Yes?”

He swallowed again. “I usually use Occlumency when it’s getting too bad.”

She nodded, contemplating. “I have to admit I don’t know much about Occlumency, but it is a method that requires mental strength, right? A constant effort?”

“Yes.”

“Well, my idea would be more of a situational nature. But it’s not as effective as Occlumency, I’m afraid, it needs some practice and habituation.” She gave him an apologetic smile, but when he nodded at her to proceed, she explained, “My idea would be to think of two or three reasons why you won’t end your life today every morning. Doesn’t have to be huge reasons, little things like … I don’t know, someone has to feed the owl or … someone has to water the plants or … there’s a book coming out next week I want to read … That’s enough. But make it reasons that are about you and things that are important to you, and not about your former student or someone else you think you owe. And when the meandering thoughts return, remind yourself of your reasons and let them pass by like clouds.”

He harrumphed uncomfortably before mumbling, “Guess I can try that.”

“Perfect. What was the reason for the spiking apprehension of my husband, by the way?”

“I refused to let him increase my dose of Euphoria Elixir.”

She grimaced. 

“Yeah,” Severus grouched, “exactly. That potion is the reason why your husband needs to visit me every morning and evening. I cannot trust myself with it.”

“I see,” she said softly. “Have you ever taken it before now?”

Severus took a deep breath, an attempt to calm his suddenly spiking pulse and a way to buy himself a second to decide what to say. “Yes,” he eventually confessed, “as a student. But I stopped quickly enough not to get addicted.” He'd tried to modify the potion to lower the addictive nature, but all he succeeded in doing was amplifying the effect and thus virtually doing the opposite of what he’d planned to do. 

“And yet you agreed to take it again now?”

He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t plan to live for much longer, why should I've said no to a potion that made it easier to pass the time?” There was a sadness creeping into her eyes he couldn’t bear seeing, so he lowered his eyes. “I won’t kill myself,” he repeated softly.

“I know,” she assured him just as softly.

Struggling out of his chair even though their session wasn’t over yet, Severus said, “Right. I’d be grateful if you could convince your husband of that as well.”

She stood up too and shook his hand goodbye, accepting his silent decision to leave without argument. “I will.”

Severus had saved some of his magical energy so he could cast a Homenum revelio and make sure Granger was alone before he snatched that stupid plant, went over, and hit the tip of his cane against her door thrice. His fingers curled tightly around the handle, he furtively glanced up and down the street, tilting his head left and right to get rid of that prickling sensation in the back of his neck. 

He was about to turn and leave again, but then she opened the door. Judged by her eyes twitching to his cane and feet, she instantly clocked he’d been about to leave. 

And judged by her briefly looking away, she’d clocked that he’d taken in her pale and exhausted complexion at once as well. “I just wanted to stop by to … welcome you to your new house.” He awkwardly held the potted plant out for her.

“Oh,” Granger mumbled and took it. “Thank you! Is this a yellow thousand-leaf?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled tiredly. “Do you want to come in?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I shouldn’t,” he said softly, “you look tired.”

Granger nodded. “Okay, yes, that’s … yes.”

“Yes,” he echoed and turned to leave after all.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Granger then called out, and he looked back at her. “I plan to head to Tesco’s tomorrow, I need some groceries, and wanted to ask if I can bring you anything?”

The prickling sensation in the back of his neck intensified. “No,” he said at once and the moment her lips curved into a non-committal smile, he remembered that he was out of eggs and could do with some fresh fruit as well. “But I …” He was momentarily distracted as her gaze shot up to meet his at once, trying to understand what it was that … He blinked. “I would accompany you if I may.”

“Sure!” she blurted, a hint of red tinting her cheeks. “What time?”

“Just knock when you’re ready.”

She smiled broadly. “Will do. And thank you!” She nodded at the plant again, and the soft click of her closing door caused him to exhale deeply. 

Good grief … 

I want to make sense of the venom analyses.

The owl depends on me to feed her.

And … 

… I want to go grocery shopping with Granger.

Pathetic, but here we are.

Scowling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Severus lathered his stubble with shaving foam and began getting himself into a halfway presentable condition. 

He’d always preferred shaving the Muggle way, liked the texture and the smell of the foam, the feeling of the blades gliding over his skin more than the tingle of magic doing the job. But right now, he’d given his left arm and a kidney to be able to do it magically without running the risk of lacking the necessary energy to do any magic later today. 

The Dark Lord and every single Death Eater who’d ever glowered at him for becoming his right hand would laugh their arse off seeing him like this. Would say he deserved this for betraying them all. And in a way, they were probably right. Hell, not even Lucius had reached out to him yet, and it’d been three months … 

Putting his hands on the rim of the sink, he closed his eyes. 

I want to make sense of the venom analyses.

The owl depends on me to feed her.

I want to go grocery shopping.

When he blinked, the mirror was completely fogged from taking a shower, his face only vague silhouettes and his eyes dark blobs in a milky surface. Sighing, he wiped the lower half of the mirror clean, just enough to show him his chin, cheeks, and neck, and moved on.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her head cocked, when Severus pulled the door closed behind him.

“Of course.” The lie passed his lips effortlessly, a force of habit, before he nodded down the road and got going. 

But really, what good would it do to tell Granger that there was no denying anymore that the effect of his EE dose was dwindling? That he was dealing with more intense suicidal thoughts even without reducing it? Healer Sanders had noticed it, of course, he had. But apparently, his wife had indeed talked with him because all he’d said earlier today had been, “Tell me if you want me to increase the dose after all.”

Something Severus wouldn’t do because staying at the same dose until there was no noticeable mental effect anymore was the gentlest way of weaning himself, leaving him with only the physical withdrawal to go through in the end. And ending it, he did want. He’d taken it for too long anyway. 

So no, he wasn't all right, hadn't been all right for a very long time, and wouldn't be anytime soon either, but that wasn't something he would burden Granger with. She had enough on her own plate, no need to add his problems. As far as she was concerned, he was all right.

But today, his lie came back to bite him in the arse. 

This Thursday was another hot summer day, even at nine in the morning, and humid to boot. He was slowing down Granger, who was chatting away, taking in her new neighbourhood, and mentally began scratching items off his shopping list because carrying a bottle of ginger ale or a tin of ravioli back home was out of the question today, Feather-Light Charm or not.

But no cutting down his list could shorten the way he had to walk, and so they were near the dairy case when his legs began feeling suspiciously wobbly, and the sight of food made him feel queasy. The cool temperatures sent shivers down his sweaty back, and leaning hard on the trolley, he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. And another. 

Bad timing for those shenanigans …

The faint voice of someone saying, “Miss, I think your father needs help,” did make him look up, though.

Excuse me?!

He caught Granger’s eyes as she looked around at him. “He’s not -” But then she shook her head, mumbled, “Thank you,” to that woman, and returned to him. “What do you need?” she asked. No Are you all right? anymore.

“Just to sit down for a second,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Did she see the sweat breaking from his pores, or did it just feel like that for him? He didn’t dare take his hand from the trolley to wipe his forehead.

“All right,” she mumbled and looked around. “Come!” she then ordered and slowly guided him and the trolley out of the dairy case back to where they were selling lawn chairs. “Stay here, I’ll get you some water.” And off she was.

Bloody hell. Putting his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands and tried to ignore the ruckus of people surrounding him. His heart was thumping wildly, skipping a beat here and there, a sensation that flooded his whole body with waves of something fancy like adrenaline or whatever. Fact was, it fooled his brain into believing he had to fight something, and none of that helped his lingering nausea in the slightest.

Eventually, Granger returned, opening a bottle of water and giving it to him. 

“Did you pay for this?”

“We will pay for it later, just drink!”

He harrumphed but did as she said, slowly sipping down a bit of water. It did his stomach good.

“Does your father need help, Miss?”

Ugh … 

But before Severus could even look at the source of that new voice, Granger turned around and said, “No, we're fine. And he’s not my father!” Decidedly less friendly towards the Tesco employee than she’d been to that other customer. She didn’t even wait for her to react, just proceeded to ignore her, her full attention back on Severus.

Severus, however, had his eyes trained on the face of the woman. Her about twenty-five-year-old brain seemed to draw some shocking conclusions. He clenched his teeth.

And eventually, Granger noticed that something was going on as well and looked back at the employee. “Bloody hell, he’s just a friend!” she snapped, “And my neighbour! And we don’t need help, so could you -”

“Granger,” Severus said in a dark voice.

She cast him a glance, her eyes sparkling with rage and her mouth open for the next harsh rebuke. When she caught his glance, though, she snapped it shut.

“I’m all right,” Severus said, directed at the woman still observing them, “thank you.”

“Okay …” she mumbled and turned to leave, not without looking back at them, eyebrows raised.

“Cow,” Granger muttered.

“She just wanted to help.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He scowled at her. You don’t say! But everybody here thinks you’re my daughter! What else did you expect? Before that notion slipped his mouth, though, he stopped himself. It was his twisted mind working itself up into a frenzy, not Granger’s. The thought of entertaining any kind of romantic feelings towards him was probably absolutely outlandish to her. So he gulped his bitter thoughts down. “Do you need anything else?” he asked instead, “Or can we get out of here?”

“No, I … have everything.” She eyed him curiously, then she took a step back to give him space to stand up. 

But even after drinking some water and leaving the shop, he felt shaky on his legs, and the short way back home felt like a marathon. 

“Do you want me to Apparate us back?” Granger asked worriedly.

He gulped. “Do you think you’d manage?”

She shrugged. “My last side-along wasn't something to write home about, but … I didn’t see a bench or anything you could take a break on when we came here, so …”

Yeah … so. That was that. “Very well,” he mumbled and showed her a tiny ginnel he’d used to Apparate in the past. 

“Can I Apparate into your house?”

“You can, but you shouldn’t,” he said, seeking support on the wall. “You need a clearer perception of your goal than your brief visit provides. Apparate to your living room instead. I will make it back home from there.”

“Okay.” She nodded as if to encourage herself and hung the bags with their groceries over her arm before brushing her hands on her trousers and holding them out for him to take. Her pale naked forearms seemed to shine in the dirty ginnel, and the faint scars forming the word Mudblood caught his eyes.

He blinked. “I’m sorry,” he felt the need to say. He should have known better, should have stayed at home instead of getting them into this mess. 

“It’s all right,” she said softly, “Could have happened to me as well.”

Severus took a deep breath, admonishing his legs to carry him for a couple of seconds longer, then he closed his fingers tightly around her arms. Involuntarily, he grimaced; the sensation of her soft skin underneath his fingers would haunt him for longer than he wanted to admit. But he nodded when she did the same with his, thankful he’d chosen a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat. 

But that thought was wiped from his mind the moment her magic squeezed him through the eye of a needle. 

He gasped when they turned up in her living room.

And would have collapsed to the ground had she Apparated them anywhere else. But they’d turned up in front of a couch he hadn't known she owned, and so he fell softly, only his cane clattered to the floor. 

A fact that only briefly caught his attention, though, because Granger sank to her knees and groaned in pain. “Did you Splinch yourself?” he asked, startled, skidding forward to be able to reach her just in case he needed to stop some bleeding.

“No,” she ground out, “it’s just ah! The curses. I’m fine, just … a second …” An apple tumbled out of the bags that were still slung around her arm, the thin plastic crinkling. 

Severus observed her vigilantly, still looking for any traces of blood but finding none while she went through what looked like an aftershock of Cruciatus. He knew Apparating could trigger those - but only after being subjected to the curse within the last hour or so! Granger’s last attack had been three days ago, it shouldn’t affect her anymore. 

Eventually, the spasms subsided, and she breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at him groggily but staying kneeling on the floor for the time being. “I’m fine,” she repeated, “t’was just a bit severer than I expected.”

“You knew this would happen?”

“Yes.” She struggled to her feet. “Apparating triggers a short bout of spasms and pain, probably even a full-blown attack if one’s due anyway, but I didn’t test that yet.” She collected the apple and leaned the grocery bags against the table before slumping onto the couch next to him. 

“You should have told me.”

“It’s not that bad, really. And I doubt you’d have made it back here on foot.”

He averted his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m serious,” Granger repeated, “I’m fine! Look?” She stood back up, spreading her arms. “I can handle that, Snape.”

But you needed to handle it because of me. Yet he nodded. Wouldn’t do to discuss this any further. “I should leave.”

“Sure,” she sighed, “Do you want me to help you?”

“No.” He took his bag of groceries and snatched the cane from the floor before getting up. “I apologise and … thank you.” He grimaced.

“Anytime,” she said and saw him to the door.

Severus gulped, occluding hard before meeting her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then realised he didn’t know what. So he closed it again and left, wincing when her door clicked shut behind him and slumping against his own at last.

What a disaster.

But the bigger disaster came upon them the next day when Severus shuffled into the kitchen after Healer Sanders had left, longing for a cup of coffee to wash down the taste of his morning potions, and heard a muffled voice calling his name. 

Well, actually it was his owl's soft cheeping that made him aware of it. Only when he opened the back door, he recognised Granger calling for him.

Tying his dressing gown closed, he stepped outside. “What’s wrong?” he asked moodily, spotting her at the crumbled wall dividing her backyard from his. She, as well, was only clad in her pyjamas and a dressing gown, evoking memories of St Mungo's.

But her mouth thinning to a white line snapped him out of that. “I just got this,” she said and showed him the cover of what looked like today’s Daily Prophet. Severus didn’t have to step closer to recognise him and Granger walking down the street side by side, a moving picture illustrating the headline, ‘HERMIONE GRANGER & SEVERUS SNAPE – Is he looking for someone to replace Lily Potter?’

Chapter Text

“What the,” he muttered and pulled the paper from Granger’s fingers, his eyes jumping around the few lines underneath the picture. Exclusive … first sightings … dubious intimacy … What is this supposed to mean? He reached for the wall to keep his balance, having forgone his cane when he went into the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” Granger mumbled, and when he cast her a glance, she looked as if she was about to burst into tears. “I-I didn’t know – I -”

His darkening gaze hushed her. 

How the hell did Skeeter find them? Coincidence?

No. Cokeworth was not a place you stumbled upon. He’d even made sure nobody from the Ministry could find him here, there was no paper trail leading to this address. It hadn’t even been officially filed at Hogwarts! Apart from Albus, nobody had had access to his address. 

The postcard?

Impossible. She might have been able to follow the owl into this area, but the ward should be strong enough to have her lose track at least twenty, if not thirty, kilometres away. There was no chance she'd have been able to keep an eye on the whole Cokeworth area. Somebody must have told her his concrete address. 

The Malfoys?

He frowned. Would Lucius sink so low as to betray his whereabouts? … possible. But probably not before offering Severus an alternative. This address was too valuable information to waste on Rita Skeeter, he wasn’t so stupid.

Potter? 

Unlikely. The boy had no reason to snitch on Granger – and surprisingly, no reason to snitch on Severus either. He’d kept his promise and found a place for Granger to live, and apart from that, there had been no hostility between them recently. 

One of the youngest Weasleys?

Possible but not very likely. Ginevra had no reason to send Granger to her doom, and Ronald knew better than to mess with him. 

That leaves … “Minerva.” Not paying Granger any more attention, he limped back inside, the newspaper crinkling in his left hand while he groped for door frames, walls, and furniture with his right and ignored the owl’s agitated hoot. Finally, he reached the fireplace and grabbed some Floo powder. “Minerva McGonagall’s office!” he snarled as the flames roared up and pulled the armchair closer to sit down before his strength could leave him completely.

“You’ve seen it already,” she said instead of a greeting – and winced when she noticed his attire. Her eyes twitched to his naked legs and the hem of his nightshirt peeking out under his gaping dressing gown. 

He ignored it, snapped, “Yes,” instead, “This has to be your people’s fault! Nobody else has been here!” He shook the paper at her, short of throwing it into the fire. But the Floo flames wouldn’t burn the rag anyway.

Minerva twisted her face. “I cannot deny that possibility – although I do trust Miss Bricks. She’s always been extraordinarily trustworthy.”

“Well, she’s -” He was interrupted by a frantic knock. “Come the fuck in!” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Granger breathed, slipping inside – still clad in her bloody dressing gown, too!

“For goodness’ sake,” he muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Couldn’t you have at least transfigured your clothes?!”

“Oh …” She blushed profusely. “I didn’t think -”

“Obviously!” 

“Severus …”

He whipped his head back round, but Minerva’s arched eyebrow and austere expression shut him up. He still scowled at her, though. 

Reason enough for her to huff piqued. “What are you so upset about anyway? Didn’t you play down the impact Skeeter finding you would have merely a week ago?”

“She did not only find me, Minerva!”

“Of course, she didn’t! She found her pot of gold at the end of the rainbow – as I told you she would!”

He groaned, rubbing his face. 

“We shouldn’t have gone to the shops together,” Granger mumbled. 

“Then she would have seen you apart from each other and still have concluded you’re both living there,” Minerva said. 

“Yeah, but …” Granger sighed heavily, not finishing her sentence, though.

Because she couldn’t. There was not but. Whichever way you looked at it, Skeeter would have got her headline sooner or later after finding out where to look for them. As if the trip to the shops yesterday hadn’t been bad enough. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I want to see Skeeter get sacked,” he mumbled under his breath, “I want to see her shunned from society, and I’d pay extra if I can be the one to cause it.”

“What?” both women asked.

He blinked. “Never mind.”

“Well, what do we do now?” Granger asked meekly. She had her arms crossed over her chest and shifted from naked foot to naked foot, he could see it from the corner of his eyes.

“I could send Filius over for a Fidelius,” Minerva offered.

“No,” Severus said, “that won’t work for Miss Granger.”

Minerva’s gaze shifted to her. “I um … might require help from St Mungo’s, they need to be able to get here.”

“I see,” she said.

“But send Filius anyway. There are some other wards he can place on Miss Granger’s house to make Skeeter’s life harder.”

“All right. Do you want me to send an elf to get you both groceries as well?”

“No,” he said again, in unison with Granger. He cast her a glance, she swallowed. “We’ve been holed up in St Mungo’s for long enough. And as you just pointed out, Skeeter will write her articles anyway.”

Minerva nodded, sighing.

“But I could ask Mr Weasley for a permanent Portkey to that alley near Tesco’s,” Granger mused.

“That might outmanoeuvre her for a while,” Minerva agreed.

“Yeah, for a while,” Severus muttered. 

“Try to be as boring as possible,” Minerva said, “the Daily Prophet won’t let her focus on you forever if there’s nothing to report.”

“Sure …” He brushed his mouth, pondering how likely it was that Skeeter wouldn’t just make up some headlines if they didn’t give her what she wanted. Ha, fat chance … 

“By the way,” Minerva then addressed Granger, “are you free tomorrow afternoon, Miss Granger? We need to talk through some details about your N.E.W.T.s.”

“Yes! Do you want me to come to Hogwarts?”

“Ugh, no. It’s still chaos here. If you don’t mind, I’d come over to yours.”

Granger smiled. “That’s fine.” 

But Severus rolled his eyes; if Minerva came here to visit Granger, there was no way she would leave again without pestering him as well. Bloody perfect.

They bid Minerva goodbye then, and suddenly, he and Granger were alone. He stole himself another few seconds by taking a deep breath before he turned around in the armchair, ignoring his blasted heart skipping a beat as he properly took her appearance in for the first time. Looking past her pyjamas, the dressing gown, and her naked feet, he found her cheeks covered in a soft pink, her hair an unruly chaos curling around her narrow face, and her lower lip swollen from her constantly biting it. Merlin …

“I’m sorry I forgot to change my clothes,” she eventually said, probably uncomfortable from his staring and the silence stretching between them. He forced himself to lower his eyes. “I got too used to wearing only this.”

He harrumphed, unable to object to that notion. He stopped counting the days he’d unabashedly greeted Healer Sanders just wearing his old nightshirt; months of being hospitalised seemed to seriously skew your common decency, there was no other explanation for why, even now, he was still sitting in front of Granger equally clothed and didn’t bloody mind. Unfortunately, whoever was most likely out there lying in wait for another … juicy picture of them would probably draw another conclusion. 

On the other hand, every instance of Granger visiting him would probably be worth a headline in the blasted newspaper, regardless of what she was wearing. “Maybe we should remove that wall between our backyards and avoid the front doors for the time being,” he mused absent-mindedly. Because, honestly, there was no version of this arrangement in which they wouldn’t come over to visit each other now and then.

Granger blinked. “Um … yes, that … sounds sensible.”

“Did you bring your wand?”

She grimaced.

“Marvellous,” he sighed and turned around a bit wider to glance out of the living room window as if some reporter would be pressing their nose flat against the pane. 

“Do you know,” Granger blurted out, “that Skeeter’s an unregistered Animagus?”

“Yes.” He fixed his eyes back on her. “A beetle. You told me.”

“I did?” she gasped.

He hummed softly. “While I was busy saving your life after the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Oh.”

A tiny smirk tugged at his mouth. “You told me a lot of things back then, addled by the curse and the potions I had to administer to you.”

“Oh god …”

“Don’t worry, I can keep my mouth shut.” He got up, if only on his second attempt, and snatched his wand from the table, mumbling thanks when Granger gave him his cane. Hobbling back outside, he gripped his wand harder and pointed it at the pitiful remains of the wall. “Evanesco!” he muttered, not even attempting to do it non-verbally, and yet the wall only disappeared where the softest bout of magic hit it. He ground his teeth at that, trying to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck when a soft sound of fabric gave Granger’s presence away. 

“May I try?” she asked softly.

He glared at her. “You could – if you had been clever enough to bring your wand!”

Her features hardened. “I mean … May I try with yours?” She nodded at the useless tool hanging slack in his hand.

He stared at her for a couple of seconds longer, at her corkscrew curls and her hazel eyes shining in the morning sun. “Sure,” he then spat and limped back towards the door, thrusting the wand into her hand when he was at a level with her. “Be careful it doesn’t kill you, I cannot save you this time,” he hissed and pushed past her, resisting to slam the backdoor closed with willpower alone. 

He slumped onto the couch, tossing his cane to the ground and burying his fingers in his greasy hair. His pulse was thumping in his ears, and for a moment he stayed like that, his eyes fixed on the venom analyses on the table in front of him, still as unintelligible to him as when he’d first seen them. Then he lunged out and pushed the whole thing off the smooth surface, growling in frustration when the papers only flapped to the ground sadly.

Rita Skeeter, he thought, Rita Skeeter, Rita – fucking – Skeeter. He wanted to see that woman as ruined and pathetic as he was, so he couldn’t -

Granger's return inside caused him to snap his head up. She stopped at the door, taking in first the chaos on the floor and then him, her lips tight. With a scandalously easy twitch of his wand, the papers rose back into the air, piled up neatly, and landed on the table. 

He glared at the black wand, which had been serving him for so long now. Bloody traitor. 

Granger approached him and sat down next to him, putting the wand down on the table. “Thank you,” she said curtly.

He didn’t reply.

But wished he would have when she proceeded to ask, “Will it stay that way? Your magic, I mean?”

Right. Put your finger where it hurts the most. He moved to snap at her again, feeling the cold-hearted bastard rear its head inside of him to be as nasty towards her as he ought to be anyway to keep her at a distance, but when he locked eyes with her, all of that ebbed away like water from cupped hands. He’d seen those eyes darkened from agony, wishing he could do something to end her suffering. How could he even think of being the cause of it?

Appalled by his own notions, he looked ahead again. “If I don’t understand that,” he muttered at last and nodded at the papers she’d ordered back onto the table, “it will likely get worse.”

“What is that?” she asked, sounding a bit easier than before.

An icky feeling crawled up his throat. “Analyses of Nagini’s venom,” he ground out. “As it seems, that house-elf used its magic to save me, and it changed the venom. The whole thing is crossed with elf magic, pure gibberish to me.” He slumped back against the couch and rubbed his itching eyes. God, it was only what? Eight o’clock in the morning? Yet he already couldn’t stand this day for a single second longer. 

“May I have a copy and have a try at it as well?”

He cracked his sore eyes open, glancing at her. “Have you ever worked with magical analyses, Granger?”

“No?”

He huffed.

And maybe that sound was the straw that broke the camel’s back of humiliation the past hour or so had showered her with, because she sat up straight and jutted her chin. “So what?” she snapped, “I’m a quick learner! I know you think my way of learning is lesser or … or stupid in some way, but that’s not true! I can grasp concepts quickly and see patterns others don’t! I knew a basilisk was haunting the castle before any of you understood, and I’ve been thirteen! So don’t you dare huff at me like that when I only want to help you!”

Severus arched an eyebrow at her, surprised she didn’t call him a bloody tosser or something of the sort for good measure. Merlin knew he’d have deserved it. “Go ahead then,” he said instead, shrugging indifferently. “I cannot keep you anyway.”

Granger glowered at him for a couple of seconds longer, then she let out a breath and grabbed his wand again to duplicate the analyses. “Well, then,” she muttered and got up, collecting the papers before leaving first his wand on the table and then his house through the backyard without a goodbye. 

Severus looked after her, amused despite himself.

Unfortunately, his bout of amusement didn’t last long. 

In fact, it only lasted for such a laughably short time that he was still sitting slumped on the couch when a house-elf popped in to bring him his lunch several hours later. Getting up, taking a shower, getting dressed, eating, drinking … all of that just felt like too much of a hassle, considering that he would return to bed and have to get undressed again soon anyway. He was just … tired. 

But sleep, just like the newspaper still lying on the armchair, was taunting him. Both so close and yet unattainable. He contemplated getting it – the newspaper, that was – several times but ultimately, he couldn’t be arsed. It was nothing he wanted to read anyway. 

If only he could stop thinking about it. Could stop imagining what rubbish Rita Skeeter might have come up with, what kind of affair she’d woven around the fact that he and Granger lived next to each other and went to the shops together. Sentences and theories and insults meandered through his mind like a bloody marching band, leaving him with a pounding headache and too fast a pulse.

It was only said house-elf first Apparating in the kitchen and then poking its head into the living room to check on him that gave Severus a sufficiently strong kick to sit up. “Hey!” he said, his voice raspy, and the creature stepped into the door properly. “How’s your name?”

“Beeky, master,” she piped.

He frowned. That name rang a bell, but … He shook his head. “I’m not anybody’s master. Can you tell me anything about house-elf magic, Beeky?”

She ducked her head. “N-No, m- sir.”

He bristled, his eyes wandering back to the stack of papers in front of him. 

“Do s-sir want Beeky to p-punish herself, sir?”

What?! He looked up again. “No! Why should I want you to punish yourself?”

Fiddling with her fingers, she whispered, “For saving master’s life, sir.”

The air suddenly seemed considerably thinner than a second ago.

So, that’s why her name seemed familiar …

“You saved me?” he croaked.

She gulped. “Yes, sir.” And because he didn’t say anything to that, she eventually added, “Beeky can iron her fingers, sir, can starve herself, sir, can -”

“Stop this!” he interrupted her bluntly, and she gasped into silence. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. “What exactly have you done before bringing me to St Mungo’s?” he finally asked.

Beeky’s eyes twitched around his living room as if searching for an answer. “Beeky has … helped sir. Stopped sir’s bleeding, sir.”

“But how?” he asked with abandon.

She ducked her head even further. “Beeky don’t know, s-sir, Beeky just did.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. Really, what else did he expect? House-elves weren’t exactly known for their academic nature …

“Why, sir?” the elf then asked, “Have Beeky done it wrong?”

“No,” he murmured, “your magic just changed -” He grimaced slightly. “The venom. It changed the venom, and I’m trying to understand in what way.” In a soft voice, he mumbled, “I don’t understand your magic, I only understand ours …”

A crease built between her eyebrows while Beeky apparently tried to make sense of what he’d been saying. “Human magic is edgy, sir,” she finally said, whispered actually, her huge fearful eyes trained on him before they twitched to his arm. His left arm. 

“I see,” he murmured, balling his hand. 

She shied away. “Beeky cannot help sir, is sorry, sir.”

“It’s all right,” he sighed, “you may leave.”

She popped away from right where she’d been standing.

“Are you still wearing your sleeping clothes or again?” Healer Sanders asked as he came round that evening.

“Again,” Severus lied, “I’m tired.”

“Exhausting day?”

Severus eyed the man. “You don’t read the Daily Prophet, eh?”

“Not usually, no. Should I?”

“No,” Severus replied, shaking his head and waiting for the healer to finish his diagnostic mumbo-jumbo and give him his potions.

His pain-relief, laced with the usual four drops of EE, only gave him a slight upswing, though, just enough to finally get up from the couch after Healer Sanders had left, snatch the blasted newspaper, and go downstairs, seeking something in the lab he should have rather not sought. 

But there was no chance of him falling asleep within the next two or three hours, not after spending the whole bloody day on his couch doing fuck all. He hadn’t even eaten anything, only went to get a glass of water when he’d been too parched to ignore it, and the only reason Healer Sanders hadn’t given him a dressing-down for that was that he didn’t usually check his nutritional status in the evening. He would get it tomorrow morning instead.

A pity because it would have been rather easy to avoid. Earlier in the kitchen, he’d even briefly contemplated getting himself back on track. Contemplated taking a shower, eating his lunch, trying to turn the tide for this day. But only thinking about it had made him feel heavy and tired, and it had just not been worth it, so he’d just shuffled back to the couch and spent his day staring at the ceiling, letting the emptiness consume him or whatever.

Now he threw the Daily Prophet on the worktable and got the whisky from his cupboard, fetching a beaker because he didn’t have glasses down here and the alternative would have been drinking straight from the bottle which would doubtlessly have him end up completely wasted and too hungover to hide it from Healer Sanders tomorrow morning. Or to get upstairs tonight. So the beaker it was.

He sat down at the table, sniffling, and took a generous swig before pulling the newspaper closer, clenching his teeth when he was faced with the god-damn moving picture of him and Granger again. The cane made him look even older. Bloody lecher.

Then he folded the newspaper open and browsed to page three, on which Skeeter had written more about Lily. He took a deep breath when her smiling face greeted him. She seemed to look directly at him, then lowered her eyes and brushed a strand of hair from her freckled face. 

Severus took another huge gulp of whisky, trying to swallow down the lump, making his throat hurt and his eyes water. He brushed the hand holding the beaker along his nose and blinked until he was able to read a sentence or two of what Skeeter had written. 

This reporter has gone to great lengths, trying to find out what kind of relationship Severus Snape and Lily Potter née Evans had before the former went astray, but even intense research did not bring up anything beyond them living nearby when they were children and attending Hogwarts at the same time. There are no classmates left to ask, at least none who would be willing to answer this reporter’s questions, and maybe that in and of itself says enough about the nature of their relationship. 
But of course, it is up to you, gentle reader, to decide if Severus Snape has really been in love with Lily Potter, or if – as the latest sighting with Hermione Granger, another intelligent and fierce Gryffindor Muggle-born, suggests – he just nurtured some kind of unhealthy obsession that needs another victim to focus on now.

His stomach turned, and he squinted his eyes closed, the beaker clattering against the tiled surface of the lab table when he tried to set it down. He slowly inhaled and held his breath until his lungs screamed for oxygen. 

Well … What else did he expect?

He blinked, but Lily’s face blurred, his eyes watering so profusely now one could have called it crying. Whisky and bile were burning in the back of his throat. 

You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.

He huffed, emptied his whisky and poured himself some more, leaving a trace of drops on the table and the newspaper. 

“Choosing another way didn’t help either,” he muttered and pressed the cool glass against his scorching forehead. Had Healer Sanders forgotten to give him the fever potion or …

Gods, I wish that snake had killed me … 

But it hadn’t. And he’d promised not to rectify that omission. 

He blinked and the first thing he spotted wasn’t Lily or the rubbish article but the scarred white head of the snake the Dark Mark had left on his forearm. Curling his lip at it, he pulled his sleeve higher, high enough to expose the whole Mark. It was surrounded by faded white lines like beams of a twisted halo, remains of his pathetic sixteen-year-old self, finding that pain was easier to endure when it was physical. 

Unbidden, the sneering face of the Dark Lord, almost human still, swam into Severus’ mind. He’d brushed his thumb over the scarred pale skin and leaned down to Severus, whispering, “They will be gone soon, Severus, don’t you worry.” 

Three years later, he’d frantically slashed through the faded lines of the Dark Mark, wishing desperately for his pathetic scars to return, only to watch the blasted thing heal itself within seconds. That was the moment he’d known that Albus had been right; the Dark Lord would return.

Severus let out a deep breath, pushing the uproar of memories down with Occlumency.

That was in the past. Now the Dark Lord would never return. Now the blasted Mark wouldn’t heal itself either. Now … 

He faltered, tilting his woozy head.

Now he could finally get rid of it. 

Human magic is edgy, sir.

He arched an eyebrow. Well, guess what’s edgy as well?

Seeking purchase on his furniture, Severus got up and fetched his favourite paring knife before slumping back down on the stool and pushing the tattered newspaper aside. He still remembered the right angle, the right pressure, the exact type of pain the blade would cause him. His skin tingled in anticipation of pain, as did his brain, and in anticipation of never having to see that Mark ever again. This was his pot of gold at the end of being a pawn for too bloody long, a moment of relief, taking back control. 

Closure, at last.

Chapter Text

He didn’t sleep much that night. Despite taking double the dose of the calming draught compared to usual, his smarting arm - sloppily bandaged with a charm he’d almost failed to cast - was a constant reminder of what he’d done, equal parts embarrassing and soothing. 

So he got up early, dragged his good-for-nothing body into the shower to get rid of last day’s sweat and the traces of dried blood (rolling his eyes as some of the cuts began bleeding again), and hadn’t yet bandaged the wounds anew when he met his eyes in the mirror. 

Two to three reasons.

… 

Or at least a single one.

… 

I … 

He faltered. Breathed calmly, zoned out for a moment. Well, what should he wish to stay alive for? He’d let the owl out yesterday to have it hunt for itself, and it hadn’t returned yet. There was no pending publication he was particularly interested in, right now he couldn’t even be arsed about that venom analysis; if he was dead it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway. And Skeeter … Hell would freeze over before the Daily Prophet sacked their top-selling reporter. 

Granger. 

Hermione … 

She was fine now. She didn’t need him anymore. And in the long run, she was probably better off without him further pushing into her life anyway.

Everybody was.

Then he blinked and gave up on finding a reason. 

I promised not to. That had to do. 

And it was, in fact, enough to point his wand at the gaping wounds dividing the Dark Mark into six or seven unequal parts and cast another Ferula. After all, he only wanted it to scar, not to get infected. 

His hair was still damp when Healer Sanders stepped out of the fireplace about an hour later, and the waning effect of his pain-relief potion had Severus clench his teeth against the steadily building thunderstorm of what felt like shards coursing through his body. “I think I need a stronger one today,” he admitted reluctantly.

Sighing, the man nodded and gave him said stronger potion to take first, before he proceeded to examine Severus even more thoroughly than usual. His gaze twitched to Severus’ left arm, hidden by a pristine white long-sleeved shirt, when his diagnostic showed the wounds. “Do you want me to heal them?” he asked levelly.

“No.”

He nodded again, briefly rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I read the article you mentioned yesterday,” he said then and spiked Severus’ fever potion with the EE.

“Mh. Had your fun?”

“Not particularly. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He took the potion, grimacing from how disappointing the upswing had become; hell, even bringing his fever down was doing him more good than the EE now. But that was the way he’d decided to go. 

When they were done with the potions, Healer Sanders sat back and regarded Severus with the same intent brown eyes as back in his office after Severus had unsuccessfully tried to kill himself. 

Choose your battle. Whichever way you choose to pursue, focus on only that. 

Severus looked away first.

I’m trying.

“What do you want then?”

He huffed first, then he took a deep breath and pushed that unbearable heaviness aside as he’d always had. Another spoon wasted, one he’d probably miss dearly tonight, but he needed a single moment of clarity. 

“To get out of here,” he eventually said. “I’m captive in my own house.”

The other man nodded. “Then let’s get you out of here.” And stood up.

“And how, pray tell? With Skeeter’s minions lying in wait somewhere out there and my magic being too shitty to Apparate or create a Portkey …”

“You do have a functioning fireplace, though.”

A sneer curled his lips. “I don’t want to go anywhere public either.”

“Nobody will see you, I promise.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at Healer Sanders, but eventually, he gave in and snatched his cane. “Do I need my wand?”

“Would you be able to use it?”

Severus scowled at him then, but only earned himself a pair of arched eyebrows in response. 

It was a bit awkward, travelling through the Floo pressed against Healer Sanders back to back. Not as awkward as having Minerva bring him to St Mungo’s reeking of alcohol had been – after all, he was freshly showered – but still. And it wasn’t exactly a swift travel either. Only after the better part of a full minute, the typical magical push kicked them out of the network, and Severus felt the healer’s hand on his arm to stabilise him. His left arm, unfortunately, and the searing pain piercing through the potion’s effect was so unexpectedly intense that he clenched his teeth against it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Severus exhaled slowly and looked around. They’d landed in what seemed like a bus stop shelter, only that there was a fireplace instead of a bench. The walls were made of bricks and beams, and Severus could feel the tingle of wards on his skin. “What is this?”

“Public fireplace on Scotland’s west coast. There are some villages nearby that are pretty frequented at the weekends, but nobody will come here on a Sunday morning. Come.” Healer Sanders nodded to the open side of the hut, and Severus followed him out to be hit by a fresh salty wind at once; a pleasant shiver ran down his back, a blessing after all those weeks of summer heat cumulating at Spinner’s End. “There’s a bench over there, I guess to give people a second to get over their queasiness after travelling.”

Although the way wasn’t long, Severus was panting slightly when they reached the bench. He sat down, frowning when the healer cast a quick notice-me-not charm for good measure before taking a seat as well. Healer Sanders put his elbows on his knees and looked out over the hillocked landscape. He seemed as tired as Severus, probably coming from a night shift at St Mungo’s, and realising that Severus looked away and followed his gaze.

Grass was undulating in the wind, bowing this way and that; at a distance, the sunlight was glistening on what he assumed was some kind of water, maybe a loch or a small stream; and at an even farther away distance was an old tower sitting on a hill, seeming as small as a Knut from where he was. 

“I’m worried about you,” Healer Sanders eventually ended the silence and leaned back.

“Unneeded,” Severus grumbled, “Nothing of what I’m doing or going through at the moment is new to me, nobody was ever worried about it.”

The man cast him a glance. “Maybe somebody should have been.”

Severus shot him a glance. “Why? You have my word! Hell, even your wife believes me when I say I won’t do anything! What else do you want?”

“Isn’t self-harm something?”

The scoff flew from Severus’ mouth. “In a world like ours? No. I could heal it within seconds, and you’d have never known.”

“But you didn’t.”

No, he didn’t. Severus rubbed his teeth against each other, staring stubbornly ahead. Gods, he hated those conversations and being examined and checked up on regularly, having his privacy invaded with those blasted diagnostic spells … He’d preferred Poppy, she he’d been able to silence with a single scowl, had deterred her from mothering him when he’d been a student already. He was best left alone, that was how it had always been, every instance of someone worming their way behind his cover had led to some kind of disaster.

“Do you plan to make that a habit?”

“No,” he said in a dark voice.

“So it was to get rid of the Dark Mark?”

His head whipped around before Severus could stop himself. 

Healer Sanders clicked his tongue and nodded again. “Can’t say I’m happy about your means of choice. You could have got another tattoo, you know?”

“Still a wound,” Severus muttered, causing the healer to huff.

“Touché.” After some more seconds of silence, he reluctantly added, “Just be careful, will you?”

“Sure.” It was half a sneer, half honest agreement, but it seemed sufficient for Healer Sanders. Or he just knew Severus well enough by now to know he wouldn’t get anything better.

Because after another nod, he attempted to stand. It was only Severus’ hand on his arm that stopped him and caused him to look at Severus in surprise.

He didn’t return that gaze and needed another moment to get himself to ask, “Is there another option?”

“For what?” the healer asked softly.

“An alternative for the EE. Something that … makes it easier and won’t make me an addict.”

Healer Sanders exhaled slowly. “You know there’s nothing. Regrettably! I’m grateful I can keep your panic attacks and nightmares in check with that calming draught at least …”

Severus nodded slowly. 

“But,” the other man then said, “if you’re willing to give Muggle drugs a chance, there would be options. My wife could refer you to a Muggle GP to get you a prescription.” 

“And that would help?”

“It might. It’s not a potion. It takes some weeks to kick in and maybe even some trial and error to find the right one, but … It might help, yes.”

Severus hummed softly, unsure whether Healer Sanders had even been able to hear it.

“I’ll leave you alone then to breathe some fresh air,” he said eventually and stood up after all. “Or do you require help to get back home?”

“No.”

“Okay. See you tonight then.” And off he was.

Severus took a deep breath, held it for some seconds, then he exhaled as deeply as he hadn’t since Granger had held up the newspaper yesterday. 

“Minerva,” he muttered, reluctantly opening the backdoor to not only the hot and humid summer air but the chirping of crickets as well.

“Severus,” she lilted regarding him over the rims of her glasses, “Did you think I’d leave again without popping by?”

“No, of course not.” He stepped aside so she could come in. “Tea?”

“Oh, no, thank you! I just had two cups at Miss Granger’s, I’m fine.”

Thank Merlin. “Well, how is Miss Granger?” he asked instead and returned to the living room. Despite his day being awful starting from minute one he’d decided to do at least something instead of spending the whole day on his couch again; he didn’t need Muggle drugs, he’d always managed his moods himself, pulled himself up by his bootstraps so to say, he would just do that again. Simple. And for today, said something he would do to keep his mind occupied and away from any suicidal cliff that was trying to lure him closer with some sort of siren's song was sorting through another row of fucking books. 

He hated every second of it.

“Shouldn’t you know best?”

He blinked, trying to remember what he’d said. Right, Granger. He cast Minerva a glance. “Why should I know how she is?”

“You’re neighbours.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “You and I have been living in the same castle for quite some time as well and yet I never knew how you’ve been – and what I knew I learned against my will.”

“Charming,” she commented drily, leaning against his bookshelf, her eyes travelling along his frame. 

The hair on the back of Severus’ neck stood up when he saw her eyebrows twitch, noticing his long sleeves. Don’t ask, he silently implored her, proceeding to browse the row of books without taking in a single title, just leave it be! And surprisingly, she did. Maybe remembered that she’d never seen him in a t-shirt, and really, why should she be suspicious all of a sudden anyway? She knew he tended to hide his Dark Mark, nothing new there, just his own self-awareness about what he’d done and how mortifying it would be to have to admit it to anybody else than his healer. What kind of adult was he to engage in teenage bullshit like self-harm?! Pathetic … 

“She seems quite fine,” Minerva’s voice then cut through his thoughts, the change of topic causing a taut elastic inside of him to release. “Furious about Skeeter’s newest article – are you interested in the headline, by the way?”

“Hell no,” he muttered. Another one of Skeeter’s lies was the last he needed today.

“Thought so. Well, she’s furious about that hag, as we all are, and a bit overwhelmed by my suggestion to take her DADA N.E.W.T.s as soon as possible.”

“I wonder why …”

Smirking, Minerva arched her eyebrows. “She always took exams way too seriously, it’s about time she learns that nobody ever asks about how well exactly you did in your N.E.W.T.s. I regret studying myself into a frenzy for my O in History of Magic to this day, so much time wasted … And there’s nothing about DADA war hasn’t taught her already anyway.”

“You don’t have a new teacher yet, do you?” he asked when she was finished with her little speech.

“No,” she sighed.

He huffed, pulling another book from the shelf to put it into the almost full cardboard box. “You can take these with you to Hogwarts.”

“To Hogwarts? But why?”

“I want to get rid of them,” he deadpanned, earning himself an annoyed glance that actually amused him for a second. Then he frowned. “But I also want to thank you for your help. And for sending me food.”

Her features softened. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Severus.”

“I thought so. But as I said, I have to dispose of some books anyway, and Irma will love and appreciate those more than any dealer I know. Give them to her in doses, one or two every time you need her in a good mood.”

Minerva huffed. “Will do,” she said softly. “But those aren’t books about the Dark Arts, are they?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you parting with them? I’ve always been under the impression you loved your books even more than Irma loves hers.”

“I do,” he said softly, “but I … cannot bear all those shelves here anymore.” He looked around the living room, mentally buckling from the realisation that even after five boxes full of books he’d weeded out the rows didn’t look any emptier than before. “I need space to breathe.”

Minerva hummed. “What about the second bedroom upstairs? Or is it full of books already?”

He straightened up. “Second bedroom?” he said coolly, his heartbeat spiking. 

Minerva frowned. “Your house does have the same layout as Miss Granger’s, doesn’t it?”

“Yes?”

“Well, she just told me she plans to turn the second bedroom upstairs into her library. Why don’t you just do the same? Or have you already done that? I could ask Filius to stop by for an extension charm.”

He stared at his former colleague for a second too long, deer in the headlights, and it didn’t slip her notice. But before she could inquire any further, he said, “The room’s not available,” in as clipped a voice as he could muster before he turned back to the shelves.

“I see,” Minerva mumbled pensively. But she was clever enough to drop the subject.

The next evening, when Severus went into the backyard to relish the sinking temperatures and observe the sky for any sign of rain, he found himself face to face with an impressively squashed face. The most squashed face, in fact, he’d ever seen on a living being, and he knew he’d seen it before. Where, though, he didn’t know.

Said living being might entertain similar thoughts about him, judging by the way it looked at him from its yellow eyes and flicked its tail back and forth. 

Severus arched an eyebrow. 

The creature blinked.

Then Granger stepped outside and uttered a surprised, “Oh!”

His eyes jumped to her, and he instantly curled his hand harder around the cane, the humid air suddenly feeling even thicker than before, absolutely impossible to breathe. Are you fucking kidding me, Granger? 

Despite spending two months in the same room as her, he’d never before seen so much of her body – and yet her clothes probably passed for normal summer wear. Nevertheless, her shorts only covered the bare minimum of her thighs, and her sleeveless shirt was a tighter fit than it should have been considering the amount of weight she’d lost during the last months. It showed the length of her neck and a good bit of cleavage, being combined with her pinned-up hair, a messy heap at the back of her head. And of course, she was barefoot. 

“Good evening,” she eventually popped the bubble of surprise. “I see you’ve already met Crookshanks.”

Crookshanks, right … He’d been in the Shrieking Shack, back when Black had been on the loose. 

“I did,” he said in a low voice and looked back at the ginger-coloured creature sitting halfway between them. It still scrutinised Severus warily. 

“I hope you don’t mind him being here? He was at the burrow during the last year, but … I missed him, so …”

“As long as he leaves my owl alone, I don’t mind, no.”

She smiled lopsidedly. “Owls are not on his menu, right, Crooks?”

The creature – really, was it a cat? A Kneazle? Something in between? – turned its head to Granger and meowed softly. So there probably was at least some cat in the mix …

Looking back at Granger as well, he noticed the book she was holding – it had completely slipped his attention until now. Bloody lecher. “Back to studying already?” he said and nodded at it.

“Um … yes and no. Spent the day working through some DADA books and being utterly annoyed by how unrealistic most of them are, so I decided to spend my evening with something more interesting instead.” She turned the book so he could read the cover. Basic Tools to Tackle Magical Analyses by Theodore Thundercliffe. 

Severus hummed softly. “Adamant to surpass me, eh?”

She blushed but raised her chin a bit. “Why yes! At least I’m going to try. And I’m already grasping the most about human magic! It’s easier than I thought, actually.”

He smiled covertly. Insufferable swot. 

A thought that might have reflected on his face, because she huffed amusedly. “Well, did you make any progress?” she teased.

His smile melted away. “No.” He hadn’t even tried to sit down lately; trying to get back into something resembling a routine that included regular sleep and meals had proven hard enough. He hadn’t even had enough spoons to shave.

“I’m sorry,” Granger mumbled.

“It’s fine.” He pursed his lips, looking back down at Crookshanks, who was now getting up to saunter around both of their backyards, sniffing here and there. Should go back inside, Severus thought, and stop leering at Granger before this turns into a disaster. Instead, however, he found himself asking, “Would you like a scone? Minerva sent some from Hogwarts and has – as always – overestimated how much I’m capable of eating.”

She grimaced. “I’d love to, but I feel the next attack coming, most likely tonight, and if I leave my stomach empty, I have a chance of not getting sick, so …”

“I see.”

“But I’d like a cup of tea!” She put a hand flush on the book, and now he noticed the slight tremble of her fingers. “Although I think I understood quite a bit already, I do have some questions. Are you in the mood to answer some, or do you lack energy units?”

“Spoons,” he said instinctively.

“Excuse me?”

He twisted his face, shifting his weight onto his other foot. “I’ve started calling them … spoons …”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open a bit. “You have?” she said softly.

Oh god … “Yes,” he said curtly, quickly adding, “It was absurd enough to stick. So, my kitchen or yours?”

She bit her lip, doubtlessly to hide a smile. “How about the backyard? I could levitate chairs and a table outside,” she said then and brushed a strand of hair from her face before she turned on her bare feet and returned inside.

You teach me sympathy for poor sailors being confronted with a siren’s song, Granger. Yet he stepped into her part of the backyard, feeling as if he was leaving a good chunk of leaden weight behind in his own.

Chapter Text

Severus had asked Healer Sanders for a potion, knowing that he wouldn’t sleep a wink with Granger suffering through her attack all alone. 

While they’d been talking about those analyses, he’d been able to push that thought away, ignored the occasional twitching of her fingers or head, but when the evening grew later, the light fainter, and the temperatures lower, she’d groaned softl,y and the illusion of normalcy came to an end. 

“Guess I should get inside and upstairs now.”

“Are you sure you want to do this alone? I could stay.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to learn to get through that on my own. I’ll manage. And if I don’t, I can call for help.” At which she’d clutched at her necklace. Probably they’d added another charm and turned it into a double emergency device. A small comfort; at least it wouldn’t disappear underneath her bed or something like that.

Best premise for this to actually work out.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to take the potion. It felt wrong. As if he were letting her down. He knew that was rubbish and he knew he would regret not taking it tomorrow when he would be struggling to get through the day himself because he didn’t sleep, but he couldn’t – take – the potion. 

Not bothering with putting on his dressing gown, Severus went downstairs and out into the backyard, but not even there could he hear anything. Don’t tell me you cast an Imperturbable, Granger … The starry night was a composition of darkness, shades of black and blue and grey, shadows and rustles. He looked at her backdoor, contemplating whether he could justify going inside and checking in on her. 

In the end, he didn’t. 

He didn’t take the potion either, though, and earned himself exactly the exhausted sigh from Healer Sanders he’d expected the next morning. 

“What have you done now?”

“Nothing.”

He just looked at him from tired eyes, lined by shadows so dark it almost looked bruised.

“I just didn’t sleep.”

“But why? I gave you a potion!”

Severus grimaced. “I was worried about Miss Granger. Did she call for help last night?”

The incredulous look softened somewhat. “Not to my knowledge.”

Severus harrumphed, a frown still stapled to his forehead while he downed his first potion.

“Do you want me to look in on her?”

He directed his gaze back at the healer. “Would you?”

“Sure,” he sighed, “if it serves to make you practise more self-care …”

So Severus found himself trailing behind the man whose brown hair reflected the sunlight in a similar way to Granger’s. He knocked at the back door but didn’t receive an answer. 

“Try if it’s open,” Severus muttered and arched his eyebrows when the healer cast him a glance. 

Yet he did what Severus had suggested, and the backdoor was indeed not locked. “Miss Granger?” Healer Sanders called.

“Well?” Severus asked after some seconds of silence.

The man shook his head. Seeming a bit worried himself now, he stepped inside, and Severus followed him. “Miss Granger?” he called again, this time up the stairs. And now, he got a faint response. “I’ll go up,” he announced.

“I’ll follow,” Severus stated.

“You really shouldn’t -”

But simply looking at the healer made him shut up and sigh, capitulating. “At least take your time.”

Severus harrumphed again and looked after the man ascending the stairs, taking two steps at a time before he faced the task of climbing them himself. 

He was panting when he arrived on the upper landing, feeling dizzy from the fast beating of his heart, slightly sweaty and light-headed. But he’d made it and inched closer to the bedroom door, which stood half open. 

Leaning against the doorframe, he was surprised to see Granger didn’t even possess a bed something could disappear under. Instead, she was lying on a mattress on the floor, pale, curled up on her side, blinking slowly. Crookshanks was sitting in the triangle her bent legs created, scrutinising Severus. “’m just tired,” she mumbled then and got aware of him herself. She met his gaze. Her chin trembled briefly before she closed her eyes and waited for the healer’s conclusion.

“Mhh,” he said now, kneeling on the floor next to the mattress. “How many drops of the Draught did you take again?”

“Five,” she replied hoarsely. 

“Okay. Take it slow today, sleep some more, and don’t forget to drink enough water.”

“All right,” she whispered and smiled groggily at Healer Sanders, who patted her arm and stood back up.

“She’s as fine as can be expected,” he mumbled at Severus.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Let’s get you back over so I can go home.”

“I’ll manage on my own,” Severus said, “I need another minute.”

The brown eyes of the healer jumped back and forth between Severus’ but eventually, he gave in. “Fine. But for the love of Merlin, take it easy, Mr Snape!” He didn’t wait for a reply and Disapparated instead. 

Huffing at the empty spot, Severus shook his head. Then he looked back at Granger. “Are you really all right?”

“Yes,” she said in a choked voice, but now that nobody else was there anymore to help her keep her façade up, it crumbled like dried mud, and she hid her face behind her arms when she began crying. 

Sighing silently, he stepped into the bedroom, looking around for something he could sit down on; ascending the stairs had taken a toll on him, his legs felt like rubber. But there was no chair up here. Only the mattress on the floor and a hanging rail for her clothes next to a tiny chest of drawers. 

Granger sniffled when she heard him move and peered at him. “You don’t need to stay, I’m fine, it’s just … It was a long night and … lonely. I’m fine. You can -”

“Shut up, Granger,” he grumbled and that she actually did told him more about her condition than she wanted to. “What do you need?”

She clamped her mouth shut, closed her eyes, but a small sob escaped her nonetheless. “Can you stay until I fall asleep?” she eventually whispered. 

“Of course.” He went around the mattress and slipped off his shoes before he sat down next to her. Luckily, it was a wider-than-usual mattress, wide enough even for two people to sleep on it if they didn’t mind closeness. And wide enough for him to lean against the wall without touching her. Crookshanks eyed him sceptically.

“Thank you.” Another faint whisper and she didn’t turn around to him, stayed lying curled up on her side, her messy, still slightly sweaty hair covering her back. 

After a moment of heavy silence, Severus said, “I hope you do realise that I will have to stay until you’re well enough to help me up because there’s no bloody chance I will get up from here on my own.”

The dry manner in which he said that wrestled a husky laugh from her and he smiled as she brushed some tears from her face and turned onto her back after all, causing the cat to scramble back a bit only to hiss at Severus’ legs and finally jump over Granger’s feet to settle down at the edge. “I thought so. And I’m sorry. Next thing I’ll get will be an armchair, promised.”

He nodded slowly, although he’d rather shake his head because even after a night like that, with her face ashen as a wall and her eyes red from crying, he still found her beautiful. And her gaze seemed to find more in his eyes than he ever wanted her to see, so he looked away. “What are you reading?” he asked quickly.

“Still the magical analyses,” she said and gave him the book, needing to support her arm to even be able to lift it. He reached out to take it, a move that revealed the white edge of his bandaged arm. 

Luckily, Granger was too drowsy to notice it, and he unobtrusively pulled the sleeve back down before flipping the book open where she’d placed the bookmark. “Hm,” he uttered. “Pitfalls and Plateaus. How … poetic.”

She smiled. “Thought that referred to the graphs.”

“Still. Well, try to sleep,” he ordered and began reading aloud.

The door was trembling, shaken by a heavy pounding that would have it burst open any second, any second, any -

He tore his eyes open, inhaling a sharp breath and blinking around a bedroom he did not recognise, his neck stiff from his chin sinking to his chest while sleeping in a sitting position. He stirred uncomfortably, and only when his eyes found Granger’s sleeping form did he remember where he was. 

Fuck. He’d fallen asleep sitting on her bed. And she’d turned around at some time, causing her to lie practically snuggled up to his thigh now. Oh no … He grimaced, brushing his hand along his face before trying to scoot away a bit, but there wasn’t much space left on the mattress. It was this or sitting on the wooden floor with one buttock. 

Closing his eyes, he went through his other options, but there was really nothing he could do that wouldn’t wake Granger up.

Promptly, she edged even closer, causing him to snap his eyes back open, mortified. Her body warmth seeped through his trousers, her sleepy sigh too familiar not to feel like a caress on his brain. 

Well, at least his cock was behaving.

That Crookshanks was still watching him was slightly unsettling, though. But considering the role Severus had had to play during all of Granger’s time at Hogwarts, he probably didn’t get a particularly good impression of Severus. Even worse if he kept conversing with Mrs Norris. 

After some moments of exchanging glances, Severus returned to Granger’s book that was still lying on his lap. There was nothing new for him to find, but a lot he would have liked to correct. Even while reading aloud earlier today, he’d huffed and sneered at some details. He wasn’t sure she’d caught it, though; she’d fallen asleep within the blink of an eye, doubtlessly due to the Draught of Peace she still had to take after her attacks. 

He let his head fall back against the wall and looked over to the window. It was a grey day today, and it seemed it had rained while he’d been asleep. Droplets of water covered the window pane. Finally. He wished he could get up to open the window and let fresh air in, loved the smell of rain in summer. 

Then he noticed a change in Granger’s breathing pattern. It got faster, shallower, irregular. He reached out and touched her shoulder, shaking it softly. “Wake up, Granger.”

She gasped awake just as he had, her eyes snapping open. And just as he, she needed some seconds to reorient herself. Only when she looked up at him and found Severus arching his eyebrows, did she realise the position she’d sought out in sleep and hastily scooted away from him. “Oh god, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he said, not above taking advantage of the fact that she was the one more mortified by this situation now. “I’m not sure what your familiar thinks about it, though.”

She sat up, brushed her hair from her face. Then she huffed. “Stop glaring at him, Crooks!”

The cat meowed, then got up and sauntered out of the bedroom. 

Granger shook her head. “Well, let’s get you back onto your feet so I can go and take the shower I need,” she said and stood up, still wonky and unsteady on her own two legs. 

“Go take your shower,” he replied, “I’ll manage on my own.”

“You sure?” She squinted at him with only one eye, probably in an attempt to minimise her dizziness. It just never worked, as he knew.

“Absolutely. I’d rather you not fall down the stairs.”

“I’ll do my very best,” she smiled, thin-lipped, and went to collect a set of fresh clothes before she got going. 

Exhaling slowly, Severus closed his eyes. Because the truth was, his bladder had announced a pressing need, and only thinking about having it empty itself while Granger was trying to help him back up was at least as mortifying as the position they’d woken up in. Plus, he still didn’t fully trust the charm to do its work properly when he was moving. 

So he stayed sitting on Granger’s mattress while his body dealt with what needed to be done, and then he tried to stand back up as Mediwitch Gerble had taught him.

It only took him two attempts, and he clocked that up as success. 

Arriving in the kitchen, he leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath, and his eyes fell on the heap of mail Granger had received. Letters, at least twenty, were piled onto the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Against his better judgement, he pushed the letters aside to reveal the headline. Exclusive: BACKGROUND INFORMATION ABOUT HERMIONE GRANGER'S STAY AT ST MUNGO'S – Did an affair with her former teacher make her end up in a slum?

For goodness’ sake … 

At least, this time she hadn’t got another snapshot of either of them, let alone together. Instead, it was an old picture of Granger covering a good portion of the front page. 

His fingers were itching to fold the newspaper open and see whether Skeeter had really found someone who’d revealed something about Granger’s medical condition, but he resisted. The rule of thumb was: every question asked in the media could be answered with no, else it wouldn’t have been phrased as a question. 

So he scanned the heap of letters instead and sneered at them. Fucking reader’s letters.

He turned his back on the whole matter and didn’t even contemplate whether he should leave, he just put the kettle on to prepare some tea. They could both need it.

Granger returned inside when the tea was ready, her hair still damp, and slumped into the free chair. “Did you read my mind?” she mumbled and took her cup to take a sip.

He smiled faintly.

Then she groaned and skimmed through the mail, probably to see if there was anything important in between. “Do you get those too?”

“Sure,” he said, “I store them close to the fireplace for when the temperatures drop.”

“Clever,” she said.

“Best you can do with that.”

“So you don’t read them?”

“Hell no …”

She hummed softly and – finding no letter of interest – returned to her tea. “I’m always afraid someone might have hexed theirs and it’ll go up in flames in the middle of the night to burn the house down, so I … open them all.”

“Nobody will hex your mail, Granger, you’re the victim in this scenario.”

“Get yours hexed?”

“So far? No. I guess people are cleverer than giving me a reason to take revenge on them.” As it seemed, Skeeter hadn’t yet found out that he was barely able to do any magic at the moment.

She hummed again, her tired gaze directed at the tabletop. Then she blinked out of her thoughts and looked at him. “Under the shower, I was thinking about the venom analysis and -”

“You can’t ever stop thinking, can you?” he cut in.

“Um, no? Don’t you have your best ideas under the shower?”

“No. But do proceed!”

She shot him an annoyed glance. “Well, I thought, have you thought of asking a house-elf about their magic yet?”

“That was your flash of wit?” he teased, arching an eyebrow, “To ask a house-elf?”

“Stop mocking me! I had a horrible night!”

He still huffed, leaning back on his chair and cradling his cup in his hands. “So it seems. But I actually did think about asking a house-elf. As chance would have it, I even got to ask the source of the whole chaos.”

“Beeky?” she asked at once.

“Yes. All she was able to tell me, however, was that she doesn’t know how elf magic works, she just uses it. And that human magic is edgy.”

“Edgy?”

“That's the word she used.”

“Huh.”

He slightly curled his lip. “I wouldn’t read too much into that, she looked at my left arm, saying it.” Of course, Granger’s eyes twitched there as well, and Severus forced himself to keep cool. She wouldn’t see the bandages underneath his sleeve, he’d even put on a black shirt today.

“Might still be worth keeping in mind.”

He’d left Granger shortly after, both because she was knackered and needed a lie-down and because the same was true for him. So he slumbered an hour or two on the couch and had a late lunch after that, wondering when he’d ever be able to eat enough to get back on Strengthening Solutions. It had been a while … 

After Healer Sanders had popped in for his potions, Severus went to take a shower, carefully peeling the bandages off his injured arm. But the wounds looked halfway fine, didn’t ooze any exudate anymore, and so he didn’t bandage them anew. Tilting his head, he took a moment to take in what his arm would probably look like soon, now that it wasn’t smeared with blood for the first time. The snake’s head was split in half, as were the skull’s eyes. Everybody who knew the Dark Mark would still recognise it, he would still recognise it every time he looked at his arm. A notion that made him itch for more cuts. 

Sometime … 

Exhaling deeply, Severus set to get his face shaven and his teeth brushed, planning to take another look at his venom analysis when he opened the door of the privy to return inside.

“I’m really sorry, Mione.”

Potter. The voice prickled down the back of his neck, and Severus stopped dead in his tracks, the door only a crack open and still hiding him, his dressing gown, and his naked feet from view. 

“No, it’s fine, it … was a long shot anyway.”

Long shot? What were they talking about?

“But I talked with them and they seem fine. I mean, I dunno how they’re faring in private, I posed as a tourist asking how to get to the beach and got them talking a bit, but … Your spell still works and didn’t harm their brains. Jackson didn’t find anything worrying either, so …”

Oh.

“Who’s Jackson?” Granger asked, sounding more fragile than usual.

“A colleague. He’s an Obliviator.”

“Ah …”

“He said the Ministry will keep an eye on them just in case.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. I wish we could bring them back.”

“It’s my fault, I should have asked for someone to look for them right after the battle. Snape said there might have been a chance earlier.” She sniffled. “Or I shouldn’t have altered their memories to begin with …”

There was a moment of silence, long enough for Severus to lean against the wall and pray they would go back inside soon.

But instead, Potter asked, “Did Snape ever tell you if your parents have been targeted?”

“No. And I’m afraid to ask.”

Severus lowered his eyes. As far as he knew, Granger’s parents had never been of interest to the Dark Lord. Naturally, he didn’t know about everything the lunatic had tried to do, so it was possible he’d just not told anyone apart from the Death Eater who’d been tasked to find them. But chances were the Dark Lord had never considered Granger an important enough threat to invest that kind of energy in her. He’d been chronically obsessed with Potter. Still, right now, in this moment, Severus resolved to lie to her if she ever did ask him about whether her measure had been justified or not. 

“How’s he?” Potter asked then, snapping Severus out of his musings. “With Skeeter and all …”

“Dunno,” Granger said so softly he could hardly hear her. “He was furious the day the first article came out, but since then, he hasn’t said much about it. I don’t think he reads them.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t either. It’s just rubbish anyway.”

“No, I want to know what she’s writing. The moment she oversteps the mark I’ll sue her sorry arse.”

Severus smirked.

“Maybe you should remind her of your deal.”

“I did, but she registered with the Ministry first thing after the war, pretending she was freshly transformed and hadn’t told them because of Voldemort.”

“Dammit.”

“Yeah.”

Deal? Granger, Granger … Did you blackmail Rita Skeeter? She hadn’t told him about that back when she'd been in the infirmary. 

Another moment of silence ensued, and Severus contemplated sitting down on the toilet to relieve his legs, but at the same time, he was curious to hear what else they would talk about. Old habits die hard.

“How’s Ron?” Granger eventually mumbled.

“Hard to say,” Potter mumbled back, “not well, but he doesn’t talk about it. He was in Romania for about a week after your … you know. Now he’s sulking around, doesn’t speak much.”

Granger sniffled again. “I wish I could help him somehow …”

“But you can’t. Not without getting back together with him.” Potter’s voice had taken on a sharper edge.

She sobbed. “I wish I could, Harry … I really wish it was that easy …”

The boy sighed. “Everything will be fine … somehow …”

At that point in their conversation, Severus returned to the back of the privy to sit down on the toilet. The voices of Potter and Granger only reached him muffled back here, loud enough for him to notice when they’d leave, soft enough for him not to understand what they were saying anymore. 

He tilted his head left and right, his neck cracking, and his eyes closed against a bout of dizziness. Then he put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face, but failed to still the churning feeling in his chest. 

Gods, how pathetic he was. Called himself grown-up and intelligent and reputable, not one to ever act upon his feelings for Granger, of course not! He would never!

And yet …

And yet there’d been a smouldering spark of hope escaping his notice. 

That’s what you get if you’re giving in to whinging and indulging in teenage rubbish like hurting yourself. You lose control. 

That had to stop. 

At once!

Chapter Text

“How are you, Mr Snape?”

“Fine,” he replied flatly, interlacing his fingers in his lap, hidden behind his crossed legs. 

“Did you try the method I suggested last time to manage your suicidal thoughts?” his therapist asked.

“Occasionally.”

“How did it go?”

“As expected, I guess.”

Her mouth curved into something resembling a smile. “Do you follow Quidditch?”

What? “No,” he sneered, “Why?”

She shrugged. “Since you don’t seem inclined to talk about you, I thought we might just as well fill the time with other topics.”

He huffed. “It wasn’t my idea to come here today.” She’d contacted him via Floo this morning, offering him a spontaneous session after another client had cancelled. “It’s been almost two weeks, and since you still have two sessions left, I thought you might be interested.” He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed, though. Granger was due for her next attack, and he planned to help her through it as best he could, refusing to let her suffer through it on her own again if she so happened to get one during the day. 

“Not your idea,” his therapist endorsed, “but with your consent.”

He harrumphed. 

“So, how do you want to spend the time?”

At home. 

“Anything you’d feel comfortable talking about?”

No. 

“Anything of importance happened?”

Ha! No. 

He’d just returned to normal. His normal. Potter’s visit a week ago had given him the mental kick he’d needed to return to see his days through as he always had at Hogwarts. No more whinging, no more fantasising about ending his life. He was fine. Granger needed him to be fine, so he was. While he kept his distance. She was his responsibility, he’d brought her into his neighbourhood, he would take care of her as long as she needed it. From a distance.

And if she didn’t need help, he worked on healing himself since nobody else seemed to be able to. He’d ordered whatever books he’d found on house-elves, focusing on that blasted venom and how he could get it out of his body, had weeded out more books and sold them for a laughable price, but gone was gone, and forced himself to eat enough to get back on Strengthening Solutions. 

He – was – fine. 

Even Skeeter’s articles had lessened somewhat; judging by Granger’s moods, she only published one every other day now. Unfortunately, the pictures she’d published of their houses had led to a couple of people finding out where they lived so he was blessed with a bunch of idiots shouting in the vague direction of his warded house to leave Granger alone and trying to escort her around Tesco’s when they found out about her permanent Portkey. 

She set them right by informing the store manager about a bunch of creeps stalking her, resulting in them scarpering before the police turned up. 

“They will do it again,” he’d said.

“So will I,” she’d countered grimly and stalked off because, naturally, she’d noticed he returned to speaking to her as little as possible and not meeting her eyes. It was only a matter of time until she wouldn’t do his grocery shopping anymore and finally stop speaking with him altogether as soon as she figured out how to get along on her own. As she should. 

So he was fine. However, that was nothing he wanted to discuss with his therapist. She wouldn’t believe him and needle him with questions until he’d lose his temper. And nobody wanted him to lose his temper, least of all him, so he needed something else to talk about. “I need to find a new job,” was what he eventually settled for. 

“Do you feel ready to work again?”

“Does that matter? I have bills to pay, yours for example.”

“I haven’t sent you a bill yet.”

“But you will at some point.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, what expertise do you have?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied curtly, “because neither can I use enough magic nor do I have enough energy to do any of what I’m best at.”

“Still struggling with your daily life?” she asked in such a sympathetic tone that it made him sick.

“Yes,” he said tartly. “So, how is a person like me supposed to make ends meet in the long run?”

“Would it be an option for you to get registered to receive Muggle Income Support?”

“No,” he said at once.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a Muggle.” 

Her eyebrows twitched at him, saying that word, Muggle. “I see.”

Do you? 

“How pressing is that matter? Do you need to find work as soon as possible, or do you have some savings?”

“I still have some savings,” he admitted carefully.

“That’s good. Then we can take some time to figure it out.”

Ugh …

When he returned home later, his living room window was smashed, and shards were strewn all over his couch. “Bloody bastards,” he muttered and limped over, but naturally the narrow street was deserted – for the first time in days. “Cowards.”

He looked around and finally spotted something that looked like a ball of paper, but was probably a stone wrapped in only a sheet of the very same thing. He bent down to get it and soon found he’d been right. Get your hands off her! was scribbled on the scrap. Huffing, he crumpled it back up and threw it in the direction of the fireplace; he missed it but instead, hit the box he was collecting the hate mail in. Still right.

Then he looked back at the window and sneered. He’d need to ask Filius to come over and recast the wards someone had obviously succeeded in dismantling. Next time, they’d probably throw something in that would burn his house down, just as Granger had predicted. 

His eyes focused on the sharp edges of the window, and he found himself balling his hand into a fist as his forearm tingled. 

No.

No more teenage rubbish!

His cuts were mostly healed by now, only some small spots were still scabbed because he’d picked at them. He wouldn’t add new cuts. He didn’t deserve them. What he deserved was to see the remnants of the Dark Mark and be reminded of why this was his life, so he wouldn’t begin whining about it again. 

Putting the stone on the table, Severus left the house through the backdoor. It was a rainy day, the backyard wet and littered by small puddles. Scowling at the sky, he walked over to Granger, his cane splashing water against his trousers – which he scowled at as well. 

“Granger?” he called into the house; her door had once again not been locked, so he considered himself welcome to enter.

“What?” she called back, sounding annoyed but not as if she was in pain yet.

He slipped off his wet shoes and followed her voice to find her perched on her couch, half a dozen books littering the table in front of her. “How are you?”

“Amazing,” she said flatly and didn’t even look up at him, just faltered when she noticed him being sock-footed. Her head twitched. 

“How much time do you have left?”

“Don’t know and don’t care.” She cast him a glance. “Trust me, I’ll notice when it begins.”

He harrumphed. “Is this homework, or are you once again working your brain on my behalf?”

“I’m to sit my DADA N.E.W.T.s next week, so take a guess!” She leaned forward to scribble something down on her notepad, but her hand trembled so badly she couldn’t write a single letter. “Ugh,” she muttered and shook it out.

“Go upstairs and try to relax. There’s nothing those books can teach you anyway.”

She shot him a glance. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, someone has to!”

Granger huffed. “And you think you’re the chosen one because …”

“Because I’ll be the one cleaning up your vomit if you don’t take it slower!”

“Gods, you’re such an arse lately,” she grumbled. 

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

She nodded, obviously fed up. “Then why don’t you just go back home, and I’ll deal with my vomit alone?” Her glaring at him was disrupted by an ominous spasm, causing her to groan and curl in on herself. “Bloody hell …” she breathed.

“Seems like me being an arse doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.”

“Right, my arse,” she panted, “That’s been going on the whole night. I wish it would just kick in properly already, could have long been done with this one …”

“Did you try Apparating upstairs?” he asked in a silky voice.

“No,” she replied sweetly, “because I don’t want to die … by Splinching myself and bleeding to death.” The way she enunciated the I and that little pause she made fell like a spark on hay, and his grip around his cane hardened. 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” he hissed.

She huffed again, biting her lower lip until she probably remembered that could lead to her bleeding to death as well. “Just leave me alone, Snape. I cannot stand you today.”

He glared at her for some seconds longer, but she refused to meet his eyes. “Fine!” he then spat and left, short of kicking his shoes out into the rain and walking over in his socks because it took him a second too long to get them on. 

Filius pursed his lips when he saw the shattered window. Then he looked at Severus. “Are you quite sure renewing the wards will do, Severus?”

He arched an eyebrow at his former colleague. “What do you think I should do instead?”

“Moving somewhere else seems to be the sensible thing to do if you ask me.”

“Right,” Severus huffed, “and leave Miss Granger here alone?”

“She doesn’t seem to be targeted.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Could you just cast new wards?”

“Sure,” the small man sighed and left the house through the front door to set to work, not without checking whether somebody was hiding outside by casting a Homenum revelio. Surprisingly, the coast was clear.

Severus watched him sullenly, a breeze of moist air brushing through the shattered window and along his nose, his ears focused on catching any sound coming from next door. But either Granger had really cast a permanent Imperturbable on her house, or she’d got better at enduring her pain in silence. Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such a formidable arse you would know how she is – a treacherous thought that escaped his rigorous Occlumency.

Before anything else could slip through, Filius was done and returned inside. “That’s it,” he said. “I added a tiny disillusionment charm. From outside the wards, your house looks as if it has burned out. Maybe that will dissuade people from pestering you any further.”

“I doubt it,” Severus muttered.

“If it doesn’t, you at least won’t hear them anymore.” 

Severus huffed. “Thank you.”

Filius nodded. “Do you want me to repair the window as well?”

“No. I like the breeze of fresh air.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Well, is that everything you wanted me to come for, or do you fancy a game of chess as well?”

Severus frowned. Chess had been something he and Filius had met for regularly, at least before he went and killed Albus. After that, the Charms professor hadn’t said a single kind word to him. Understandably so, but still. 

On the other hand … He could do with some distraction. 

“If we can make it a silent game of chess,” he eventually muttered.

“Oh, absolutely.”

That night, Healer Sanders exhaled slowly and sat back in the armchair after dosing Severus with his potions – well, all but one. His pain-relief was still standing on the table, untouched. “We need to talk about the EE.”

Severus grimaced from the last potion he’d taken (the fever potion was always the worst) and the topic. “I guess we do.”

“The effect seems to have waned completely now, and I guess you don’t want me to dose it higher?”

“Hell no,” Severus muttered.

“Thought so. Then we need to think about the physical withdrawal. The usual procedure is to decrease the potion slowly. I would begin giving you one drop less in the evenings, and after you got used to that, one drop less in the mornings and so on. Slowly get you off the potion.”

“How long would that take?” 

The healer tilted his head from left to right and back. “From my experience, it takes about three to four days for the symptoms of withdrawal to abate. So with the eight drops you get in total at the moment, three to four weeks.”

Severus arched his eyebrows. “You want me to go three to four weeks with permanent withdrawal symptoms?”

“Moderate symptoms, mostly headaches and light trembling, but yes.”

“No.”

Healer Sanders sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“If I can get off that potion with three or four days of being miserable, then I will absolutely choose that over suffering for weeks.”

“Fine. But I want you in the hospital for that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mr Snape,” he began and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, “you have no idea what you’ll be going through. EE withdrawal is no fun, and potions only have a limited effect. We’re talking about splitting headaches, shaking, sweating, probably nausea and vomiting … And all of that will trigger the venom and make you even more miserable.”

“I won’t go back to St Mungo’s.”

The man closed his eyes, shaking his head in what was probably disbelief. “I begin to doubt your resolve not to kill yourself,” he muttered. 

Severus just watched his bout of desperation silently. There was no reality in which he’d go back to St Mungo’s, so there was nothing he could have said. Only when Healer Sanders looked back at him, Severus suggested, “Just give me an emergency device like you gave Miss Granger, and if I find that I might be dying, I will inform you.”

“Merlin help me …”

Severus smirked. “From my experience, he’s rather selective about who he’s helping. But if it is any comfort for you, as long as I can do it here, I will do whatever you tell me to do.”

“Oh yes, that changes everything.”

But in the end, he acquiesced with Severus’ demand, albeit reluctantly. “The first twelve hours should be rather manageable, so you could start straight away. Unless it doesn’t suit you to be incapacitated for the next couple of days?”

“Being miserable never suits me.” 

“Touché.”

So he’d taken his pain-relief without his usual EE dose, and despite the days that were ahead of him, that felt good. In a couple of days, he wouldn’t have Healer Sanders examine him mornings and evenings anymore and could finally be his own master – for the first time ever. He huffed softly, brushing his hand over his mouth. Unbelievable … He blinked some moisture from his eyes.

Look at that … Here I am, getting emotional about being alive for once. His therapist would be proud of him. Better not tell her then.

Focussing back on his task at hand, he cleared his throat and took another slice of toast to spread some butter and jam on it and put it with the other two already sitting on a plate next to a pot of tea. He’d already added sugar and some milk, just as he knew Granger preferred it. And when he was done, he said, “Beeky?”

Relieved to find the house-elf actually Apparated next to him. “Master Snape?”

“I told you I’m not your master.”

“Beeky is sorry, sir,” she mumbled and hung her ears.

“It’s okay. Don’t get any ideas of punishing yourself!”

“Yes, sir,” she breathed.

“Good. Well, I called you because I may need your help. Do you think you could cast a stasis charm on this tray and then silently Apparate into Miss Granger’s bedroom, place the tray silently next to her bed before you silently return back here?”

“Of course, sir.” She padded closer and snapped her fingers for the charm, causing the air above the tray to flicker briefly, then she levitated it into her hands before she popped away without causing a single sound. 

Severus frowned at the spot she’d just been standing. So much for keeping my distance … 

He began putting away the jam, butter, and toast and cleaned the worktop from crumbs until Beeky returned about half a minute later. “Well?”

“Beeky Apparated in Miss’ bedroom silently and placed the tray -”

“Yes, I know. Did she notice you?”

“No, sir. Miss is asleep, sir.”

He nodded. So she had most likely got through her attack as well as possible, probably even better because he hadn’t been there to “help” her. “Good.”

“But Miss’ cat noticed Beeky.”

Of course, he would. “That’s all right. Thank you for answering my call and helping me, Beeky.”

“Of course, sir, Beeky will always answer sir’s calls, sir.” She bowed down so low the tip of her nose almost touched his shoe, then she Apparated back to Hogwarts. 

Interesting. 

When he raised his eyes, he met the black ones of the owl. She was watching him interestedly, her head slightly bent forward. “Do you want a dead mouse or do you want me to let you out so you can hunt for yourself?”

She softly clattered with her beak, her eyes focusing on the packet of bread still lying on the counter. 

“Really?” Severus asked, arching his eyebrow.

Her clattering grew a bit louder.

“Very well,” he sighed and took a slice of bread to give to her. “But eat a mouse as well, will you?” he added then and took one from the box Minerva had bought with the owl. He wrinkled his nose at the dead animals, kept fresh by another stasis charm, and gingerly grasped one of the tails to get it out and place it on the small plate attached to the owl perch. His familiar didn’t spare it a single glance, though. She was too busy ripping the bread to shreds and spreading crumbs all over the floor. “You will clean that up, are we clear?” 

She hooted softly, and he decided to take that as a yes before he went upstairs to call it a night. Would probably be the last quiet one he’d get in the near future.

Chapter Text

“I should stay.”

“Like hell you will.”

“You’re already running a fever, and it’s only been twelve hours.”

“I’m always running a fever, just get the fuck home! You look even worse than I do.”

“You haven’t looked in the mirror yet, right?”

Severus scowled at the healer instead of answering. His head was pounding, a rough thumping that had started sometime around three o'clock in the morning and had steadily intensified. Reason enough to feel queasy, and the myriad of potions the healer had him take didn't exactly make things better. So at this point, there was not a single word strong enough to express how urgently he wanted that man gone.

“Very well,” he sighed eventually. “Just … call me if you need help, okay?” He nodded at the bracelet he’d brought, a simple leather band with a silver coin Severus could rub to get help. “And for goodness’ sake, take the potions! It’ll be hard enough as it is, don’t make it any harder for yourself!”

“Just – go - home!” Severus snarled, and that finally sufficed to make the man disappear through the fireplace. He groaned as soon as the wooshing of the flames had stopped. Bloody hell … It’d been a while since he’d had a headache that severe outside of migraines thanks to his constant intake of pain-relief potions, and he had a feeling that it would still get worse. Better that than weeks of suffering, he reminded himself.

And, honestly, apart from that, he still felt somewhat okay. Only moderate sweating and trembling so far, his legs were still willing to carry him, so maybe he should take the last chance he’d get for a couple of days to take a proper shower. 

It was another dull day, one of those they hadn’t had enough of this summer, one with dark grey clouds hanging so low you could almost touch them and wind cutting enough to pass as an announcement of autumn. 

“Oh, Snape.”

Fuck. He stopped and slowly turned until he spotted his neighbour. “Granger …” She completed their triad of people feeling miserable that morning. Her pale face rivalled Healer Sanders’, but the man hadn’t felt the need to spread his arms in search of his missing sense of balance, not even furtively like Granger did. Still, judging by the way she scrutinised him, he was still looking worse than both of them, which was disheartening. 

“Are you ill?”

“No,” he muttered. “What do you want?”

She rolled her eyes and balled her twitching hand. “I wanted to thank you. For the snack you sent me. That was … very kind of you.”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“Right,” she mumbled. “Anyway. I plan to head to the shops later today and wanted to ask if you need something.”

“No, I’m sorted.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but eventually nodded. “Well, then …” 

He watched her as she turned and disappeared into her privy, doubtlessly for the same reason he was heading there. 

But he hoped she wasn’t retching her morning potions into the toilet from a sudden stab right into her frontal lobe only minutes later.

As expected, it got worse after that. 

Severus settled for some comfortable trousers and a soft, long-sleeved shirt before snatching a thick woollen blanket and a bucket, using his last fickle bout of magic to cast a self-cleansing charm on the latter. Hell, he even thought of shutting out the daylight and getting himself a jug of water and a glass before lying down on the couch! 

But his attempt at being a commendable patient and drinking some water to stay hydrated only ended in him being sick again some minutes later, so he became more careful with that. 

Curled up underneath his blanket and still shuddering like a leaf, yet sweating profusely, he sunk into a state of half-consciousness; too aware of the bass drum-like pounding in his head – one of those huge ones they used in orchestras, beating a rhythm of about eighty beats per minute right next to his ear – but not fully aware of the passing of time. His neck felt stiff in a way that left him convinced he’d just have to change his position on the couch to soothe it but each attempt at doing so resulted in him gagging up some bile and so he slumped down just accepting the pain, his fingers clawed into his scalp and his hot breath cumulating in the nook his arms created in front of his face. 

Ugh, just to be dead … 

But how amazing it would feel to get a dose of EE now … Just five drops would be enough to remedy his misery and give him the high he’d been craving for at least three weeks now … The glorious feeling of the world losing its thorns for a couple of hours, of not being in pain and just … all right with existing. Maybe even amused at times. 

He swallowed against the lump swelling in his throat and cracked his watering eyes open, scanning the vials lined up on the table in front of him. But naturally, there was no Euphoria Elixir. Only strong pain-relief potions, something for the nausea, and the fever potion he’d promised to dose himself up with every couple of hours.

…

When had Healer Sanders given him his morning dose again?

Bugger.

Reaching out, Severus took the old mercury thermometer he’d found in his mother’s stuff and put it under his armpit before popping the nausea treatment open and carefully sipping it, still lying down. The effect was disappointing, but enough at least that he could sit up. Cradling his leaden head in his hand again, he waited a couple of minutes before checking the thermometer.

What the … That couldn’t be right! 

Or could it? 

He decided he’d better take it at face value lest he get in trouble with Healer Sanders tonight. 

He mixed the right amount of drops into the pain-relief that took the edge off his splitting headache, and with his sinking temperature, the shuddering subsided somewhat as well, resulting in him actually falling asleep for a while and dreaming of playfully being chased by someone through a meadow full of blossoming lavender. He looked over his shoulder, laughing, saw red hair, then curly brown hair, then red hair again. Then he was suddenly falling into a well of darkness.

He flinched from his sleep, pain hitting him like a wrecking ball.

Ow … Maybe he should have done this the slow way after all … 

“Snape?”

He squeezed his eyes shut when the bleary voice of Granger swam into his perception. Until the voice was complemented by too much fucking daylight flooding the living room when she came in from the kitchen. He tried to groan, but it came out as a gasped wail.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked in alarm.

It rang in his ears. “Good grief, Granger,” he whispered, “lower your voice …”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“And shut … the fucking door …”

While she went to do so (he could hear her steps on the floor), his mouth watered, and he swallowed hard against his urge to throw up again.

“What do you need?” Granger asked as soon as she returned to him, “Do you want me to get a healer?”

More saliva. “No.” He swallowed again. Oh god. A hot flush crept through his chest and exploded in his head, immediately followed by a surge of cold that had him tense up involuntarily, almost as if his body were expecting an impact of some kind. But the only thing that hit him was a jolt of pain so intense that he thought he would faint any second, and honestly, he wouldn’t have minded one bit. 

Instead, however, the nausea won and he reached for his bucket before he gagged up the sour remains of the potions he’d taken earlier, causing Granger to utter a surprised-sounding, “Oh!”, and back off a bit. 

His head felt as if it was about to explode, or as if each retch, each forced cough was making it swell to double its size. Even his eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of their sockets, and for a moment, he wondered if this was a situation he’d promised Healer Sanders to call him for.

But then it passed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Granger asked again as he slumped back panting, sounding decidedly too frenzied for his liking.

“Withdrawal,” he breathed, “EE …”

“You belong to St Mungo’s with that!”

Ugh, not you as well. “No … bloody … chance.”

She huffed. “Stubborn git.” And the next moment, a soothing wave of magic washed over his body, cleaning him and his clothes of cold sweat. “Here, drink something,” she said then, and when he blinked gingerly, there was the rim of a glass in front of his face. Some water ran past his lips and seeped into the pillow he’d arranged underneath his head, but Granger vanished that as well when he was done. “Okay?” she asked warily, “Or will you be sick again?”

“Dunno,” he mumbled, his eyes drooping closed again. Fuck, he felt awful … 

And then he felt nothing anymore.

The pounding on the other side of the door was persistent and unnerving, made the whole thing vibrate and rattle in its frame. Any second it would burst open and reveal … reveal … 

He woke up to a whispered argument that was confusing, first and foremost because he was not partaking in it. How odd …

“Believe me, Miss Granger, this wasn't my preferred way of doing this either, but have you ever tried talking him out of something he’d set his mind on doing?”

“Does he really get a say in it, though? I mean, look at him! He’s dying!”

“I’m not,” Severus muttered and pushed himself up into a sitting position. It was a less smooth motion than he’d hoped for, but he succeeded – eventually. And only to be blessed with a surge of light-headedness so strong he could hear it! The high-pitched ringing in his ears even drowned out Granger’s remark.

Ugh, fuck. He held his breath, hiccuped – Ugh! – then let the air out slowly and blinked. “I’m fine, stop treating me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!” she hissed.

Watch your tongue! But instead of saying that out loud – which would have only resulted in him throwing up again after all – he scowled at her until she remembered who she was talking to. Blinking, she lowered her eyes. 

Healer Sanders sighed. “So I guess you haven’t changed your mind?” he said in a low voice.

“No. Can’t get much worse anyway.”

The healer didn’t seem fully convinced but didn’t bother saying so. Instead, he began examining Severus. “You’re dehydrated,” he assessed.

“Oh, really?”

“And you’re running a fever.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’ll stay the night, someone needs to have an eye on you.”

“No!” Severus said at once – and surprisingly, he wasn’t the only one. He looked at Granger again. Don’t you dare!

But she did dare. “I’ll keep an eye on him, I can handle a sleepless night better than you.”

Healer Sanders looked at her in a way that so clearly said You must be kidding me! that he didn't even need to say it out loud. Severus huffed a laugh – and regretted it instantly. Groaning, he cradled his head in his hands again.

“A sleepless night can trigger an attack, Miss Granger!”

“I just had one, I’ll be fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Healer Sanders pinched the bridge of his nose. “Know what? Just do what you want, both of you! Why am I even bothering?” But he still began dosing Severus’ potions. “Look at me,” he said brusquely and pointed his wand at Severus’ head before he gave him the first one, though.

“Why?” Severus whispered.

“Just … do as I say!”

So he did. And when he met the healer’s eyes, he felt a jolt of magic seep into his head, a sensation he suddenly remembered he knew. It was a technique Poppy had used occasionally as well, some kind of blockade that stopped some neuronal signals from being passed for a short period of time. It switched off the nausea almost completely, causing Severus to sigh in relief. 

“On we go,” the healer muttered then, and gave Severus one potion after the other, four in total, before he gave him a full glass of water as well. “All of it!” he ordered sternly and waited until Severus had downed it completely. Then he pointed his wand at Severus' torso and cast another charm that trickled into his body.

“What have you done?” Granger asked in awe.

“Magic," Healer Sanders whispered ironically, but still with a smug smile. "Never hurts to have an ace up your sleeve. Well, let’s get you upstairs then, you cannot spend the night on the couch.”

Severus harrumphed but didn’t object. The couch was rather uncomfortable. 

A couple of minutes later, they – Granger included! – were halfway up the stairs and the blockade in his brain began to fade, causing him to groan exhaustedly. But since the second charm had passed the potions and the water further down the line, he was spared being sick yet again. Not, however, almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion shortly before the stairs were done carrying him upstairs.

“Careful,” Healer Sanders said in so soft a voice Severus felt his eyes water, and put Severus' arm around his shoulder.

“'m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he scoffed.

They made it into his bedroom, and while Granger was over at the window closing the curtains, he pulled Healer Sanders down and whispered, “Please recast the charm!” He nodded at his middle, unable to say the word nappy out loud.

“Of course,” he said, smiling mirthlessly and doing so silently. 

Severus slumped into the pillows, closing his eyes at last.

“You really should go home, Miss Granger.”

Yes!

“No, I can do that. We’ve done this for each other before, keeping watch. And if I need your help, I know how to contact you.”

No … 

“… All right.”

And with a last groan, Severus gave up resisting sleep’s lure.

He didn’t know which higher being Healer Sanders had blackmailed, but it granted him an almost peaceful night in the soothing embrace of his mind's world of wonders and horrors. Only once he woke up, rocked by fever and so much pain that it was his faint wail that summoned Granger from wherever she’d been. 

“What do you need?” she whispered.

“Pain-relief,” he breathed back, “and fever potion.”

“All right, just a minute.”

It was a long minute, but it passed, and after she’d helped him slowly drink the potions, she asked, “Healer Sanders left a Dreamless-Sleep as well. Do you want it?”

“No.” He found a strange comfort in his dreams at the moment, unpleasant as they mostly were. But maybe even unpleasant things could be something to focus on, something else than the blinding pain and surges of nausea that tossed him around like a puppet, and he was poorly enough to grasp at anything.

So he proceeded to slip in and out of consciousness and abstruse scenes, hour after hour, was being chased by something, Lily or Granger or a snake so huge it towered at least eight feet over him and when it opened its mouth, Charity’s ashen face screamed something at him he didn’t understand but was probably the same the students had hissed at him as they’d passed him by in the hallways. Death Eater! Murderer! Traitor!

It was the smell of coconut that eventually made him wrench his eyes open again, and he found Granger almost hovering over him to cast some more cleansing charms. He groaned when his stomach gave a lurch.

“What’s wrong?”

“’m going to be sick,” he slurred, and for a second, he was afraid she would have to clean up his vomit in an ironic turn of events, but no, she’d been clever enough to bring the bucket upstairs and put it right beside his bed. 

“It’s okay,” she said sympathetically and even held his fucking hair while his stomach emptied itself the wrong way all over again.

The sheer force of his body was almost enough to make him faint, but that probably would have been a form of mercy he just didn't deserve. Instead, he found that Healer Sanders had apparently resorted to his old tricks and given him an Edgar potion to make all of this even more disgusting; whether it had been I or II, though, Severus couldn't tell anymore, retched up, they looked and tasted the same. “Guess Healer Sanders has been here already?” he asked hoarsely when he sank back feeling light-headed and outright battered, his heart stumbling uncomfortably.

“Yes. He cast that charm to speed up your digestion again, but it doesn’t seem like it helped this time.” With a flick of her wand, she cleaned him all over again, then helped him sip some water. 

“The Edgar potions have always been hard to stomach for me,” he slurred and felt himself slip away.

Time passed him by almost unnoticed. Almost meaning he was painfully (ha!) aware of being utterly miserable but unable to grasp the course of time. He somehow knew that it had to pass, and somehow, he also knew that this whole being crushed by pain and agony would end eventually, but he had absolutely no idea how much longer he had to endure this. And for how long he had been enduring this already.

At some point, he even forgot why he was in this condition, was only sure that it had been something he’d done or decided, because it was always something he did or decided that brought him into situations like this. 

Anyway, when he woke up for the first time without the need to either bawl like a baby or throw up within the next five seconds, he had no bloody idea what time or day it was, only that the bass drum in his head had quieted down enough that he dared blink tentatively. 

His bedroom was still sheathed in semi-darkness, dark enough to go easy on his head but light enough that he could make out Granger's form. She was sitting next to his bed on the floor, her back leaning against the bedstand, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

He closed his eyes again before slurring, “Are you keen on me vomiting all over you, or do you have another reason to sit there, Granger?”

She gave a tiny gasp, and when he finished, she gave a huff. “Will you vomit all over me?”

Will I? “Don’t think so,” he finally assessed.

“Then there’s no reason for me to sit somewhere else.”

He hummed softly, unsure about how long he would be able to stay awake. Maybe he should take some potions while he still could. And then again … He didn’t feel all too bad, so maybe he could afford to take another minute or two. 

“How are you?”

“Miserable,” he muttered, “but better than the last time I remember.”

“That’s good. Healer Sanders said you might be over the worst now.”

“Mh. What day is it?”

“Friday.”

He’d had his last dose of EE on Tuesday morning, so that figured. “Were you here the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“My sympathies.”

She huffed again, sounding slightly amused now. “Had better days, yes.”

Bet you had.

“But … it’s been nice to have you not jump at me every chance you get for a change.”

Ouch. “’m sorry.”

“Mh. Why have you been so beastly to me again lately? Have I done something wrong that you went back to being Professor Snape all of a sudden?”

“No,” he sighed, feeling the bass drum getting louder again.

But Granger, seeing an opportunity to wheedle an honest answer out of him and seizing it, inquired further, “Then what is it? We’ve been … so good for each other and then … everything changed for no reason.”

Oh, there is a reason … But he wasn’t so stupid to tell her that, so much was certain!

At least until she began speaking again and sounded suspiciously choked. “Please tell me what happened, Snape, because … because I’m not ready to lose yet another friend. I can’t do this without you …”

Fuck. Her words hit him harder than his withdrawal had, right in his chest, so that he felt as if he was short of having a heart attack. He struggled to draw some air into his lungs and suddenly wasn’t so sure about not throwing up anymore.

“What did I do wrong?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he whispered back, refusing to open his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep his mouth shut over his true reasons. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“What is it then?”

Me. It’s me. It’s always me … “I … need to keep my distance …”

“Distance? But why?”

“Because it’s inappropriate, Granger!” The words burst out of him, still an only slightly emphasised whisper, but still. “I … feeling how … I do it’s … inappropriate. I need to keep my distance. It’s better that way.”

“Feeling how you do,” she echoed incredulously. “You mean …”

He gulped but didn’t answer. Only pinched his eyes closed tighter as if that could beam him out of this moment and the mortification of this situation. Any second she would laugh at him, ask him if he was fucking serious, and tell him that he must be kidding her because how could he ever think of having feelings for her?! She -

His train of thought derailed when something touched his lips. What the … When he tore his eyes open, though, he only saw a mop of curly hair, and that was the moment he succeeded in connecting the dots and realised that it must be Granger’s lips touching his.

Chapter Text

He instantly withdrew from her. “Granger …”

She inhaled sharply. “Oh!”

“That’s not -”

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry!” She scrambled to her feet and backed away, almost blurring with the semi-darkness in his bedroom. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, sir! I mean… Snape. I mean … stop talking!” That last one was a whispered command directed probably at herself. 

Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to will down the wild thumping of his heart. Had she really just kissed him? What the actual fuck? He wished his head wasn’t so sluggish and hurting so much; grasping a single coherent thought felt like chasing a squirrel through quicksand. 

“I should go,” she assessed at last. Then, “But you still need help …”

“No,” he mumbled, “I’ll manage.”

She sniffled, whispered, “I’m so sorry!” again, then he heard her leave and rumble down the stairs in what could only be called a flight. The following silence felt too heavy to bear.

Good grief …

It was a couple of hours more until Healer Sanders stopped by again. Severus hadn’t slept a single minute, the gnawing pain and heavy thrums of his pulse throwing him around like a ping-pong ball, almost as if his body was adamant about mirroring his whirling thoughts. 

Why had she done that? What was that supposed to mean? 

Obviously, it was not what his stupid heart was trying to tell him that it meant! She was not, not by any means, reciprocating his feelings! She couldn’t! 

Because if she did, all of this just got exponentially more complicated. 

Fuck.

It was a relief when he heard the stairs move outside and eventually the healer's soft knock on his door. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you?” he asked in a low voice after Severus had grunted him inside.

“Better,” he muttered, trying to sit up a bit and failing. His arms just gave in under his weight. 

“Glad to hear,” the other man replied. “Where's Miss Granger?”

“Gone home. She’s been here for long enough.” He said it without meeting Healer Sanders’ eyes.

“Mh.” He set to work, the shimmering results of his diagnostic spells bathing the room in eerie green light. “Seems like you made it, things are looking up.”

“Was about time.”

“You’ve actually got through the worst surprisingly quickly. I was worried it would take you another day or two.”

If only it had … Maybe he then would have had his tongue in check and not spewed his feelings at Granger, prompting her to -

He harrumphed and let his eyes fall closed while the healer sorted through the potions. 

I shouldn’t have done that, Granger’s voice bubbled up in his memory. 

Well, I shouldn’t have said what I said before. He’d doubtlessly encouraged her to … kiss him or whatever that had been. 

“How’s your nausea?” Healer Sanders asked, snapping Severus out of his musings.

“Manageable.”

“Good. I want you to slowly sip a vial of Edgar II, then. You need to get some calories into your body …”

He harrumphed again. 

“Here, take this first. Your temperature is worrying me.”

“All about me is worrying you,” Severus muttered, but took the potion nonetheless. 

“I wonder why.”

He didn’t reply to that, just drank his potions and hoped to be left alone again soon. 

A fact that – naturally! – didn’t escape his healer’s notice. “Did something happen between you and Miss Granger?”

Severus looked at him, glad he wasn’t permanently monitored because that spike in his heart rate would have been difficult to explain away. “No. Why?”

“It seems odd she left you alone in your condition.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you a Dreamless-Sleep, just in case you want to take it tonight.” He put the vial on the bedside cabinet and got up. “See you tomorrow.”

“Mh,” Severus mumbled after him and closed his eyes, sighing. He quickly regretted his former wish to be left alone. With a fresh dose of potions dampening his symptoms, his thoughts stepped it up another notch, buzzing to and fro between Granger's words, her smell, her mortification, his own stupidity, his dumb hope, and then straight back to Granger's words for another round on this horrible roller coaster. The worst part about it was that he was still too weak to get up and do something. Not talk to her! No, not that. He should give her the widest berth he'd ever given someone for at least a couple of years. But … something that would take his mind off what had happened. Read a book, go for a walk, chew his own leg off, didn't matter. But he couldn't do anything but lie here and think.

He exhaled slowly.

Gods, what have you done, Granger?

But more worrying was what his body was doing.

He actually did take the Dreamless-Sleep that night, craving some hours of stillness, something his mind would never give him. But since he’d taken it shortly after Healer Sanders had left and a dose of that potion only lasted for about eight hours on average, he found himself slipping into a phase of unguarded sleep after the effect waned, probably because he was still utterly exhausted from what he’d been through during the last days. 

And in that about one or two hours, his mind unleashed what he’d forbidden himself to think of for weeks now. 

Granger kissing him.

Granger undressing in front of him.

Granger taking his cock into her warm wet mouth (almost a classic that strangely still took place in St Mungo’s).

And finally, Granger spreading her milky white legs for him.

He woke up with a moan, his whole midsection feeling tingly and hot, but when he reached down in a mix of shock and embarrassment, he found that he wasn’t hard. 

Bugger.

Touching himself still felt good, albeit not as intensely as normally. Nevertheless, he gave his flaccid cock some careful strokes through his briefs, his dreams bubbling up before his mind’s eye again, bringing with them a tantalising mixture of shame and temptation, just as back in St Mungo’s when he’d had to let some steam off after taking Edgar II (doubtlessly the culprit for this fuss as well), but he quickly found he was too exhausted. His pulse accelerated to a point where he felt seriously dizzy, and his headache was once again threatening to split his skull open, so he let go and slumped down panting, needing almost ten minutes to calm down. 

When he finally blinked, it was as if reality was crashing down on him. As if it had waited, clinging to the ceiling of his bedroom just to plummet the moment he acknowledged it. 

Granger had kissed him.

And the venom might have destroyed another one of his bodily functions because not even being half-dead had stopped his body from pestering him with erections last time.

He didn’t mention his latest suspicion to his healer; chances were he could do as much about that as about his incontinence. Chances even were his advice about training his bloody pelvic floor would be the same! So he didn’t bother mentioning it. Maybe it was only due to the withdrawal anyway.

So he pushed that out of his mind and crept downstairs instead as soon as he found himself strong enough to do so and contacted his therapist. “I need a session,” he said, still panting, “as soon as possible.”

His appearance in the Floo seemed to worry her earnestly; first, there was a frown creasing her forehead, then she said, “Tomorrow afternoon, four o’clock.”

He only realised it was a Sunday after they’d said goodbye. Did she usually work on Sunday? Or had he managed to worry her enough for an emergency appointment?

Severus contemplated calling her again to clear things up; it wasn't that bad, was it? He could … absolutely cope for another day!

Right?

…

In the end, he didn't call her again. And judging by how glad he was to not see a single hair of Granger the whole day, that probably had been a good decision, pathetic as it was. The only thing he did see of her was the reason she’d found him a couple of days ago: Some fruits and vegetables were lying on his worktop, not looking too fresh anymore. The bananas had brown spots, the apples were a tad too yellow, only the tomatoes still looked good. 

He stared at all of that for at least a full minute before he managed to tear his eyes away, still struggling to get some air into his lungs. 

She’d bought that for him. Although he’d been an arse to her, she’d bought that for him. And then she’d cared for him for two days straight, risking her own health and well-being, only for him to effectively confess his feelings for her and then scare her away when it turned out that -

No.

He wouldn’t even finish that blasted thought, no matter how much it made his stomach tingle. After the days that lay behind him, it reminded him too much of the ungodly feeling right before he had to throw up anyway. 

Scowling at the bananas, he finally went to get a proper shower.

“She kissed me,” Severus blurted the next afternoon. He hadn’t even sat down yet, was still standing behind the armchair, his fingers curled around the back because he’d forgotten to bring his cane.

“Miss Granger?” his therapist asked and that she used her name sucked the air out of Severus’ lungs. But of course, if Healer Sanders had read the Daily Prophet, his wife had too.

“Yes,” he mumbled weakly and needed to grip the armchair harder because peculiar light-headedness befell him.

“Sit down!” she ordered him, and got up to guide him around the chair. “Do you need to put your legs up?”

“No,” he scoffed, “I’m fine!”

“Sure,” she muttered and left the room to return about a minute later with a glass of water. “Here, take a sip.”

He grumbled but took the glass and a sip. 

“Was it the kiss that caused you to look so utterly miserable?” she quipped when he put the glass down.

“No. EE withdrawal.”

She grimaced. “How do you manage without it?”

“I’m fine. But the withdrawal is the reason for this whole mess,” he began because he’d bottled up all of his thoughts about that wretched encounter with Granger for two whole days now, and for the first time since he was coming here, he actually needed to talk about something! “I tried to keep my distance, and she asked me what happened while I was still … in pain and felt horrible, and I needed her to stop – talking!”

“So you told her the real reason,” his therapist concluded.

“Enough, she connected the dots,” he said gloomily. “And then she fucking kissed me!”

Her eyebrows twitched, but whether it was a good or a bad eyebrow twitch, he couldn’t say. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?” he eventually pressed.

“What do you want to do?”

“That is hardly of relevance, is it?”

“Oh, I think it is most relevant.”

Exhaling in a huff, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for good measure. His pulse was throbbing in his head, a sensation that – combined with the topic – made him feel slightly queasy again. “I want … this not to be a problem. I’m tired. I’m exhausted.” And softer he added, “I don’t know how to deal with this.” He gulped and blinked, not meeting her eyes but looking out the window into a disgustingly bright day.

“You never wanted to feel like this for a former student.” 

“No.”

“And you feel it was a mistake to have her move in next door?”

“Obviously,” he spat. “Obviously, it was a mistake! She barely has contact with her friends anymore because of me! That started in St Mungo’s already, and so she developed an unhealthy attachment to me. Now she thinks she likes me …”

“You think she doesn’t understand her feelings?”

“Yes! Why else would she get the ludicrous idea to kiss me?” He got up again and began pacing the office, although he needed to search for purchases on the walls and furniture. “I’m twenty years her senior, I was her professor and a Death Eater! I’m a bastard even on a good day – something she called me out for only a couple of days ago, by the way!” He looked at his therapist, his free hand gesticulating angrily. “In reality, she hates me. It’s only because I’m as ill as she is, that’s all she’s craving. Feeling understood.” Now he brushed his hand down his face.

“Would you please sit down again?”

“Why?” he muttered.

“Because you’re worryingly pale. My husband is not at home, I don’t fancy bringing you to St Mungo’s because you fainted.”

“I will not faint,” he grumbled, but sat down nonetheless, if only to hide his face in his hands. Maybe he did feel a little bit light-headed … “What am I supposed to do now?” he repeated from behind his hands. 

“Talk with her.”

He waited for a couple of seconds, expecting her to proceed, but she didn’t. Annoyed, he looked up. “That’s your advice? Talk with her?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Miss Granger is an adult, not a minor, not even your student anymore. She might have made a rash decision, but she deserves a chance to explain her reasoning. It would be unfair of you to make a decision that will affect not only you but her as well - and deeply so as it seems - without giving her a chance to have a say in it. Unless, of course, it is completely out of the question for you to have any further contact with her. But even if the whole idea of entertaining any kind of relationship with her is a hard no for you, I'd advise you to tell her that instead of just acting like the kiss never happened. Getting along with your neighbours is easier without a proverbial elephant in the room. So, yes, my advice is to talk with her.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I know exactly what she will say! She will tell me that she’s not imagining those feelings, that she harboured them ever since St Mungo’s! Yet she told Potter the other day that she wished she could go back to her ex!”

“Her ex?” she repeated with a neutral expression, yet Severus was sure there was a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes.

He grunted. “She broke up with him a couple of weeks ago. Not because she doesn’t love him anymore, mind!” 

His therapist hummed softly. “Well, she doesn’t seem to regret her decision enough to actually get back with him.”

“No,” he said and hated that it almost sounded like a whine, “because she doesn’t want to burden him with her ailments! Maybe she should talk to him first! Don’t think that decision was mutual.”

“You don’t know that, and it’s nothing that concerns you. You can only control your own decisions. So let’s return to your problem.”

Must we? But he didn’t object.

“You can only assume Miss Granger’s reasoning and feelings, you cannot know them unless you talk to her. So do just that. You can still lose your mind about the whole thing after that.” She smiled softly, and Severus was surprised she managed not to let it look condescending. 

“And what if that talk ends with me giving in?” he asked in a soft voice.

“You mean giving in to a relationship with her?”

He nodded jerkily.

“Well,” she began, taking a deep breath and letting it out again, unused. “I won’t tell you it'd be easy. There's not only your shared past but the press’ attention as well, and, of course, the fact that relationships with a huge age gap can be delicate to manage. Plus, I don’t know how stable she is mentally. Often it is difficult to keep a relationship between two chronically ill people healthy and working.”

He sighed, nodded, and rubbed his face.

“But it wouldn’t be the end of the world either,” she then proceeded. “It is entirely human to seek bonds and love, and it is entirely human to sometimes seek them in difficult places. Difficult doesn’t mean it cannot work out. And that it might not work out doesn’t mean it will ruin you.”

Her words made him hold his breath, stubbornly trying to hide the prick in his eyes and the heaviness on his chest.

“Talk with her,” she eventually repeated, “it’s the decent thing to do. And you've got nothing to lose. It will be hard and probably hurt no matter what you choose to do.”

He grumbled softly. “You really know how to cheer up your patients.”

“I do what I can,” she smirked.

But – as most of the time – the decent thing to do wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do, and so he kept standing in the backyard for a couple of minutes before the lack of blood in his brain made him sit down on the doorstep and close his eyes. Birdsong was tickling his ears, the distant humming of cars, a soft rustle of leaves. 

What was he even supposed to say? What was she supposed to say? What would she say? And what would he say? 

Ugh … 

He snapped his eyes open when Granger opened her backdoor and swiftly crossed the yard to get to the privy. She didn’t notice him on her way there, but his pulse had long sped up while he stared at the shabby little hut as if paralysed. 

When she came back out, she visibly flinched and stopped dead in her tracks. He thought he could even see the colour drain from her face, but it was flooded with blood so quickly, turning her cheeks a bright red, that he wasn't sure. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Only her grip on the privy door hardened. 

Eventually, she gulped and turned around to close it, taking a couple of seconds to compose or brace or prepare herself for that meeting he hadn’t let her see coming. 

And for a moment, he thought she would just ignore him and go back inside because she went towards her door determinedly. But instead of returning inside, she sat down on her doorstep as well, mirroring his pose at a safe distance. 

Severus was surprised by how much easier he suddenly could breathe.

A couple more minutes passed by silently, then she asked, “Did I ruin it?” In a voice so feeble it made him swallow thickly.

“No.”

She exhaled a trembling breath. 

“But we need to talk about it.”

“Yes,” she said and put her elbows on her knees. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have … kissed you. I don’t know what got into me.”

His heart sank. “It’s all right,” he said in a soft voice, “in a situation like yours and mine, emotions can get confused, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and he saw her look at him from the corner of his eye.

Severus huffed, regretting that he didn’t bring a glass of whisky; heaven knew he could need it now. “I’m one of few people who really get what you’re going through. It’s no wonder you confused that … feeling of being understood for something else.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, “I didn’t kiss you because you understand me, Snape.”

He cast her an arched eyebrow. “No?” he remarked, tinged with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“No!” she blurted. “I wanted to stay in contact with you because you understand me but I kissed you because I fell for you, you moron!”

“Watch your tongue,” he mumbled, more a reflex than a reflection of his thoughts. His eyes, however, jumped back and forth between hers, searching for the tiniest hint of a lie or a laugh, something that proved she didn’t mean what she was saying.

He found none.

Fuck.

“It’s true,” she said as if she knew perfectly well what was going through his head. “I have feelings for you. I just never thought you’d feel the same, so I … kept them hidden. But when you told me you felt the same …” She sniffled softly, her hands clasped between her knees. “I shouldn’t have just kissed you, but I do not confuse anything.” She shook her head in emphasis and shrugged her shoulders.

It took Severus several seconds before he managed to take his eyes off her. “Bloody hell, Granger,” he mumbled and rubbed his face as if that could take back the things she’d just said. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Yes!” she laughed bitterly, “Believe me, I do! I didn’t plan for this to happen, and I’m sure neither did you!”

He kept his eyes closed, his hands blocking his lips as if he were about to pray. He’d never been a faithful man, but since talking with a therapist hadn’t helped him manage this situation, a bit of help from above would actually be welcome. 

Of course, he didn’t get any. Just his thumping heart and the deafening silence wafting over from Granger. 

“What about Weasley?” he eventually asked hoarsely.

“What do you mean?” she asked again, but sounding more taken aback now.

He looked at her. “The other day, you told Potter you wish you could get back together with him.”

She gulped. “You spied on me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I was coming from the privy, and you decided to have your little chat out here. Don’t blame me for overhearing something you talk about in the open!”

Breathing rapidly, she looked down at her hands, her face hard. “Well, yes,” she said eventually, her voice heavy with emotions, “I do wish my life had taken a different turn. I wish I hadn’t been hit by those curses, and Ron and I could be happy and plan our lives together. But that’s not how things turned out.” She looked at him again, whipping her head around with so much force her curls jumped around her shoulders. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how that is.”

“Don’t,” he growled.

But she ignored him. “And don’t tell me my feelings for you are invalid because of that. If mine are, so are yours!”

“My feelings for you are invalid!” he exclaimed. “They are, Granger! Don’t you understand what a disaster this is? It was bad enough while it was just me, but if you feel the same …” The strength suddenly seemed to drain from his body, leaving him feeling utterly exhausted, boneless even. “I should never have let you move in here …”

“But …” Her voice broke. “But why is this so bad?” she then asked miserably. “I mean, I know I’m … I’m sometimes hard to be around and probably cannot give you what you’re looking for because I’m such an insufferable know-it-all and-and sick and constantly angry and -”

“Granger …”

“- so much younger than you! I mean, what would you want with a teenager like me, right? But maybe I can try? If you feel the same, then …” She hid her face in her hands, the only sign of her crying her twitching belly. 

Bloody hell …

For a couple of seconds, Severus hesitated. Then he got up and groped his way along the houses. “Move over,” he said in a dark voice, and she looked up in shock, her cheeks red and wet with tears. 

As if she’d forgotten what his words meant or what movements she had to perform to do what he said, she blinked around for a confused moment. Then she did skid over, and Severus sat down next to her, awkwardly raising his arm for her to come closer. Surprisingly, she didn’t hesitate. 

He took a hitching breath, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so close to her. It’d been decades since he’d last tried to soothe someone like this. Ironically, it had been Lily.

He turned his head toward her a bit, covertly inhaling the coconut scent rising from her bushy hair. His lips itched to press a kiss onto them. I’m absolutely and officially fucked. “You’re not insufferable,” he said in a dark voice, “and not hard to be around. Actually, you’re too good for me, not the other way round. There’s no version of this that turns out well for you.”

She fell quiet and eventually pulled out of his embrace to look him in the eyes. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “There’s no version of my life that turns out well for me. Every single one ends in me dying from an aneurysm during an attack or severely disabled from the damage the curses cause. If I can have something that makes me feel good while I walk towards that, then I want it, no matter how long it’ll last.”

He gulped. “What about your friends? They won’t understand.”

“I don’t care.”

“What about the press? Skeeter will eat us alive if she finds out.”

“Then we won’t let her find out.” She twisted her lips, some tiny droplets of tears still glistening in her lashes. “I wouldn’t want to tell anybody for the time being anyway, to be honest. Let’s just … see what happens. Nobody needs to know. And if we fail, nobody needs to know that either.”

He leaned forward, putting his elbows back on his knees. More secrets? But if they really wanted to … He didn’t know, let this something evolve … that probably would be the best way to go. 

But did he really want to risk that? What if he fell for her as badly as he had for Lily? What if it – foreseeably! – would not work out and ruin him after all? His therapist had been way too optimistic about that; he wasn’t so sure he could survive that a second time. 

But I wouldn’t have to.

He gulped. He’d wanted to die after Lily’s death already, but Dumbledore had pressed him to keep Potter safe. If Granger and he failed, there would be nobody to press him to do anything. He would be free to go. So did he really have something to lose?

He blinked and reality crashed back into his perception. Birdsong, distant cars, rustling leaves – and Granger sitting next to him, so close her thigh was touching his and her body warmth seeped into his skin. Unbelievable that she wanted him. That he could actually be with her if he dared. A siren’s song indeed. 

After what felt like hours, he sat back up and did what he’d predicted he would do earlier in his therapist’s office: he gave in. “Very well. Let’s see what happens.”

Granger released a breath, a half-laugh of relief. She smiled shakily, and for a moment, he was afraid she would attempt to kiss him again. But she didn’t. Instead, she hesitantly put her hand on his and nodded. “Let’s see.”

Chapter Text

The following morning, Severus lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He’d been awake for quite some time already, an hour or two, but couldn’t bring himself to get up. 

He set himself multiple limits, absolutely determined to really get up in five minutes, ten, fifteen … But in the end, he never did. And now he only had about twenty minutes left until Granger … Hermione … would knock on his backdoor for breakfast. 

They’d agreed to that yesterday. To meet today and talk some more, spend time with each other without needing an excuse. Just because they wanted to. And he was looking forward to that!

But at the same time, he felt heavy like a boulder, and his bed was too large to ever successfully leave. 

Ugh, pathetic … He knew he could do it! Had done it so often, for such a long time … He needed … just two more minutes … His eyes slid closed.

Unbidden, he imagined how Hermione would react if she found him lying in bed like this. Of course, she wouldn’t let herself be stopped by him not opening the door for her. She hadn’t let herself be stopped the other day either when she found him in the height of his withdrawal. That was just what they did. They looked out for each other. Checked in on each other. So she would come in and call for him, and when she wouldn’t find him downstairs, she would either come straight up or cast a spell to see if he was home at all first. Both variants would lead to her turning up at the door and finding him huddled in his bed and staring at the ceiling like an imbecile. 

Part of him wanted that to happen. Wanted to be found and cared for again.

Part of him found everything about that idea disgusting.

Well, if he didn’t get up at once, it would happen no matter what he thought about it.

The bright side was that it would probably discourage her from wanting to be with him pretty quickly.

The dark side was, he didn’t want that to happen. 

So he cracked his eyes back open, sighed from deep down, and gave himself the mental kick in the arse he needed to finally sit up and get his feet on the floor. 

Wonderful.

It was exactly as appalling as he’d expected it to be.

He carded his fingers through his hair, fiercely rubbed his face and his eyes, then zoned out for a moment, staring at a chipped spot in the flooring instead of the ceiling. 

Gods, was that what the Euphoria Elixir had relieved him of? Did the potion have an effect after all, even at the very end when he hadn’t felt the tiniest uplift anymore?

He gritted his teeth and got up at last, slipping into a pair of trousers and a long-sleeved shirt that didn’t smell too bad before looking for his shoes and not finding them. Never mind. It looked like it would be a warm day, he could do without them. 

Approaching the window, he peered down at the street and curiously found it abandoned again. Had the lunatics found better places to hide or … 

He clicked his tongue and took his cane to go downstairs. He probably needed to get at least some scrambled eggs and a couple of slices of toast ready before Gran- … Hermione came over. 

Standing on the stairs waiting to be carried down, he closed his eyes again. Unbelievable … He’d really agreed to give their something a try. She’d really succeeded in convincing him that they had a chance. He’d really decided to go all in, to jump off that cliff and dive into what looked like ice-cold and unpredictable waters that would pull him into undertow after undertow until he wouldn’t know up from down anymore and get absolutely lost in the freezing darkness. 

He gulped. What the hell had he done? 

He was befallen by a bout of dizziness that forced him to sit down on the stairs and breathe. Fuck, he should have brought his calming draught upstairs to take it first thing in the morning. But the stupid vial was standing on the living room table, so close and yet out of reach while he began trembling like a leaf and that typical prickle crept down his scalp and neck and back and looped around his torso to wring the living daylights out of him and -

Bloody hell … 

He raised a trembling hand to brush some cold sweat from his face, focusing his eyes on another chipped spot in the flooring while he tried to not hyperventilate, to just breathe, in and out, and not lose his bloody mind on a Monday morning over his heart beating a mile a minute and his brain screaming at him that he would die, now, and it would be horrible. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He groped for the handrail, leaned against the wall, sucked air into his lungs greedily. It will pass, it will pass, it will pass … 

The question was when? When would it pass? How long would he have to persevere in this state of dying, and then again not? Long enough for Granger to find him like this instead of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling? 

He pinched his eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe more slowly, to endure the screaming of his lungs for oxygen for a second longer than he felt he could, and slowly, slowly, it got better. Granger did not find him in the heart of a panic attack. The minutes crept by, and her voice, telling him she would get him through this, echoed through his mind and eventually, everything left behind was the icky feeling of needing a shower and a good night’s sleep just to fully get out of what he’d just gone through. 

When his vision and mind were clear enough again, he looked at his watch – and found that he hadn’t misjudged the time that had passed. Hermione was late. 

And that fact gave him enough energy to get back up (if only on the third attempt) and grope his way into the living room. He counted his drops of calming draught straight into his mouth – his mind settled, his inner trembling subsided – and washed the miserable taste down with a pain-relief. Last night, Healer Sanders had left all of his potions for him to finally manage on his own again, not without seizing the opportunity to give Severus a piece of his mind and another instruction on how to dose each of them properly, plus the promise to pop by in St Mungo’s next week for a check-up. 

And mere twelve hours later Severus gave a damn about his fever potion and limped into the kitchen; he wasn’t feeling that warm, he’d be fine, he could take it later. 

Rounding the corner, though, he flinched seeing his owl perched on the back of a chair. “What’re you doing here?” he mumbled. Since he’d begun letting her out to go hunt some mice for herself, she turned up here only occasionally, except he called her because he needed her to deliver a letter. 

She hooted softly and craned her neck to nibble on his finger when he reached out to scratch her head. Only then did he see the letter she’d apparently brought him. “Mh,” he hummed, “you’re waiting for a treat, eh?”

She hooted again and scuttled along the back of the chair, bobbing her head. He huffed and got the bread to give her half a slice. “Take it slowly,” he admonished her – in vain, of course. She was a pet, after all.

So while his owl tore the bread into pieces and spread the crumbs all over the table, Severus opened the backdoor and peered outside. But Hermione was nowhere to be seen yet. 

What was that supposed to mean? Had she changed her mind? Or was she still breathing through the same kind of panic attack he’d just had, realising what kind of man she'd claimed she wanted to be with?

He swallowed thickly, contemplating whether he should go and look for her because that was what they did, right? But in this case, that might be a tad bit too pushy, wouldn’t it? She hadn’t been due for an attack, so she was probably fine. And just because they’d kind of agreed they wanted to give their something a chance – good grief! – didn’t mean she wanted him barging into her house after being a couple of minutes … He checked his watch again. Well, fifteen minutes late … 

At least tell me you changed your mind, he thought, gritting his teeth, and went to check the letter. He had to shake a good amount of crumbs off it, earning himself a husky screech from his owl as some of them fell to the floor. He ignored it and tore the envelope open, snorting when he saw what it was. His therapist had finally sent him her bill, and sticking to it was a note saying, If you ever decide you want to give therapy a proper chance, I’d be happy to help you.

Yeah, not going to happen … 

He threw the letter on the worktop so he wouldn’t forget to write a missive to Gringotts to have them transfer the gold into the vault she’d stated on the bill, then he peeked out the backdoor again – and spotted Granger just leaving her house. 

He breathed a sigh of relief – right before he remembered that he hadn’t got anything ready for breakfast, not even a bloody cup of tea!

Turning to get the teapot and fill it with water, he cursed under his breath. “Is that really necessary?” he muttered at his owl, who’d hopped onto the table to chase the last crumbs of bread she’d littered it with. 

He was still wondering where the hell he’d left his wand – he’d had it to recast his bloody nappy charm this morning, so chances were he’d forgotten it upstairs – when there was a feeble “Hey” coming from the door. 

Severus whipped his head around, and his response died on its way out when he became aware of Hermione’s appearance. She was smiling shakily, one hand curled around the door frame, the other balled into a fist, and her pale face looked at least as miserable as he felt. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked instead of greeting her.

She grimaced. “Had an attack last night, one of the um … unexpected ones.” 

Bugger.

She tried again to smile but failed. Sighing, she fully leaned against the door frame now, her closed eyes and tight lips testament to the bout of pain she was probably just suffering through.

Severus abandoned the teapot and walked over to her. “You shouldn’t have come over,” he mumbled.

She blinked, swallowed, smiled. “And let you think I’d changed my mind? Never …”

He looked away, feeling caught.

“Or did you change your mind?” she added softly.

He shook his head. “No.” Not really … 

She exhaled the breath she’d apparently been holding. “Good! Because I was afraid you might, and was even more afraid you would if I didn’t come over. We need a way to communicate because I wasn’t sure if I’d make it but I didn’t want to waste a chance to spend time with you and …” She grimaced, probably realising her babbling when he smiled, but not even that could bring her face to show the lovely blush she usually sported, it stayed as pale, almost grey, as it was. “Sorry. I just wanted to see you. Unless you don’t want me to be here like this, that is?”

“No,” he said again, “it’s fine, of course.”

“Okay,” she whispered, sounding at least as relieved as he’d been the moment he’d seen her leave the house. “But I’d be forever grateful to you if I could sit down somewhere, preferably somewhere I can curl up while I ride out my aftershocks.” 

“Sure,” he mumbled and grasped his cane. “The couch it is, then.”

She nodded and took a deep breath before dislodging from the door frame and stepping into the kitchen. “Hey there,” she murmured to the owl, smiling as she got a hoot in response. “Does it have a name?”

“She,” Severus said absent-mindedly, “and no.”

“Pity. She’s beautiful.”

As are you. He grimaced when that thought crossed his mind unbidden. “Guess she is …” He worriedly watched Granger cross the free space to reach the couch, but all in all, she seemed to have fewer problems with that than he did. 

Still, she groaned slumping onto the couch, doubling over from an aftershock that made her whole body tremble. “Gods, I hate those,” she wailed, rocking back and forth.

“Lie down,” Severus said and touched her shoulder to encourage her to let herself fall to the right. 

She did and pulled her legs closer until she could curl into a fetal position, moaning and crying covert tears until the aftershock subsided. She relaxed, letting go of her knees. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, blinking blearily.

“It’s fine.” He’d sat down on the table, in his chest raging a beast of helplessness. He reached out, intending to brush a strand of hair from her wet face, but stopped, curling his fingers closed. “May I?”

“Yes,” she nodded, sniffling, her red-rimmed eyes glued to his face until he touched her face. Then she closed them, taking a trembling breath. 

Sweet Circe … He swallowed thickly, regretting that he could hardly feel the texture of her hair with a touch so feather-light. But he was sure they were soft. Maybe a bit stubborn, just as she was, but still soft. The one sensation his damaged nerve endings did send to his brain, though, was the warmth of her skin against his cold fingertips. He wanted to put his hand against her cheek properly, wanted to touch her more if only to make sure she was really there and it was really okay because they’d agreed to have a something, but he didn’t dare and withdrew. “Do you need anything?” he asked, “Water, a blanket, a potion?”

Hermione blinked. “No, I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“As fine as I can be,” she corrected. “What about you? You look terribly exhausted.”

Wonder why … “Not my best day,” he admitted softly; he couldn’t hide it from her anyway, they’d seen too much. “Do you know why you had an attack? You didn’t seem to get one yesterday.”

She hummed softly. “I might have discovered a new trigger …”

He arched his eyebrows.

“Another time,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes. “But I’m actually not too mad that I had one now. I was afraid I might be hit during my DADA N.E.W.T. …”

“You’re astonishingly nonchalant about it.”

She shrugged. “Can’t change it, can I? The attacks will come if I want them to or not. Best I can hope for is they interfere with my life as little as possible.”

He harrumphed. 

“It’s all right, S-” She fell silent, bit her lip. “May I …?”

He huffed. “I guess it would be a bit strange if you kept calling me Snape.”

She twisted her face. “True … Okay, then … Severus.” She swallowed, her eyes bigger than normal, as if she were waiting for an earthquake or the like. 

Hadn’t it highlighted how bizarre and odd their whole situation was, he probably would have smirked about it. 

“It’s all right,” she said again, this time forgoing his name. Instead, she reached out her hand and held it palm upwards, asking him to take it. 

And he did. Not without holding his breath for a second longer than usual, he just couldn’t help it. Although this wasn't the first time he held her hand, it was just different now. Not innocent at all anymore, but with the plan to let it grow into something else. Something … he didn't know. Maybe there would be an earthquake if he touched her again now? 

But no. There was just the slight tremble of her hand, which was so much warmer than his and soft and real, and she wanted him to hold it, and that had never happened before in his life, not really that was. He’d never held someone’s hand like this before, even though Lily hadn’t minded, but she hadn’t really sought the touch either because she’d never wanted him like he’d wanted her, and so he’d never held hands with anybody and -

“Are you cold?” Hermione asked, snapping him out of his silent frenzy.

“No,” he replied automatically, not even thinking about it, but he actually didn’t feel cold. On the contrary. He felt warm, only his hands were freezing. “I need to take my fever potion,” he then remembered and let go of her hand, needing the contact to stop, and at the same time promptly missed it when he turned to find the right vial amidst his armada of potions. When he’d found it, he turned back and … sighed, remembering that he’d misplaced his wand. “Could you …” he said awkwardly, “I don’t know where my wand is.”

“Sure!” She pulled hers from the back pocket of her trousers and cast the diagnostic. “Oh …”

Severus pinched one eye closed before he peered up. “Marvellous,” he muttered. Scratching the 39° mark again … He calculated the dose and unstoppered the vial to take it the same way he had the calming draught. It tasted even worse. “Ugh …” He grimaced. But it swiftly kicked in; he didn’t feel as warm anymore, his skin stopped feeling odd, his face cooled down, the fogginess of his brain cleared a bit. 

Hermione smiled. “I love magic,” she mumbled, then the next aftershock forced her to tilt her head back unnaturally, exposing her neck to him, her windpipe showing under her skin. 

“I rather hate it,” Severus commented softly and took her hand again to … hopefully make this a bit easier for her to endure. 

Shortly after, Hermione had lured him to sit down on the couch as well. “There’s enough space for both of us, sitting on the table can’t be comfortable.” It hadn’t been, and yet he’d have rather moved to the armchair than imposed himself on her like that. 

Because for them to both have space on the couch, she had to tuck up her legs and even then her feet were touching his thigh. It wasn’t like he minded, it was just … odd. But in a good way. 

I don’t make any bloody sense.

Anyway, he was sitting on the couch with her now and had no idea what to do when another aftershock rocked her. He’d normally have taken her hand, but he couldn’t reach it from where he was sitting, not without awkwardly leaning over her. He could touch her feet … or her ankle … But he’d never done that before and didn’t know whether she was comfortable with it, and this didn’t seem to be the right moment to ask … 

He wondered if she could sense his inner turmoil because when she’d halfway recovered from the latest uproar of the curses, she blinked and miserably asked, “Do you have enough spoons to read to me?”

“Of course,” he said, “Any wishes?”

“No. I just want to hear your voice.”

Do you? He swallowed, then he took the book he’d been reading on and off before he’d gone into withdrawal. Flicking through the pages, though, he noticed a movement from the corner of his eyes, something in front of the window. He turned around quickly, halfway expecting another stone to fly in, but it’d only been a bird. He exhaled in a huff.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just thought the rout of Skeeter fans had dug their way through Filius’ wards again, but it was a bird.”

“I don’t think they will turn up here again anytime soon. I asked Harry to send some hit wizards when you were … incapacitated. They arrested a few and collected the names of all of them, threatening to arrest the others as well if they didn’t clear out.”

“And you think that will stop them from going on our nerves?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“For a while … But Professor Flitwick’s wards put a damper on Rita as well. She actually fell for the one making your house look like it burned out.” Despite her miserable condition, Hermione smiled mischievously. “Gave me a shock when I saw the picture in the Prophet, but I absolutely loved the reader’s letters they had to print the next day, accusing her of blindly hunting for headlines and not even stopping to check the facts. They didn’t print another one of her articles since then.”

He snorted amusedly. “You didn’t perchance keep those readers’ letters?”

“You bet I did! I’ll bring them next time.”

“Please,” he said, exchanging a glance with her. His merriment didn’t last long, though. “But I don’t think she’s done with us. I’d bet my right hand she lies in wait somewhere to catch us doing something together.”

Hermione sighed. “I know. I’m contemplating contacting the chief editor of the Prophet to ask him what I have to do so they will stop publishing those articles.”

“You want to bargain?”

She shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? Harry asked Kingsley, but there are no legal means to stop them. I could sue the Prophet for publishing lies, but the Wizengamot can only sentence them to publish a correction and pay a fine. The fine would be peanuts for them, they make so much money with those articles they wouldn’t even notice. And the correction they can hide somewhere nobody will see it. And even if they make them publish it on the front page, enough people won’t believe it. The lies are out in the world. So there’s really nothing else I can do than stitch up a deal with the Prophet.” 

“You thought about that a lot,” he ascertained, frowning.

“Mh,” she hummed, “I had a lot of time while I’ve been here the last days.”

He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry I brought you into this situation.”

“What do you mean?”

He huffed softly. “It was my idea that you move here.” He gestured at the wall dividing his house from hers.

“Don’t do this,” she said, reaching out her trembling hand. He took it hesitantly. “Without you, I’d either be living with Luna and her barmy father now or trying to give Ron a berth wide enough that I’d need an entry permit from the Netherlands to go to the bathroom.”

He snorted involuntarily.

Hermione smiled. “I’m exactly where I want to be, and if that means that I need to give an interview or two to a nosy journalist, then I will do that. I’ll find a way to make Skeeter shut up.”

“I bet you do,” he mumbled and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Maybe I have something to offer for them as well …”

“Maybe. But let me try alone first. They will tear you to pieces if they get the chance.”

“Mh.”

She tightened her grasp around his fingers and let go of them then. “So, will you read to me now or …”

“As you wish,” he complied and began where he’d stopped last time, but it only took about ten minutes until she fell asleep, her mouth slightly agape and releasing tiny puffs of air in a rhythm so familiar that it gave him goosebumps. Strange, considering they’d done the exact same thing not that long ago, he reading to her, she sleeping off her latest attack, but he hadn’t paid attention to that then. Now, however … now it brought back a sense of familiarity so intense he failed to focus on his reading.

Well, maybe his own condition wasn’t helping either. Starting the day with a panic attack hadn’t been the best decision.

When his ceasing to read didn’t wake her up, he put the book aside and leaned his head back, allowing his eyes to fall closed for a while as well, although he didn’t sleep this time. He was too aware of her warm feet pressing into his thigh and her smell, the sound of her occasionally trembling hand brushing against the cushioning of the couch, how fucked they both would be if Skeeter found out about this before Hermione stitched up an agreement with the Prophet, and how fucked up he was that he still didn’t want to cancel this. 

He looked at her, gritting his teeth. She deserved so much better than him. But now that he knew she wanted him as well, he didn’t find the strength to send her away anymore. It’d been hard before, it was impossible now. 

Better get my shit together then.

Severus sat up and pulled the venom analysis closer. He’d dreadfully neglected trying to make sense of it during the last week. Admittedly, being halfway delirious had complicated the situation … Still, it was time to get back to it. He needed to find out if there was anything he could come up with to get rid of the venom circulating in his body or if his current condition was the best he could hope for. He needed to know if he would end up a nursing case within the next few years.

So he forced his sluggish brain to focus on the data and make sense of it, Hermione’s regular breathing both distracting and earthing him, keeping him going when the idea of putting the whole thing away again, because this obviously wouldn’t lead anywhere, was whispering into his ear. 

He flinched as she did when another aftershock tore through her. 

“Mhh,” she hummed, curling up harder and holding her breath.

“Breathe through it,” Severus reminded her, “don’t tense up.”

“Easier said than done,” she whimpered, but tried to do as he had said. “Fucking hell …” She grimaced, blinked at him. “Sorry.”

He huffed. “No better words to describe it.”

She trembled through another ten or fifteen seconds, then the spasm waned. Slumping, she took a deep breath. “And I was really hesitating to turn Ginny down for today …”

“You wanted to meet?”

“Yes, after lunch.” She struggled to sit up. “Before she returns to Hogwarts. I hope we’ll manage at the weekend, I want to talk with her about … Ron and all of that.” She rubbed her face. “What are you doing?”

“The venom …”

“Oh, right … I thought about something the other day.”

He arched his eyebrows, finally putting the piece of parchment he’d still been holding back down.

“What Beeky has said, about human magic being edgy … What if she meant that literally? What if she meant it was sharp-edged? Because …” Hermione began leafing through the stack of parchments and pulled one out that showed a line graph illustrating the analysis. “I made an analysis of my own magic, and when I compared them, the venom’s graph reminded me of music.”

“Music?” he echoed incredulously. 

“I know, but let me explain! When I was a child, my parents wanted me to do one kind of sport and learn to play one instrument instead of just reading my way through our local library. So I was taught to read notes and understand music a bit, and this -” She pointed at the graph. “- feels a bit like it. It flows, you know? Every action melts into the next like every part of a piece of music needs a transition into another. Looking at the graph of my magic, it felt a lot more like … poetry? Words strung up together, each one of them with a clearly defined beginning and ending. It makes a whole, but each part stands for its own.” She bit her lip and searched his gaze. “Does that make sense?”

“Maybe.”

She nodded. “Okay. So I thought … What if you just ignore the transition parts in the elf magic?” She put her finger on the parchment, hiding one part of the graph. “This looks a bit more like a human magic analysis, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s not perfect but … Maybe close enough to work with it?”

Frowning, Severus took the parchment from her and tried to see what she meant. Then he took a blank piece of parchment and carefully tore it into strips he could use to cover every part of the graph that irritated him the most. What remained indeed looked a lot more like the graphs he knew. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he mumbled.

“You had a lot going on. And I struggled so much learning to read notes, that has to be good for something, right?” 

He smirked. “Did you choose piano lessons?”

“No. I chose the violin, mainly because I didn’t want a piano to stand around in the living room reminding my parents that I needed to practise. I could hide the violin under my bed …” She grinned. 

“Merlin, you’re such a toff …”

“Hey!”

He chuckled a dark laugh, seeing her indignation melt from her face to make place for … He met her eyes and suddenly, the moment became unexpectedly intense, intense enough that he found himself holding his breath.

“Gods, I’d love to kiss you right now,” Hermione whispered eventually, her voice a bit husky.

Fuck. He looked away. “No, you wouldn’t. I didn’t even brush my teeth …”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she shrugged. “But I want you to want it too this time, so … don’t worry.” She softly bumped her shoulder against his, smiling.

He nodded. “What kind of sport did you choose?”

“Guess!”

“Athletics.”

“No.”

“Horse riding.”

“No!” she chuckled.

“Fencing?”

“Nope.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Well, it can’t be chess. I’ve seen you play with Weasley and you’ve been a lousy player …”

“Rude! But you’re right, it wasn’t chess.” She grinned, then she stood up. “While you think about that, I’ll go and make us the breakfast I’ve initially come over for.” 

“Wait, I’ll help you.” He put the parchments aside and grabbed his cane to get up.

She shot him a slightly wobbly smile. “Perfect,” she said and held out her hand for him. 

And this time, it felt a bit more natural to take it.

Chapter Text

They worked in silence to get the breakfast ready, Severus making scrambled eggs, Hermione preparing tea and toast, just casting each other glances and smiling awkwardly. 

As they were sitting down to eat, the owl hopped onto Hermione’s shoulder and earned herself another piece of toast for her cheekiness. 

“You’re spoiling her,” Severus said softly.

“I’m just making up for you not even giving her a name,” she cooed at the owl and scratched her head. 

Severus huffed. “Well, go on and give her one yourself then!”

Hermione looked at him. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Her eyes lit up, and she laughed when the owl began nibbling at her hair. “I’ll think of something,” she said, “promise!” And with another piece of toast, the owl hopped back onto her perch, holding it in one paw to eat it without spreading too many crumbs on the floor. “Do you mind if I take a banana?” Hermione asked.

“Why should I? Technically, they’re still yours anyway.”

“Nonsense,” she muttered, “t’was just a few quid. By the way, I thought, maybe we should just take turns paying for our groceries? It’s always such a hassle to split the bill and …” 

Severus gritted his teeth. 

She shrugged, the first hint of a blush returning to her cheeks. “Dunno, just thought it might be easier.”

“No,” he said, pushing some scrambled eggs across his plate, “I don’t want you to pay for my groceries.”

“But I wouldn’t! Or rather, next time you’d pay for mine, so -”

“No!” He cast her a glance that made her gulp and him look away again quickly. 

“Okay,” she said with an edge of annoyance, “was just a thought.” 

Severus briefly closed his eyes while she got up to get her banana. Gods, he was fucking this up already, wasn’t he? He took a breath to apologise, but turning to her, he noticed her looking at something on the worktop. The moment he realised it was his therapist’s bill, she tore her eyes away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to -”

“No,” he mumbled and got up as well. He turned the letter around. “I shouldn’t have let it lie around.”

Hermione tapped her fingers against the splotchy skin of the banana. “I … didn’t know you're going to therapy.”

“I was,” he corrected her. “Promised Healer Sanders to take five sessions. I’m done with them now.”

“Oh, okay.” She looked up at him. 

“What?” he sneered, “Think I should take some more?”

She frowned. “I think it’s unfair of you to impute such notions to me.”

Yes, he was absolutely fucking this up already. “I’m sorry.”

“Mh.” Gnawing on the inside of her lip, she looked at the stupid banana, not saying a single word more. 

“Canoeing?” he eventually broke the silence. 

She huffed, smiling. “No. And neither was it rowing.” 

“Pity.”

She pursed her lips, still smiling. Then her expression sobered. “Was she nice?”

“Who?”

“The therapist.” Hermione swallowed thickly.

“I guess so. Why?”

She shrugged and finally returned to her chair. “It’s been a rough year … years, really, and now this whole curse damage issue … I thought maybe … dunno.” She brushed her hand across her forehead, then she began peeling her banana determinedly. “Never mind.”

“No.” He took the bill and carefully tore the address off. “You can contact her via Floo as well if you prefer.”

Her mouth full of banana, Hermione shook her head. “No, letter is fine,” she eventually said, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” I don’t plan to return anyway.

They sat together for some minutes more, and when silence began to bear down on them uncomfortably, Severus tried to think of something to say, something to get a conversation going, but his brain was sluggish and his eyelids heavy, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to be alone.

Maybe he’d thought about that hard enough that the message reached Hermione despite remaining unspoken because he winced when she suddenly said, “You look like you’re running out of spoons.”

That he needed several seconds to understand she wasn’t talking about his cutlery probably only endorsed her statement. “Yes, it’s … not my best day.”

She smiled mirthlessly. “I know what you mean. Thank you that I still could be here.” She pushed the chair back, the scratching against the floor loud enough that he tensed up against that sound.

“You can always be here,” he mumbled and followed her to the backdoor, one hand always on the worktop. 

“Can I?” she almost whispered and looked up at him. Her eyes were still reddened and tired, searching for something in his he probably wouldn’t be able to give her. 

He’d never been able to give people what they were searching for.

“Of course.” I’m just an idiot most of the time, please don’t hate me. Following an impulse, he leaned down, actually intending to kiss her but losing his nerves last second, turning it into a peck on the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine!” she quickly said, touching the spot where his lips had been. “May I … May I hug you?”

He nodded jerkily, and his eyes fell closed the moment she enveloped her arms around his torso and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. He heard her inhale deeply and felt allowed to do the same. Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach when her scent filled his nose and blew a fuse in his brain. His arms acted on their own, hugging her back, and hadn’t he stood leaning against the edge of the worktop, his legs turning into rubber would have posed a serious problem. 

I love you, he thought, fuck, I love you …

He gulped that notion down, and she disentangled herself from him. “I don’t want to keep you up any longer. I need to study anyway else I’m going to screw up my exam.”

“You’re physically unable to screw up an exam.”

“Liar.”

“An E is not screwed up, Hermione.”

“Oh, but it is for me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You really need therapy.”

“Ha ha!” She pouted at him, but her pursed lips quickly curved back into a smile he’d never before seen on her face the day after an attack. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

“Ditto.” He brushed his thumb along her face and then nodded for her to leave. 

Yet he watched her return home until the last tail of her shirt had disappeared through her door. 

Severus all but blacked out on the couch, initially intending to play around with Hermione’s idea regarding the venom a bit more, but quickly finding that he couldn't even see the letters clearly, they just blurred into each other. Sighing, he lay down and rubbed his tender eyes, inhaling the faint echo of Hermione's scent clinging to his shirt after hugging her. 

It was like a warm hand in his own when his overstimulated mind led him back to the bloody door. The rattle grew louder as the beast lurking behind it revolted again, stronger than ever before, and the door was just about to spring open when something caused him to startle from his slumber.

“Severus?”

Taking a deep breath, he held it until his pulse had calmed down a bit, then he exhaled slowly. 

“Severus!”

“Yes,” he muttered and tore his itching eyes open to look over to the fireplace. Minerva’s face was sitting amidst the green flames, looking around for him. But from her point of view, he was probably hidden behind the table. 

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said again, still contemplating whether it was worth it to sit up. “Why?”

“I was worried. When Padky brought you your lunch, he found you passed out on the couch and given what you just went through …”

What I just went through? He sat up. “What do you mean, what I went through?” he asked, making eye contact with her.

She exhaled in a huff, seeing him. “Well, I tried to contact you the other day and was surprised to see that only Miss Granger was able to answer my Floo call.” She sniffed, piqued. “She told me about your latest foolish plan.”

He curled his lip, muttering, “Foolish plan …”

“Why yes! Do you really always have to be hell-bent on doing things the hard way? Would it have been so bad to go about this more slowly?”

“When I last checked, that was none of your business,” Severus said and brushed his hand down his face, trying to rub some of sleep’s tendrils away. 

“But it is Miss Granger’s when you make her take care of you.”

“I didn’t make her do anything! She decided to play nurse. So no, it was none of her business either!”

“Still, Severus, you -”

“What do you want?” he interrupted her, his pulse once again beating faster, although for another reason. 

She looked at him, displeased. “I just wanted to check if you’re all right. It’s been a couple of weeks since we talked after all.”

Didn’t miss you. “As you see, I’m splendid.”

“Mh,” she hummed, “you should cast a charm if you attempt to get through with such a blatant lie.”

He groaned. “Are you only here to argue with me, Minerva? Because I don’t have the strength for that today.”

“No,” she sighed, “no, I’m not here to argue. Do you need anything? Can I help you somehow?”

“No. Not more than you already are, that is. I’ll go and eat lunch in a minute.”

She nodded. “Okay. I wish I could come over for a bit, but it’s all go here at the moment. I’m not sure we’ll be done to reopen next week …”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Not your fault.”

Yes, it is.

“I’ll leave you in peace then. Please reach out if I can help you in any way!”

“I will,” he said, and even halfway meant it. 

Still, when the green flames had died out, he took a dose of calming draught, slumped back onto the couch and closed his eyes. Lunch could wait.

He slept another hour or two, without nightmares this time, until his grumbling stomach woke him up. Nevertheless, it took him another half hour until he found the strength to get up and shuffle into the kitchen. The owl watched him with one eye while he inspected the lunch Minerva had sent. Some kind of casserole? He wasn’t sure, he didn’t care, just ate with little to no appetite and felt eerily lonely after having breakfast with Hermione only once. 

How was he supposed to survive the end of their something? His therapist really hadn’t understood him one bit. Good thing he wouldn’t return to her.

When he was done eating, he snatched a piece of parchment and scribbled a short missive for Gringotts that he then tied to the owl’s leg. “You can stay in the wild after that if you like,” he said, giving her a dead mouse and some head scratches before he opened the backdoor for her. 

A gust of wind billowed into the kitchen, warm but not unbearably so, and he thought he could smell the first edge of autumn. 

The end of August. He hadn’t thought he’d see this month, now he was even seeing it pass and melt into September. 

A tingly feeling, like ants crawling across his skin, made him roll his shoulders. This time last year … He gulped down hard, stopping his lunch from seeing the daylight again. This time last year, he’d alternated between panic attacks and hard Occlumency and the only thoughts keeping him somewhat going had been protecting the students as best he could, telling Potter what he needed to know, and the certainty that he wouldn’t see another first of September ever again. 

He huffed and leaned his forehead against the door frame as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed through him. Hadn’t he taken the calming draught, this would have been another panic attack. 

Maybe Euphoria Elixir was the lesser of two evils after all …

But he wouldn’t go back to taking it. He wouldn’t do a withdrawal like that ever again.

And no slow one either!

Instead, he would just have to be more disciplined. Do the things he knew were right, no matter how he felt. He’d done that for almost twenty years, surely he could do it again. 

And the first right thing to do was to take a bloody shower. He had absolutely no idea how Hermione had stood hugging him earlier today, he smelled like a polecat. 

So he went upstairs to get some fresh clothes, finding that he needed to do the laundry as soon as he had some magical energy left for it, and contemplated whether to take his wand – which indeed was still lying on his bedstand – downstairs or not. In the end, he took it and crossed the backyard, barefoot as he still was. 

Had Hermione even noticed?

Had she cared?

Not enough to not want to kiss me …

Despite himself, he smirked briefly. 

The water was welcome on his skin, warm but not hot, and even he was relieved when the clean scent of his shampoo filled his nostrils. He had to lean against the wall, cleaning himself, but he didn’t mind all too much. Only when he spread his body wash over himself and got to his nether regions, he remembered what had happened the other day.

Looking down, he fondled his limp cock, waiting to see what it would do. The rushing of the water filled his ears, rinsed his hair to hang around his face and dripped from the tip of his nose.

Nothing. 

Grimacing, he closed his eyes, thinking back to the dreams he’d had – albeit with a bad conscience. He was sure there was a special place in hell reserved for people who put the face of a young woman on a generic naked body to see if their cock would deign to react. 

Which it didn’t. 

Strangely, though, he felt the soft tingle of arousal, and his breathing got a bit harder – contrary to his member, which stubbornly remained hanging limp between his fondling fingers. 

“Fuck,” he muttered and turned off the shower. 

That would be something he’d need to talk about with Hermione, right? 

Yeah … 

He buried his burning face in a towel and rubbed his hair viciously. 

But when?

When did you sit down with a person you’re trying to build a something with and tell them, “By the way, I might be impotent. Yeah, completely. No, I don’t think that’ll change. Sure, potions are an option, but honestly, I have no idea what those will do to me. Given the circumstances, they might kill me. But even if they don’t, say goodbye to spontaneous sex. So … I hope you like cuddles?”

He groaned in frustration, sinking onto the toilet. And sitting there, feeling the familiar seat pressing against his posterior, was enough to trigger his bladder. “Bloody perfect,” he muttered, looking down at the current thorn in his side as if he would be able to see the pee streaming out. But of course, there was nothing; the charm vanished everything. His cock only twitched slightly when he pushed a bit to strengthen the slowing stream to get this over with. 

Eventually, he exhaled and stood back up to get dressed, shaved, and his bloody teeth brushed. The entire about twenty minutes felt like they would never end, like crossing hell, and as if bursting into tears would be a valid strategy to deal with the situation, but he got it done and actually felt a bit better.

Halfway human again. And not like he needed to peel his skin off his body to ever feel clean again. 

Damn. That meant he would have to do it again, right? And regularly. Ugh.

After dumping his worn clothes in the laundry bin, he snatched his cane and left the privy - 

- only to find Hermione sitting on the lintel of her backdoor again, getting some rays of sunshine while studying for her stupid N.E.W.T.s. Gods, how was he supposed to talk with her about his latest problem? It would only be fair to do it soon, right? To give her a choice before their something became too serious.

Or maybe he should talk with Healer Sanders first? Maybe he could take potions. Wouldn’t be ideal but … 

Or he finally sat down to figure out a way to get that venom out of his body and solve the cause of the problem! He would have to talk with nobody then. He would only have to stave off Hermione for long enough. 

Yeah, that … yes. 

Swallowing thickly, he hid his thoughts behind a bit of Occlumency and said, “I give you a Galleon for every piece of information in that book you didn’t already know,” while pushing the door closed and leaning against it with a smug look.

She smirked, raising her eyes to him. “Then you owe me … six Galleons already.”

“Defence strategies on extinct magical beasts do not count.”

“I’m reading about the rules and regulations in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” She lifted the book so he could read the title.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

She chuckled and folded it shut. “You look better.”

“You too.”

“Mh,” she hummed, “I slept a while and took some potions.”

“What a surprise,” he began, pushing off the door and going to her, sitting down in the same spot he’d sat yesterday. Only now she wasn’t crying but smiling in a way that could only be called sheepish. “That’s exactly what I did.”

She clicked her tongue. “Always a disappointment if what the healers say would help, actually does, isn’t it?”

He hummed and took the hand she offered him, watching her lace her fingers with his. He swallowed when she brushed her thumb against his skin. “You do know they won’t question you on the DMLE, don’t you?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

“Theoretically?” She hunched her shoulders. “But I like to be prepared. And …” she pursed her lips. “Okay, this might sound a bit paranoid but a part of me is afraid they might ask some unfair questions because of … I don’t know, Rita’s articles, the fact I helped Harry, the fact I’m a Muggle-born, the fact I asked for special treatment or all of that combined. I just feel as if there was a non-zero chance of them trying to mess with me just because they can.” She frowned. “Do I sound bonkers?”

He mirrored her frown. “I wish I could say yes …” But given the current political climate and the war they’d just ended, he couldn’t. Nobody knew how many sympathisers of the Dark Lord were still in office because they'd been clever enough to keep their mouths shut about it.

She nodded, sighing, tightening her grasp around his fingers. “And that’s why I read about the rules and regulations in the DMLE.”

“Just don’t overdo it. You can’t afford to risk another attack, that N.E.W.T. isn’t worth it.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He nodded.

“Although I think we shouldn’t see each other tomorrow. I tend to be a bit … annoying … the day before an exam. Don’t want to ruin this -” She discarded her book on her lap to let her finger sway back and forth between them. “- by going on your nerves before you fully committed to me.”

He huffed, amused. “You underestimate my willingness to kick you out.”

“Touché,” she grinned, and he was relieved to see her blush return.

“But I’m fine with letting you go through your pre-exam meltdown on your own as long as you take care of yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want me to start now or -”

“No! I need a break anyway.” She bit her lip and leaned against him.

And when her head came to rest against his shoulder, he turned his towards hers. 

Severus was still contemplating whether he could risk kissing her crown when Hermione’s half-Kneazle burst through some greenery next to her privy. He growled at the bush, then he came sauntering over. 

“Hey, Crooks,” she said and pulled her hand from Severus’ to scratch the creature’s head. 

It acquiesced for a moment, then he eyed Severus, sniffed at his legs, and growled again.

“Be nice, Crooks,” Hermione said.

Severus arched an eyebrow at him. 

Crookshanks narrowed his yellow eyes, then he marched a bit down the house and flopped down on the sun-warmed flagstone. 

“He likes you,” Hermione beamed.

“Wait until he finds out you’ve been flirting with my owl.”

“I’ve actually been flirting with you.”

“Have you?” It sounded about fifty per cent needy, which was decidedly too much.

“I have. I’m just not very good at it, so … And I’m doing it right now as well, just so you know.” She looked up at him, her blush deepening and her hand finding his again.

Oh god … “F-Figure skating?” he blurted.

She stumbled. “What?”

Severus gulped. “The sport you’ve done …” 

“Oh … no.” She smiled and lowered her eyes. “I’d have been bruised all over had someone put me on ice skates.”

“Better not then.” He cleared his throat, heat accumulating in the back of his neck, and let go of her hand. “I should return to the venom analysis, see what comes of it if I apply your idea.”

“Right. And I have to read this book.”

He got up and took the cane he’d leaned against the wall. “Will you come over before you set off for the Ministry on Wednesday?”

“Um, sure.” She smiled again, it was unnerving.

So Severus nodded jerkily and turned to flee. Merlin, he was fucking this up royally … 

Chapter Text

Severus had always prided himself on his wit. On being able to see at first glance if an incantation would work or how to improve a potion. It was something he’d done since he’d been old enough to understand the first bits of magical theory and the basics of potions, so before he’d even started Hogwarts.

Now, however, one war and an almost deadly snake bite later, he felt as if Gilderoy Lockhart’s soul had reincarnated into his body.

Or no, not Lockhart; he’d nail the whole thing with Hermione if it were Lockhart. Wormtail! Bloody Wormtail reincarnated into his body, and now he was too dumb even to read some numbers out correctly!

Groaning, he ripped the sheet of paper he’d been scribbling on, trying to get the Arithmantic straight, off the pad and crumpled it up to start anew. It wasn’t the first time he did that; there was a pile of paper balls strewn all over the table and partly on the floor, promising him a hell of a time getting them back up and throwing them away properly later.

But when later came, he couldn’t be arsed to do anything like that. Instead, he took his potions and went to bed, albeit not without hesitating before he stepped onto the bottommost stair. Swallowing thickly, he looked at the wall behind which Hermione was probably still sitting on the couch, working her way through half a dozen books nobody would ever question her on, after all, it was only half past eight. He contemplated going over, craving her closeness, her smile, her voice.

Then he thought about how rotten his mood was and how … panicked he’d reacted earlier this day and stepped up to get to bed. There was nothing more to gain today.

And because he wasn't ready to spend another day like that, he rigged his cards the next morning and took a Strengthening Solution he shouldn’t have taken because he didn’t eat enough. But nobody was stopping him, and one bloody dose wouldn’t kill him; he wasn’t that underweight! 

He huffed as the potion kicked in, baffled by how much better he felt. It had been so damn long since he last qualified for a Strengthening Solution that he’d almost forgotten about that. 

So, before he sat down to work on that venom project again, he got a load of laundry from upstairs, made himself a pot of coffee, and threw away all of his failed attempts still littering the floor. When he was done eating breakfast to ease his guilty conscience a bit, he rewarded himself with a glass of whisky, the last bit that was left in his bottle, and took it into the living room to get some calculations done. 

And really, the numbers suddenly began working out!

Almost.

But almost was the best he could hope for, considering the way he was analysing the graphs. Omitting data would never get him perfect results – omitting no data, however, would give him no results, so for once, he decided to settle for second best. 

He lost himself in his work as he always did, forgetting time and space. It was only the pop of Minerva’s house-elf Apparating in the kitchen that snapped him out of his haze. 

He blinked and looked up, first at the kitchen door, then at the clock to find that it was indeed past twelve already. His coffee had long gone cold, sporting an oily shimmering surface, and he didn’t quite remember when he’d emptied his whisky. 

His gaze jumped back to the door as a wrinkly face with huge ears peeked around the corner. “Send Minerva my regards,” Severus said; she probably deserved it after their last talk.

“Yes, sir,” the elf answered and popped away again. 

Frowning, Severus looked down at his notes. He’d scribbled down potion ingredients that might react the way he wanted them with the venom on the side of his paper, so tightly nobody else but him would understand what he meant. Another dozen or so arithmantic calculations he’d have to do before he could even think of composing a recipe. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his itching eyes. Maybe a break would be in order. And maybe he should use it to eat lunch.

The pasta Hogwarts’ kitchens had prepared for today tasted like cardboard, though, spoiled by the empty chair he was forced to look at due to the layout of the kitchen. How ridiculous! She’d only been here once to share a meal with him! He scowled at the chair, then he got up and fetched a book, allowing him to look at something else while he filled the hole that was his stomach. 

And because his brain demanded a longer break than his lunch provided him with, Severus checked whether people were hiding on the street waiting to ambush him and – as the spell came back negative – decided to go to the off-licence to get himself a new bottle of whisky and some snacks. 

It was the first time in quite a while that he attempted to leave the house through the front door, though, and he didn’t expect his body’s reaction to be quite so visceral. Suddenly, he was a student at Hogwarts again. He pinched his eyes closed, for a moment, back in his fifteen-year-old body, peering down the halls left and right, only minutes away from the start of class. His pulse was racing as if he were entering a war zone, enemies and threats everywhere, the only halfway safe place his common room. Then his heart skipped a beat, he gripped his wand harder, clenched his teeth, every minuscule sound or movement making him wince. 

Gulping, he tore his eyes open and went back inside, needed a moment to take a deep breath, and another one, and took a dose of his calming draught before he tried again. This time, he could manage. Still alert but not slipping back into a time long gone. 

When he later bagged up his purchase, he wondered if this moment would end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet despite his checking the street first. He wouldn’t put it past Skeeter to have hidden herself from being detected by a Homenum revelio, and leaving the shop, there was a prickle in the back of his neck that was either nerves or some pictures being taken.

Well, guess I’ll find out. 

He tried to focus on some positive aspects of his little trip going back home, busying his mind, making his therapist proud. He savoured the warmth of the sun that wasn’t scorching anymore and listened to the songbird, even had a little chat with the man behind the counter at the off-licence about the brand of whisky he’d chosen. That it wasn’t a particularly popular one and that he mainly kept a bottle or two in stock just because of Severus and another customer. 

That turned out to be something his brain chewed on like a dog on a bone. The fact that someone Severus didn’t know, not even vaguely, not even as the man from the off-licence because he’d never paid enough attention to him, actually recognised him, Severus, as a customer whose preferences he not only knew but kept in mind when he did his orders. Strange … 

He drank that second glass of whisky with another kind of attention to the alcohol and the familiar taste spreading in his mouth. 

And flinched when there was a knock on his backdoor. Huffing, he put the glass away and went to open it.

“What if I fail the exam?” Hermione blurted before he could even open his mouth, her chest rising and falling in quick succession, her hair pinned up by her wand, and her face splotched with black ink. There was a mad glint in her eyes, amplified by the shadows underlying them.

He blinked. “You won’t.”

“I know!” she hissed, “But what if?”

“You won’t,” he repeated.

She exhaled in a puff, but her bout of annoyance melted into desperation within seconds. “But what if?” she said again miserably.

He hunched his shoulders. “You won’t. And I won’t partake in your catastrophising.”

She sniffled, gnawing on her lip like her life depended on it.

Severus reached out to gently pull the tender flesh from between her teeth. “I don’t have Dittany, so please stop this.”

“I have Dittany,” she mumbled and pulled the vial from her pocket.

“I still don’t want you to bleed all over my kitchen floor.”

“Okay.” She sniffled again, the sleeves of her too-large shirt falling over her hands and specked with ink as well, her baggy trousers looking suspiciously like pyjama pants, and today she was the one being barefoot.

Really, she looked utterly adorable, and that wasn’t a word Severus used lightly. 

“Do you want to come in?” he asked with a hint of a smile.

“Yes, please.” She brushed her hand along her nose and slipped in past him.

“Whisky?” Severus drawled.

“What?”

He went to hold up his glass.

“Oh. I … don’t know. I don’t usually drink …”

“Maybe you should start then,” he assessed and poured her a bit, it was just enough to cover the bottom of the glass, and put it down on the kitchen table, on the side he’d deemed hers after she’d only sat there eating with him once.

Then he took his own glass and slumped into his chair. 

“I’m not sure what to think about this,” Hermione mumbled, yet she sat down as well and took the glass to sniff it. “Hm. Are you even allowed to drink alcohol?”

“Didn’t ask.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Am I allowed to drink alcohol?” she then asked, more to herself.

Severus watched her amusedly. Only the fact that she probably was short of panicking spoiled his mood. An attack the night before her exam was probably the only thing that could make her fail that blasted exam. 

He blinked when she looked up at him again and shrugged. “Once will do no harm, right?”

“Right,” he said in a dark voice and forbade his smile from widening, watching her toss back her whisky in one gulp.

Her face soured at once, and she pressed a hand against her mouth and swallowed thickly. “Oh god, that’s disgusting!” She jumped up and almost stumbled over his feet on her way to the sink, where she drank some water straight from the tap. 

A dark rumbling laugh shook Severus, watching her, and her scowl didn’t help matters.

“That’s not funny!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, it is from my position.” Licking his lips, he took his glass and sipped it.

Hermione huffed. “You did that on purpose!”

“I obviously succeeded in getting you out of your pending panic.”

She harrumphed and dried her hands on a tea towel. “Ugh, I’m warm.” Grasping the collar of her shirt, she fanned herself, some stray curls of hair fluttering around her flushed face. 

He chuckled again.

“You’re in a surprisingly good mood today,” she ascertained.

“Took a Strengthening Solution and got some stuff done.”

“Mmh, I see.” She smiled. “Fancy having dinner together?”

“I thought we shouldn’t see each other today?”

“Well, I’m here already, right? And I’m sure my panic’s waiting for me next door …” She grimaced.

Bet it is. But not spending another evening alone would probably do him good as well, considering he had a full bottle of whisky at hand. “All right, then.”

In the end, Hermione stayed so long, discussing his theories regarding the venom and even helping him do some calculations, that she fell asleep on his couch. 

Severus looked at her, smiling, contemplating whether he should wake her up or … But sending her home would probably only result in her brain starting to spiral again. Knowing her, she would spend the whole night either catastrophising or reading the umpteenth book she wouldn’t need.

So he decided to let her sleep. Got a blanket and spread it over her before taking his potions and retreating upstairs. 

Despite taking a Dreamless-Sleep, his night turned out kind of restless, though, as if he were only half asleep the whole time, maybe too aware of Hermione sleeping on his couch. Hermione … But at least the dreamless part of the potion delivered what it promised, and even not fast asleep, he seemed to get some rest because, honestly, he’d begun enough days feeling worse. 

Since Hermione was most likely still lying on his couch sleeping, he even got himself out of bed without staring at the ceiling for two hours. She needed to be on time, and there was no chance she’d set herself a timer. So it was on him to wake her up and he definitely should give her an hour to get ready so … he had to get the fuck up.

She was knotted into the blanket he’d provided her with, her right arm hanging down the side of the couch and her hair tangled, half-hiding her face. Her puffs of air were deep and regular, and Severus huffed softly when he noticed her naked feet stuffed into a crevice of the couch seeking some warmth.

His knees cracked when he sat down on the table again and reached out to first brush the nest of hair from her face, then he caressed her cheek until she blinked and smacked her lips. “You need to get up,” he said in a dark voice and ignoring her groaning, he added, “You have to be in the Ministry in an hour.”

She froze, then she snapped her eyes open wide. “What?!”

But before he got a chance to repeat what he’d said, she jumped up and almost toppled to the ground. It was only due to Severus quickly reaching for her arm that spared her the fate of starting her day with a good amount of bruise salve. 

“Bollocks!” she cursed, then softer, “Thank you!” and louder again, “Bloody hell, let me go!” at the blanket, that had virtually knotted her into its clutches. 

“Breathe!” Severus chuckled, “Or you’ll end up with an attack and not in the Ministry.”

She clenched her teeth, but the non-verbal answer to his brazen suggestions was so loud he could almost hear it. Yet she nodded. “You’re right, of course you are … I wish you weren’t, but …” She gave him a false smile and disentangled herself from the blanket. “Thank you.”

Then she hurried off, and Severus looked after her, shaking his head. What have I done, falling for her of all people?

After a quick shower and some last-minute revisions, she was standing in front of him, still chewing on a piece of buttered toast he’d compelled her to eat, her hair still damp and her blouse buttoned up wrong. He nodded at it, and she fixed it with a spell that came so easily and naturally that it stung to see, but he still smiled because you did that in a situation like this, right?

“You’ll be doing good,” he said.

“I will, will I?”

“Yes.”

She exhaled slowly. “Can you hug me?”

He mumbled something, unintelligible even for him, and opened his left arm for her, his right occupied with the cane. She slung hers around him, her face once again hidden in the crook of his neck. “I wish you could come with me,” she mumbled.

“You don’t need me.”

She stepped back, looking at him earnestly. “Yes, I do. But somehow I’ll manage on my own.”

“Minerva will be there.”

“She’s not you.”

Thank Merlin! But he didn’t say that out loud.

“May I come back here after my exam?” she asked.

“Could anything keep you away?” It was meant as an ironic remark, but didn’t quite hit the right tone of voice.

So he probably shouldn’t be surprised that Hermione said, “Yes. You not wanting me to come.”

He occluded against a blush that was trying to conquer his face. “You can always come here,” he repeated what he’d said the other day already. It was true. And she deserved to hear it. 

Promptly, she teared up and nodded, her lips clamped shut. “Gosh, this is so ridiculous,” she then burst out, laughing and sniffling. “I’d better get going. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck, you have your brain.” Clearly not what she’d wanted to hear, judging by her frenzied nod. And because this was one moment too many to fuck up he gave in to his instinct, stepped into her way and – 

“Oh!” 

– kissed her. 

It wasn’t a long kiss, nor was it a particularly passionate one, but it was one he wanted and one she wanted, right? At least he hoped she did. Gods, hopefully, she wasn’t gasping out of indignation! 

His blush had won the fight by the time Severus ended the kiss, more a peck, really, and mumbled, “Good luck,” against her lips before he withdrew to let her go.

The only redeeming factor of this whole situation was that her cheeks were at least as blushed as his so he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward and borderline humiliated and maybe as if he’d committed a crime because she might not have wanted this and because she was Hermione Granger and his former student and twenty years his junior and -

“Thank you, um … yeah I …” she murmured, snapping him out of his own catastrophising back into the harsh reality, and shaking her head, she stepped into the fireplace to finally be whirled away. Maybe she would only be a minute or two late … 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered and went to slump onto the couch.

Considering Hermione was the one sitting an exam and not him, Severus was shockingly restless, though. 

Since he’d had two proper meals yesterday – thanks to Hermione – he’d actually been fine to take a Strengthening Solution today and had done so to get some more work done while she was away. But his brain refused to comply with his intentions, adamant to replay the kiss over and over again. 

Had he been intrusive? He’d pretty much caught her off-guard, certainly she hadn’t wanted to be kissed right before she had to go and sit a bloody exam!

Gods, he’d fucked it up again, hadn’t he?

Groaning, he rubbed his face, abandoning his work and going outside to get his laundry off the line. 

But she didn’t seem angry when she left. Not even annoyed. Just … puzzled? So maybe … 

And how had she been supposed to react to that anyway? She’d been running out of time because he’d only woken her an hour before she had to be at the Ministry! She’d not exactly had the opportunity to put him in his place, had she?

He scowled at his briefs that he’d hung on the second line, hidden by his shirts and trousers from Hermione’s view. 

Merlin, what had he been thinking? 

He used some magic to levitate the basket back into the kitchen and sat down to fold his clothes. 

But then again … She’d kissed him out of the blue as well, so maybe … 

Something akin to nausea bubbled in his stomach, like vinegar mixed with baking soda. He got himself a whisky to soothe it. It almost worked. 

Half past ten. She had to be mostly done with the written part of the exam. How long was the practical part again? An hour? And would she wait for her results? Did they check her written exam while she was doing the practical part?

And why the hell didn’t he know those things?! 

Exhaling slowly, he pressed the cold glass against his forehead. 

She wouldn’t get the result today, he remembered when his whirling thoughts had regained some structure. So she probably wouldn’t wait for anything in the Ministry as soon as she was done. Meaning she would return in about two hours. 

Enough time to replay his rash kiss for another one hundred and twenty minutes.

Splendid.

He was furiously scratching out some lines of calculations when Hermione Apparated straight into his living room, causing him to flinch violently.

She did the same, though for completely different reasons. “Bugger!” she muttered and yet she beamed at him while she grasped the mantelpiece to stay on her feet. “I did it! Mhh, damn those curses! But I did it! And it was – oh!” Her knees buckled, but she caught herself. “It was as easy as pie!”

Severus had snatched his cane and approached her, afraid she might lose her balance after all. “I’m glad to hear,” he said, “but why did you Apparate if there’s a perfectly functioning fireplace?” He guided her to the armchair.

She slumped into it, dissolving into shudders, now she didn’t have to stay standing anymore. “Lines for the fireplaces were crowded, I got impatient.”

“Stupid witch,” he chided her and crouched down, put his cane on the floor and took her right hand to massage it.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, “it’s just an echo.”

“A painful echo,” he corrected, “and an unnecessary echo!”

She sighed in relief when the tremor passed. “It got me here at least half an hour earlier, so I’d argue that.” She raised her free hand and touched his face to make him look at her instead of her fingers. “I did it,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “I’m not inept.”

He swallowed thickly. “Of course you’re not.” That role was reserved for him. “I told you all the time.”

“You did,” she agreed. “But I’m afraid you will have to tell me eight times more.”

“Eight? How many bloody N.E.W.T.s do you plan to get?”

“Well, nine.” She grinned. “I want at least as much as you have.”

“I have seven, so you can scratch two from your list.”

She mock-gasped. “And here I was, thinking I’d found the only other real swot Hogwarts has ever seen …”

“Watch your tongue,” he mumbled half-heartedly.

She sniffled and her eyes darted to his lips and back up to his eyes. “Make me,” she whispered.

Slightly swaying in his crouched position, he grabbed the armrest and gulped, the ungodly mixture of vinegar and baking soda in his stomach bubbling over at last. 

Yet he leaned closer and met her halfway to do properly what he’d half-arsed right before she left – he kissed her. Hesitantly at first, but when she didn’t move, he got more confident and traced his tongue along her lips until she parted them.

Oh god … His pulse shot up, and Severus let his knees hit the floor when she grasped his face to keep him in position, and as her tongue met his, he moaned involuntarily.

Fuck!

But it felt as if she were smiling, so he blindly searched for her face and slid his hand into her hair, his fingers tracing along her neck and brushing her ear while he tilted his head a bit to deepen the kiss. 

Please don’t stop …

But at some point, she did. With a last peck, she withdrew, her face blushed crimson, and her lips swollen and glistening from their mingled saliva. “Well, that was a kiss …” she mumbled, grinning.

“Well …” He gulped and rubbed his lips against each other as if trying to hold on to her taste. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he then added and set about getting back onto his feet.

“Don’t be,” she said, “I was just … surprised.”

“Mh.”

“And in a hurry.”

“It was the worst time to …” He grimaced from the pain shooting through his knees and back.

“No, it was lovely! I thought about it all the time, that’s why I needed to Apparate.”

He was panting when he finally stood on his feet again and nodded a distressed thanks when she leaned down to give him his cane. “And yet you did it,” he stated at last.

“Yeah …” She smiled blearily, her lips still tinted red from what they’d just done, and her eyes ghosting across his face as if she couldn’t wait to do it again. 

Neither could he, if he was being honest.

But their moment was disrupted by something white and shimmering galloping into Severus’ living room, scaring the living daylights out of him.

Really, he almost lost his hard-earned balance.

“Hey Mione! Kingsley said you rocked the exam! Congrats! I’d hoped to see you at the Ministry, but you’d already been gone when I came back, so … Want to meet at the weekend to celebrate?
By the way, did you read the Prophet today? And did Snape? I’m sure she made it all up, but … Well. I’ll Floo-call you tonight!”

At long last, Potter’s voice faded and the stag Patronus did as well. Severus exhaled deeply, his free hand still curled into the backrest of the armchair.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione mumbled contritely. 

“It’s all right,” Severus said and went to sit down on the couch. She followed him and chose a place closer to him than ever before. Had probably earned that right. “What was he talking about?”

“Dunno. Accio Daily Prophet!” A couple of seconds later, there was a rustle coming from the kitchen and eventually, a slightly crumpled newspaper flew into Hermione’s outstretched hand; it had probably squeezed into the house underneath the backdoor.

When she turned it over, the headline proclaimed, NOW THE STUDENTS SPEAK – “My brother wet himself just seeing Snape!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Hermione muttered and browsed through the pages to skim the article while Severus squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth so hard it hurt. “Oh, come on! She can’t be bloody serious! “We didn’t know if we would survive the next day”? What the …”

Severus gulped, forcing himself to blink. The pages of the newspaper were swimming before his eyes, doubling and tripling, then returning back to normal. 

“That’s it, I’ll write to the chief editor.” Hermione jumped up. She was halfway gone already when she turned back to him. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” Severus said, curving his lips into a smile. “Go and get him, I’m fine.”

She frowned slightly, scrutinising him. But with a bit of Occlumency, she finally believed him and left. 

When the backdoor clicked closed behind her, Severus buried his face in his hands, trying to breathe away the echoes of the last year that were befalling him like ghosts. The boy, a first-year Ravenclaw student whose name he didn’t even remember, bubbled up before his mind's eyes, scared stiff, his eyes as huge as saucers and on his trousers blooming a growing wet spot. 

His sister, third-year Ravenclaw, Miss … he didn’t remember. She grasped his hand and pulled him behind her, looking up at Severus defiantly.

“Clean that up,” he’d sneered at her and walked on by coolly.

Those words were choking him now, and he stumbled to his feet, forgoing even his cane, trying to get into the kitchen. He didn’t know what he wanted there, only that he needed to get there. Maybe he was fleeing from the screaming students, the gleeful faces of the Carrows when they punished rebels with Cruciatus curses, his own nausea at seeing it. He was retching by the time he reached the kitchen sink and fumbled for the tap to turn on the water, letting it flow over his shaking hands, splashing it in his face, rinsing the sour taste from his tongue, his whole body so numb he didn’t even feel it. 

The screaming of too many children deafened him, and his vision blurred until he could see nothing but the boy’s pale face anymore. He was sinking, desperately trying to occlude but failing.

It was a sharp pain that snapped him out of it. 

Gasping for air, Severus tore his eyes open and looked down at his right hand where the pain was the strongest. It was shaking, the knuckles bleeding in some spots. And the cabinet’s door sported a cracked dent that hadn't been there before.

Chapter Text

He expected Hermione to return later that day, but surprisingly, she didn’t. Slumped on the couch, he waited hour after hour for her knock on his door, waited for her determined voice blabbering on before she’d even found him, all the time prepared to slam down his Occlumency and act like nothing happened, but no. Only silence was there to keep him company that afternoon. He might have wondered what happened and if he did something wrong, but his mind was grated raw and numbed by too high a dose of his calming draught, yet restless and on edge, so he was just grateful that he didn’t have to perform.

Existing was hard enough to do.

Yet he peered out of the window now and then, waiting for the mob to turn up and burn his house down in earnest this time. And there really was the odd squaller screaming at Severus’ house. Thanks to Filius’ wards, Severus couldn’t hear what they were screaming, though. But they were waving their wands this way and that, trying to cancel the magic - in vain, so he pulled the curtains closed.

When he was fairly sure Hermione wouldn’t come over anymore because it was past eight in the evening and she knew he tended to go to bed early these days, he took another bunch of potions (he had to open the vials with his teeth because his hand was hurting like hell) and passed out on the couch.

When he swam back to consciousness, the sun was just dawning and his hand was heavily swollen, bruised and throbbing. He tried to bend his fingers but quickly stopped. “Fuck,” he mumbled and sat up, wincing as the rest of his usual pain jolted into his perception like a lightning bolt. Holding his breath, he waited for the peak to recede and rubbed his itching eyes in an attempt to wake up properly. 

Gods, he felt as if his body was on fire … 

And yet the pain brought a kind of clarity he craved. Breathing shallowly, he curled the fingers of his swollen hand until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He yelped softly.

Being properly awake then presented him with his meagre options. Since it was his wand hand he’d somehow injured, he couldn’t have healed it himself even if he had enough energy to cast an Episkey. He couldn't leave it unattended to either, though, because he needed his right hand for the cane, and that injury seemed too grave to let it heal on its own anyway. It was also too obvious, Hermione would pester him about it. And even if he drove her away by being his nastiest self, she would snitch on him to Minerva, and Minerva wouldn’t let herself be driven away, so he needed help to heal it. 

Gods, I wish dying were an option.

But it wasn't. Not even after wallowing in the bliss of that thought for at least ten minutes so he pushed it away. He needed another kind of help, and that help he could either get at St Mungo’s – or he could ask Hermione. 

Absolutely not.

Brushing his uninjured hand down his face – and noticing that he once again could have done with a shave he wouldn’t get any time soon – he stared at the potions on the table bleary-eyed. Then he looked at the armchair and the moment Hermione and he had shared there, not even twenty-four hours ago, felt very close again. But more like a dream. As if he had imagined it because why should a beautiful young woman like her want to kiss an old sod like him? Reality was extending its spikes, and the fact alone that he’d thought he could have something like that seemed utterly ludicrous all of a sudden. 

There were no good things in his life. And if something good seemed to happen, it was only a matter of time until it turned sour and would be ripped from his hands. 

Again, he balled his injured one, and the pain was intense enough to make his eyes water. 

St Mungo’s then. 

He took some more potions, not even bothering to calculate the dose of any of them. He just took a sip of this and a vial of that, breathing a sigh of relief despite himself when the pain subsided. He just wished his brain would clear a bit more from the fever potion and calming draught. Wished they would just make him feel a bit more normal and not … And not as if he’d been put through a meat grinder. But he probably deserved that, considering what his students -

He gulped. Then he got his cane – it lay uncomfortably in his left hand – and half-stumbled, half-walked to the fireplace after checking the street once again; nobody was there. 

And almost nobody was at St Mungo’s so early in the morning either. Severus held his injured hand hidden at his side, contemplating whether it’d really been necessary to come here, given that the pain had disappeared. 

But before he could change his mind, he almost ran into someone who unfortunately knew him.

“Mr Snape!” Mediwitch Persimmons exclaimed, at first happily, then she got fully aware of his appearance, and the smile melted from her face. “What happened?”

Severus tried to answer, but his voice failed him. He cleared his throat. “I had an accident,” he said softly and lowered his eyes to his hand. 

“Oh!” she uttered. 

“I wouldn’t have come because of that, but it’s my wand hand and …”

Briefly, she looked him in the eyes and after everything she’d witnessed during his stay here and his fleeting visit after he’d failed to off himself, she connected way too many dots. “Come,” she said.

“No.” She wasn’t wearing her working robes but normal clothes, and since she’d been heading to the fireplaces, she’d obviously just ended her night shift. “I’ll go and find someone else, you go home.”

She smiled faintly. “I want to be the one to care for you. It’s fine. Come!” She pointed at a door a few metres down the hall, and after another two or three seconds of reluctance, Severus gave in and got going again. 

It was a treatment room she led him to, several lights ignited the moment the door was opened, and Severus blinked against the brightness. 

“Sit down,” she said and nodded at the examination table standing on one side.

He went over but only leaned against the edge of the table, half-sitting, half-standing. Even if he’d have felt able to get onto it, he wouldn’t have wanted his legs to dangle in the air, there was something about that idea that made his skin crawl. 

But the mediwitch didn’t seem bothered about his decision. After putting her bag aside and massaging a disinfectant into her hands, she took a stool and came over to him. “Show me your hand,” she said in a voice so compellingly soft that he had to swallow down a lump forming in his throat. He gave her his hand and watched as she carefully palpated it. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” he said dully.

She looked up at him, arching an eyebrow.

“I’ve taken a potion,” he added, “sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She took her wand and cast a diagnostic instead, sighing while she read the result. “It’s broken,” she assessed eventually, “but it’s only a hairline fracture, not displaced.” With a wink of her wand the charm dissolved and with another the swelling of his hand went down, the bruises seemed to be sucked back into his veins, and he could move his fingers freely again. Only his knuckles were still grazed. 

He balled his hand into a fist while Mediwitch Persimmons stood. Only seconds later, she returned with a vial of dittany. “May I?”

Severus nodded and gave her his hand again, pinching the bridge of his nose while she poured some drops onto the wounds. 

“How did this happen?” she asked. Every trace of his injury had disappeared as if it’d never existed.

“Dunno.”

She pursed her lips. 

“Seriously,” he mumbled. “I guess I punched my kitchen cabinet because it’s damaged and wasn’t before. But … I don’t remember.”

Her frown deepened. “What happened before that?”

He averted his eyes. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

She nodded slowly. “Will something like that happen again if I let you go home?”

He shook his head. “No.” At least not until Skeeter published another banger article that was … But even then he’d be better prepared; he wouldn’t let his brain fuck with him like that ever again. “I won’t be hurting myself.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I wish you’d talk with someone about what caused that episode, though. Healer Sanders is about to come in, maybe -”

“I’m to see him next week anyway,” Severus cut in. “I’ll be here on Monday and talk with him then. Make a note in my file, I don’t mind.” Just don’t force me to talk about it now. His head still felt tender as if the memories that article had brought back to his mind had ripped it in half, and about ten hours of sleep just hadn’t been enough to stitch it back together. He needed some time to put those memories back where they belonged, back where they wouldn’t … just back.

“All right,” Mediwitch Persimmons eventually acquiesced. “But please take care and come back if something is wrong, okay?”

He nodded, relieved. “Thank you.”

Instead of returning straight back home, Severus visited that bench near the public fireplace on Scotland’s west coast. Maybe some fresh air would help him clear his mind and get rid of the icky feeling the past night had left behind. 

And although he wasn’t dressed properly – late August was surprisingly cold around here already – he stayed sitting on the bench for at least an hour, sometimes with his eyes closed just relishing the strong wind hitting his face, sometimes looking over the landscape and calming down realising how small and insignificant he was considering the world in its entirety. 

If only he had been as insignificant in the world of the students he failed to protect as well … 

When those thoughts threatened to overwhelm him again, Severus got up to return home. It wouldn’t do to upset Minerva because her house-elf couldn’t find him.

But stepping out of his fireplace, he found Hermione sitting at his living room table, probably working on his venom calculations because she was holding a biro and had her hair done up with her wand again. 

“What are you doing here?” Severus muttered.

She put down the pen and stood up. “I … was waiting for you, wanted to ask if I could borrow your owl. I thought it would be okay, I’m sorry.”

He harrumphed. “You have to call for her, she’s out and about.” Tearing his eyes away from her, Severus turned to go upstairs. He needed a hot shower and fresh clothes.

“Are you all right?” Hermione, however, called after him.

Ugh … “Yes.”

“Where have you been?”

“None of your business.”

“Severus, what -”

“Just leave me alone!” he said and whirled around to her so fast he almost lost his balance. Still, his nasty look struck.

Hermione’s face hardened. “Fine!” she spat, her hairdo falling apart. Snatching her wand before it slid out, she stomped away, magic sizzling in her locks. 

Wincing when the backdoor banged closed, Severus closed his eyes and leaned against the door frame. 

He took his time that day. At one point, he would have to go and apologise to Hermione, at one point, he would have to get himself back straight and shrug out of the mood that blasted article had pushed him into, at one point, he had to be a functional human being again. 

But that point hadn’t come yet. If he tried to apologise now, he would ruin this even more. He’d lived enough years with himself to know as much.

That didn’t change the fact, though, that he had to fight the urge to rush after her and beg her for forgiveness because there was a voice in his head jeering at him that he’d fucked up for good this time and that Hermione would turn him down just like Lily had. That that had been it, obviously, the final straw, because why should she want to be with someone like him, who was constantly doing stupid things and hurting her and -

Stop this!

He took a deep breath and occluded against those thoughts again. 

He would take his time.

And a shower.

He would eat the lunch Minerva had sent.

And he would shave, for goodness’ sake! 

And when he’d done all of that stupid self-care crap instead of lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling as he’d rather do, ideally with a huge glass of whisky to keep him company, he would get his arse over to Hermione and apologise for being such a bastard because - despite everything his brain kept screaming at him, about it being futile and humiliating and so much easier to save his breath and just lie here to grow into the couch - that was what she deserved, what he'd wanted to do so often during the last year and couldn't, what his therapist would tell him was the right thing to do, and because he wouldn't be able to keep the promise he'd given Mediwitch Persimmons if he didn't. So he would.

It was past seven in the evening when he felt ready, and yet his heart was thumping while he waited for her to open the door. Having left the area his own wards covered, he could hear faint shouts from the other side of the house. Some Prophet readers were persistent. It was the first time he deserved it.

When Hermione opened the door, she looked at him with a perfectly straight face.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi.” Cool, curt.

He deserved that as well. “I apologise for snapping at you earlier today. That was uncalled for, and I’ll do my best to never let it happen again.”

Her stance softened somewhat, as did her face. “Okay. Thank you.”

He nodded. “May I come in?”

She stepped aside, and Severus passed her by, letting his gaze roam around her kitchen. Since he’d last been here, she’d changed the red and wooden colour of the furniture into a warm grey and white that matched the vibe of the room better and wasn’t as insulting to the eyes. “I like it,” he said, therefore, pointing at the cabinets.

“Thanks. Do you fancy something? Tea? Coffee? Ginger ale?”

His eyes jumped to her. “You have ginger ale?”

“I do.” 

“Then I’d like a glass, please.”

“Sure.” 

While she got the drinks ready, Severus went into the living room. The shouts were louder here. “Bastard!” and “Child tormentor!” and “You should rot in Azkaban!”. They weren’t wrong … 

He blinked and looked around. A second shelf had joined the one he’d known already, but there were surprisingly few books stored in it. It was rather empty still in general, and a second later, he remembered that Minerva had mentioned Hermione was turning the second bedroom upstairs into a library. 

He swallowed thickly and sat down on the couch, uncomfortably self-conscious about being in her space. He looked up when she followed him and put the glasses down on the small table standing on a dusty pink round carpet. “Thank you.”

She took her wand and cast a charm to block out the protesters on the street before she sat down next to him. Then she probably realised how stiff they both were behaving and slumped against the backrest, pulling one leg up. His eyes fell on the sock she was wearing, white-red-blue ringed. “So, will you tell me why you’ve been so ill-tempered this morning?”

Guess I have to. But first, he took a deep breath and tried to relax a bit as well. The cushioning of her couch was firmer than his but due to that he couldn’t feel the springs poking into his butt so … “I had a rough night,” he chose to begin.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

He cleared his throat. “That headline of Skeeter’s latest article?” She nodded. “She didn’t make that up.”

For some seconds, she said nothing. Then she uttered the same “Oh!” Mediwitch Persimmons had mumbled this morning.

He brushed his hand along his mouth and took a sip of his ginger ale just to do something. The sour-sweet taste of the beverage helped anchor him in the here and now.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Hermione asked eventually.

“I couldn’t,” he mumbled.

“But -”

“I couldn’t!” he repeated in a firm voice. “I never have, Hermione.”

She took a sharp breath.

And that he needed several seconds to realise why that was, was speaking volumes. Damn … He’d never called her by her given name before. Probably should have chosen a better moment than this to change that. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s … fine. I rather like it.”

He huffed softly, exceptionally busy watching her hands move in her lap. “I’m not good with the talking business,” he decided to return to the other awkward topic at hand, “give me some time to learn, okay?”

She nodded. “Sure. Is it okay if I keep asking questions, or … would you rather I’d not?”

Not. He’d always prefer that people wouldn’t ask him questions. Being asked questions was … easily one of the most uncomfortable situations for him. But if she didn’t ask questions, he would never tell her anything, and that probably wasn’t how their something would work, so … “You can ask questions.”

“Okay.” She smiled, but it was wobbly and more on the mirthless end. “So … What happened that made your night rough?”

Fuck. 

“Sorry, that was too brisk, wasn’t it?” 

Yes. “No, I … just don’t exactly know.” But it ended with a broken hand.

She swallowed thickly. “Does it have to do with your damaged kitchen cupboard?”

His gaze darted to meet her eyes. “You saw that?”

Hermione nodded, whispered, “I’m sorry,” again.

Exhaling slowly, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, then he rubbed his stinging eyes. “I … lost control, I guess,” he mumbled, unsure of whether she could understand him. He put his elbows on his knees, focusing on his breathing.

Then the cushioning wobbled, and when he blinked, Hermione had skidded closer, close enough to make his heartbeat spike. “It’s all right,” she said softly, hesitantly touching his shoulder, “I know such moments. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. Not anymore.

“May I hug you?”

Please don’t. And yet he found himself nodding, albeit so weakly he was surprised she picked up on it.

But she did. 

It was a bit awkward in their position, the whole hugging thing. He couldn’t bring himself to turn to her, so she pulled him closer with one hand and put the other on his back as he reluctantly leaned in. 

But that it was awkward didn’t make it any less significant because Severus could count the number of sincere hugs he’d received throughout his life on his fingers, and none of them, not even Lily’s, had been like this. None of them had been as wanted as this or as long, and none of them had robbed him of his self-control like this one. 

Because before he knew what hit him, his eyes weren’t only stinging anymore, they were watering. And while he was still trying to gulp down the hard lump constricting his throat, he began trembling, intense enough that Hermione uttered another “Oh!” and he couldn’t for the life of him stop it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, attempting to disentangle himself from her.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, refusing to let him go before she suddenly straddled his legs and slung her arms around his neck tightly, resting her face against his shoulder. “It’s fine,” she whispered again, “just let go.”

Three words that worked like a charm, or rather a curse, because they made him dissolve into silent sobs, his face buried in her hair and scent, and that really wasn’t anything good.

Only that it was because when he fell apart this time, he had something to hold on to.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how it happened. One second, he was trying to get himself back under control and stop both that humiliating trembling and those tears slipping the normally iron grip of his Occlumency, and the next, Hermione was kissing him. Not that he minded; her mouth on his cheeks and lips was a welcome distraction to the turmoil churning in his chest, and since he was somewhat beside himself on top of it, he didn’t stop her. 

On the contrary, he put his hands on her hips and opened his mouth for her, thirsty to repeat the kiss they’d shared yesterday, that wondrous moment of closeness and intimacy that felt too good to forgo and too forbidden to sleep peacefully. 

But right now, he didn't gave a damn about next night’s sleep, he only cared for her warmth and her weight on his legs, the curves of her hips under his hands and her tongue exploring his mouth like no tongue had ever explored his mouth, at least not within the last decade. 

Only when she moaned softly and arched her body closer toward him, he ended the kiss. That little fucker in his trousers just wouldn’t comply, not one bit, this wouldn’t do. “Stop,” he mumbled and closed his eyes because if he laid eyes on her swollen, enticing lips, he would just kiss her again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and sat back panting slightly, “I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” 

“No, I shouldn’t have let this get so out of hand. You’re unwell and … I wasn’t there for you yesterday, I -”

“What I mean is -” he tried again, but Hermione didn’t even seem to hear it. She seemed absolutely unable to stop her stream of pent-up words. So he gave up and let her get them out.

“- to stay away the whole day, but Harry Floo-called me because he’d got off work earlier and asked me to come over to celebrate my exam and I was too surprised to buy myself some time to inform you and so I went and Ginny was there and Luna came as well and in the end, it was past nine when I came back home and didn’t want to wake you.” She slumped on his lap.

“Are you quite done now?” he asked, smirking a bit.

“Yes,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he said for a second time and wanted to keep it at that. Wanted to just get her off his lap and their talk back to harmless topics, but … 

But.

Oh no.

She looked at him as if she’d accidentally insulted his mother. 

Fuck, he had to explain this, didn’t he? He couldn’t just … turn her down and act as if nothing happened. And he couldn’t do that for another couple of weeks until his research finally led somewhere! 

If it ever did. 

He sighed. There went his nifty plan. Why did life just hate him so much? 

“What happened yesterday is not why I …” He ground his teeth, trying to occlude away his burning cheeks. Gods, when had he been blushing like that the last time? Probably in his seventh year from one of Potter’s attacks. 

“What is it?” Her fingers traced along his face, making him look at her again. 

Fuck. This was the moment. The moment he had to tell her that he was deficient. And that he didn’t know if he’d ever not be. He gulped, his eyes darting back to her lips, wishing they could just go on where he’d stopped her seconds ago. 

But hey, to look at the bright side of things: He probably wouldn’t have to talk about his crying in her arms anymore tonight. What a bloody win.

Bloody perfect.

“What’s wrong, Severus?”

He lowered his eyes. “We need to talk. About this …” He vaguely gestured at himself and her and the whole situation. 

“This?” she echoed.

Ugh, do you need to make me say it out loud, woman? “Sex,” he bit out.

“Ohh!”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Right,” she mumbled, sounding somewhat defeated, “we do need to talk about that.” She sighed and finally climbed off his lap.

He missed her weight on him instantly.

“I’m sorry this got so …” She bit her lip. Her plump, still reddened lip. Then she released him from this moment and finished, “heated. I didn’t mean to -”

He cleared his throat. “I know.”

“It just felt so good and -”

“Mh, yes, I know.”

“The thing is …”

“The thing, that’s exactly what we need to talk about.”

She groaned, grimacing. “I was afraid you might put two and two together …”

Wait, what? “Two and two?”

“Yeah, I mean … How many triggers can there be, right? Gods, this is so embarrassing …”

What the … “What are you talking about?”

She froze, her eyes snapping back open. “About the … the thing.”

He frowned. 

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“We’ll come back to that later,” – Much later! – “you first!”

But Hermione only huffed, “Ha, no!” and sat back up straighter. “You started this! You first!”

Bugger. Groaning, he put his elbows back on his knees and rubbed his still blazing face, a motion that changed the mood. He felt it turn grave without even looking at her. 

“What is it?” she eventually asked again and touched his leg, “Talk to me, Severus.”

But his useless nifty plan had kept him from thinking about how the hell he was supposed to phrase this. “I’m impotent”? God, no. “He won’t get hard”? Like hell! “I will only be able to bring you off by hand because, although I am properly equipped, my equipment won’t cooperate”? Somebody please shoot me.

In the end, what he said before Hermione felt the need to address him again was, “I can’t have sex.”

Some seconds passed by in silence, then, “Okay … Well, me neither, if that helps.” He peeked at her and saw her shrug, trying to act indifferent, although her face was blazing at least as much as his. “Not properly, that is, because … orgasms trigger attacks.” Worrying her lip, she looked down and began fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. 

Severus sat back up straight as he finally understood. 

“But you can! Have orgasms, that is, with me,” she continued, smiling valiantly, “I just have to be careful and -” She fell silent and a tear leaked from her eye. She quickly brushed it away, breathed “’m sorry.”

Sighing, Severus leaned back and opened his arm for her. “Come here,” he said in a dark voice and closed his eyes when she scrambled over and hid at his side, crying silently. In that moment, with Hermione being rocked by sobs in his arms because those blasted curses had robbed her of yet another aspect of the life she’d been promised to have, he had no difficulty admitting, “The venom damages my nervous system, I’m impotent.”

The twitching of her shoulders stopped. “Bugger,” her muffled mumble sounded before she sat back up and brushed her wet face sniffling. “I’m so sorry.”

“As am I,” he said earnestly. 

She thinned her lips, sniffling again. “Aren’t there potions to help you?”

“Sure. But they might just as well kill me.”

“Oh.”

“Mh. It might get better if I find a way to get that venom out of my body, though.”

“How’s that going, by the way?” she asked, seizing that less awkward topic greedily. 

“It’s waiting where you left it.”

She huffed amusedly and lowered her eyes. 

Severus reached out and touched her face, making her look at him again. “You might not need to miss out completely,” he said, “I mean, you’re getting attacks anyway, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. And there’s a lot we can do without … you know.” She shrugged awkwardly. 

He lowered his hand. “Right.”

For some seconds, they both were lost in their thoughts. Then Hermione huffed a laugh. “Merlin, we’re such a pathetic lot!”

“We are,” he agreed, smiling tiredly.

“But we’ll figure it out.” She reached for his hand, and he returned her grasp with a nod. 

They would sort this out.

Severus stayed for dinner that day, helping Hermione to get a mixed salad ready as a side for the lasagna she’d prepared earlier, and while that was in the oven, she excused herself for the loo and Severus set the table.

Being in her house felt as if he’d fallen into a parallel universe; everything here was exactly as he knew it, the windows, the doors, the placement of all the furniture in the kitchen. And yet nothing was as he knew it. It was unsettling in a way he hadn’t expected, and so he went back into the living room to peek out again and check the street. 

Three men were huddled together over a book and seemed to discuss something. Probably how to dismantle his wards. Severus clenched his teeth and his hand around a wand he didn’t bring because he didn’t expect to need it here. And couldn’t do much with it anyway. So he curled his hand harder around his cane instead, as he’d got shockingly used to as of late. 

He winced when Hermione turned up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

He opened her curtain a bit wider for her and nodded at the men. “Bet they’re trying to dismantle the wards.”

She huffed, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.” Then she stomped to the fireplace, and before Severus had a chance to object, she’d contacted Potter of all people.

“Hermione, hey!”

“Hi, Harry! I’m sorry to call so late.”

“It’s fine, it isn’t that late …”

She smiled fleetingly, and Severus silently inched further away from the fireplace. She could at least have warned him!

“So, what’s it?”

“Have a guess!” she muttered in a dark voice.

Potter groaned. “Again?”

“Yes. Can you send someone over?”

“Sure,” he sighed, “Give me a minute.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.”

The Floo fire turned yellow and died out, and Hermione stood back up, an angry crease still edged between her eyebrows when she returned to the window. 

“You could’ve warned me,” Severus said in a dark voice.

“Why? He couldn’t see you anyway.”

“What if he’d decided to come over and take care of them himself?”

“He’s not allowed to do that yet.” She looked at him. “It’s fine, Severus, I knew what I was doing.”

He harrumphed and looked out at the men as well. It took the hit wizards about two minutes to turn up in Spinner’s End, and the three idiots tried to elope in vain, stopped by an anti-apparition ward. Severus huffed, amused. 

“Take that,” Hermione muttered, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“They didn’t even try to vanish the book,” Severus noticed.

“Too caught up trying to Apparate,” she smirked. “They wouldn’t have survived one day being on the run from snatchers.” With one last withering glance, she turned and left him standing at the window to flop onto the couch again. Sighing, she rubbed her face.

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked and followed her.

“Nothing. Just tired. And fed up with those idiots.” She gestured at the street. “I hope the guy from the Prophet answers my letter and soon at that. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

“Because they are angry and shocked about what has happened, and I’m an easy target to blow off some steam.” He sat down as well and put his cane aside. 

“I hate people.”

He clicked his tongue. “Am I already rubbing off on you?”

She smiled lopsidedly. “Maybe?” Then she leaned against him, and Severus put his arm around her shoulders, allowing himself to slump back. She sighed contentedly, slinging one leg over his and her arm around his stomach. “Please tell me we have some time left until dinner’s ready,” she mumbled.

He glanced at the clock. “About ten minutes.”

“Bugger.”

He chuckled. And at the same time, he was more than a bit staggered about how easily the whole body contact thing seemed to be for her. Earlier this evening, he’d been too stressed to realise it, but … straddling him hadn’t seemed to take any effort for her, and now she just snuggled against him as if he were a giant stuffed animal. 

Was he strange for feeling that this was odd, or was Hermione just exceptionally straightforward with these things?

But then again … they had kissed twice already, and the second time would probably have got out of hand if they both were less impaired. So maybe he was the strange one after all. 

“Did you get a chance to talk with Miss Weasley yesterday?” he eventually decided not to overthink this and give his brain something else to do. 

“Kind of,” Hermione said. “It was a bit difficult to get away and talk in private, but … I think she’s not as angry with me anymore.”

“Glad to hear.”

Hermione hummed. “Maybe I just have to give her time,” she pondered in a soft voice. “Ginny can be a lot like Molly, so … maybe she’ll get over it at some point.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said. I’m not so sure she’ll ever get over us, though.

They spent the weekend alternating between his place and hers, working on the venom project, feeding each other lines and ideas, pondering about ingredients and ways of preparing them, cooking together, talking nestled against each other on the couch when his strength and concentration waned, but always saying goodbye in the evening and returning to their own beds. 

They didn’t even kiss that much, and not once as passionately as when he’d had his little meltdown on Hermione’s couch. It was as if the prospect of sex being difficult for them both had just killed every sprouting desire to even try. 

Severus couldn’t say he was particularly sorry about that, though. Not that he didn’t want to share more intimacy with Hermione! But the idea was as daunting as it was alluring. 

It had been more than ten years since he’d last had sex, and that instance had only been his second time. Neither of those two encounters had been with a woman he’d really cared for. He’d lost his virginity to a woman Lucius had more or less forced Severus to court, a pure-blood witch who had fallen from favour and therefore been willing to give him a chance because her family refused to arrange a marriage for her. They’d met a couple of times, had boring conversations over grossly overpriced meals he’d had to pay for with his first self-earned money, and when they both had decided that they wouldn’t end up married, they’d tried to get at least something out of their wasted time. 

He’d come before he’d even penetrated her and had only half-way been able to make up for that in round number two. But that had given him the chance to learn how to properly go down on a woman, so … It’d been good for something at least.

And his second time had been a one-night stand with a woman he’d met that night in a pub in Manchester during summer break 1988. She’d been heartbroken, he’d been more suicidal than usual, not the best combination, but at least he’d managed penetration before coming then. 

So he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the prospect of attempting sex again, especially because with Hermione, it mattered. She wasn’t some random woman he wouldn’t see again. He would have to look her in the eyes on a daily basis after whatever would happen when they first tried. 

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, there was his less-than-aesthetic body on top of it. 

He’d never been good-looking or even trained. Always underweight, scrawny, lanky, ill-looking. His back was littered with faded scars, his neck a patchwork of hurriedly stitched up skin that had burst open a couple of times too often to look anything but horrible, when he was naked he was slightly bow-legged, and now there wasn’t only the Dark Mark as a memorial of his worst mistake etched into his forearm, no, he’d also been stupid enough to embellish it with half a dozen self-harm scars that were still padded and angrily red, only just fully healed. 

All in all, best conditions to make their first time an encounter to remember. 

In horror.

So, no, he wasn’t particularly sorry about the lack of intimacy right now. Maybe if they really succeeded in finding a way to get at least some of the venom out of his system, he had a chance of not having to abort their first try in between taking a potency remedy and coming all over her belly before trying to make up for that with some tongue work that accidentally pushed Hermione into an attack. After all the low blows life had dealt him lately, he just wouldn’t be able to take that too. 

A fact that, naturally, caused his heart rate to skyrocket when, on Sunday evening, Hermione asked, “Would you, um … mind staying over?”

Oh no … “Why?” he asked with a second delay, trying to let it sound as casual as possible while every cell of his body was preparing to launch into another panic attack. The words on the page before his eyes were blurring already.

Hermione exhaled slowly. “I’m due for another attack and …” She interrupted herself, noticeably grasping for her composure. “… and would love to not be alone again,” she finally added, a frantic whisper.

He had absolutely no idea how to be fine with the relief he felt at that. 

“Of course,” he murmured and finally dared to look at her.

“Thank you.” She smiled fleetingly before shaking it off and cheerily adding, “I’ve charmed my stairs, by the way! They move like yours now if you trigger the charm!”

“Did you now?” 

“Yes. I want you to feel as welcome here as possible.” Then she leaned in to steal a kiss from his lips that ended far too quickly. “And when I'm groggy from an attack, I cherish it as well.” 

He hummed. “It is quite nice.” 

“Indeed.” Her eyes jumped to his lips, and the next moment, she thankfully kissed him again.

Considering what a disaster their first kiss had been and what a disaster their first sex promised to become, it was only fitting that their first night spent together turned into a fitful one, not robbed of them by an attack, but laced with leaden apprehension of the agony that would definitely come but not quite yet. 

“Do you … want to trigger it?” Severus asked around midnight as a painful shudder tore Hermione from her sleep. “I could leave you alone for that …” Thank Merlin for the mercy of darkness. His face was blazing and not from a fever.

“No,” she sighed when her muscles relaxed. “I hate nighttime attacks. Everything is ten times worse in the dark. Maybe I can … dunno, push the next ones to come during the day if I get through this night.”

“Okay.”

“But … can you hold me?”

“Of course.” He skidded closer and slung his arm around her waist after pushing her hair down so it wouldn’t tickle his nose too badly. 

Hermione exhaled deeply and tried to relax, snuggled against him, and eventually, they managed to fall back asleep.

In the end, the night passed without an attack, albeit not without more foreboding cramps and spasms. Hermione was close to crying when the sun dawned. “Maybe I should trigger it after all,” she mumbled, rubbing her face, her voice almost failing twice.

Severus hummed softly. “If you want to do that, I need to reschedule my appointment with Healer Sanders.”

She sighed exhaustedly. “I completely forgot about that …”

“It’s not your appointment.”

Her eyes were watery and miserable as she looked at him. “I don’t want you to reschedule your appointment. Maybe it’ll only start when you’re back.”

“And what if it starts earlier?”

She shrugged, her chin wobbling. “I’ll manage.”

Severus leaned in and kissed her temple, letting his lips rest against her skin longer than usual. “I’ll reschedule. I want to be here for you.”

“No,” she protested, “please don’t. The appointment is important. You can’t neglect yourself for me, Severus.”

I would even die for you. The thought flitted through his mind like a reflex honed for years.

“I’ll manage,” Hermione repeated, “I’m a big girl, I managed before, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he softly agreed, first and foremost because he didn’t want to upset her with an unnecessary argument that would trigger the attack for sure. Maybe she was right and he’d be back before it began. “Do you have any idea where your cat is?”

She tensed up against another spasm, weak enough to let her take it silently, strong enough to rob her of her ability to speak. “No,” she said, exhaling when it waned, “he’s out and about most of the time, always has been. Why?”

“Thought I’d send him to keep you company while I’m gone.”

The echo of a smile curved her lips. “I’ll be fine. Go and get ready for your appointment.”

He craned his neck for the clock. “I’ve still got some time left.” And pulled her closer again for another half hour or so. 

But eventually, he had to get up and shower to look halfway decent and emotionally stable when he sat down with Healer Sanders to discuss his latest burst of self-harm. He waited until the last moment, contemplating, earnestly contemplating to just not stand up and stay where he was, Healer Sanders be damned! 

But then he thought about Mediwitch Persimmons and the trust she’d placed in him by letting him go the other day. He couldn’t let her down, she’d done too much for him. So he briefly closed his eyes and made a decision, not a good one, none that would make him feel like he'd done the right thing at the end of the day, but a decision. 

Carefully, he untangled himself from Hermione, who’d just fallen back asleep before facing the ordeal of getting to his feet. She really needed a bloody bed if she wanted him to sleep here more often … 

That he managed to stand up, snatch his clothes, and leave her bedroom without her waking up was a testament to how knackered she already was. At the door, he stopped and looked back at her, the worst of all feelings making his stomach churn. Leaving her alone was the last thing he wanted to do now. But a part of him had to admit that she was right; if their something was supposed to work, they couldn’t sacrifice themselves for each other. They both had their crosses to bear, both of them added aspects to their something that complicated matters. They had to trust in each other to take care of themselves. And if their roles were reversed, he would have wanted her to go too. 

So he tore himself away from her, ignoring the bad feeling. Maybe he would be back in time after all … 

You'd better use this appointment for something important, Sanders!

Chapter Text

Healer Sanders sighed when he sat down at his desk with Severus’ file.

They’d brought him into the healer’s office when he arrived, telling him Healer Sanders was busy with an emergency but would arrive soon. Since it’d been a young girl, a former student who’d always been fidgety around him, Hufflepuff of course, he didn’t dare ask any further questions or request to reschedule the appointment after all. 

Hermione would be fine.

He would be back in time.

But in the end, it’d really only been about ten minutes or so, and now the healer sighed again before he looked at Severus. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Mr Snape, I -”

“I’m being honest. I don’t know. At least I don’t remember. Obviously, I punched my kitchen cupboard, but I don’t remember doing it.”

The healer frowned. “What happened before, then?”

Averting his eyes, Severus clenched his teeth. “Another one of Skeeter’s articles.”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Healer Sanders check the date of Mediwitch Persimmons’ notes. “The one with the students’ interviews?”

Severus nodded jerkily.

“I see …”

Of course you do. “Well, enlighten me then!”

Healer Sanders closed the file and put both arms on the tabletop before interlacing his fingers. “The article brought back some dark memories?”

Another nod.

The healer mirrored it. “Then I suppose you dissociated. It was a trigger that had you spiralling, causing your mind to shut down. Intense sensual perceptions, like pain, can end such a state.”

“Marvellous,” Severus commented drily, “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“First and foremost, avoid triggers.” Severus was about to make a cutting remark, but then the man got up and went to one of his bookshelves. He began making those chirping sounds again while he was looking for a book. “Ah!” he finally uttered and pulled one from the shelf. “There are some strategies to handle triggers, you’ll find them in this book.” He gave it to Severus.

“The PTSD Workbook?”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Healer Sanders said, brushing his lime-green healer cloak flush before sitting down again. “I’d even wager you have complex PTSD, but this is at least a start. I’d rather you keep seeing my wife, but I guess I’m fighting a losing battle with that one.”

Severus harrumphed and thumbed through the book. “And reading this will help me get rid of that … PTSD thing?” He had to read it from the title.

“No. I hope it’ll help you manage the symptoms without major injuries until you’re desperate enough to return to therapy.”

He scowled at the healer but only got a no-nonsense look in return. “I’ll look into it,” Severus eventually said. 

“Great. So, how do you feel apart from that? How’s your depression?”

Ugh. “I’m not depressed.”

Healer Sanders barked a mirthless laugh. “Right. So, how are you coping?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’s your drive?”

“My what?”

“Do you get stuff done? Do you get out of bed in the morning? Do you care for yourself regularly?”

If once every few days counts as regular … “Yes, yes, and yes.”

“Mh.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising Severus, but since he did, in fact, shower and shave and put on fresh clothes before he came here, the healer didn’t find any obvious signs of self-neglect. 

Hell, Severus had even eaten regularly the last couple of days! Only because of Hermione, but still … 

“And how is your suicidality?”

Not that again. “Three,” he grumbled, “I’m fine!” At least better than he had ever been since he’d first opened his eyes after Nagini’s attack, except for one or two instances of EE overdoses. 

“If you say so,” Healer Sanders muttered, then he nodded at an examination table standing in the corner of his office. “Sit down over there, I want to examine you.”

Severus left the book on the desk and did as he’d been told, his thoughts returning to Hermione and how she was faring while he was sitting here waiting to have some lousy charms done and talking about his drive. Ridiculous.

“Did you bring your temperatures?”

Temperatures? Only a second later, Severus remembered that the healer had told him to write down his morning and evening temperatures and bring them to this appointment. Bugger. “No. I forgot to write them down.”

Healer Sanders huffed. “But you did check it before taking your fever potion, right?”

“Of course.” Most of the time.