Chapter Text
Hermione was in bed when she heard the crash. For a moment, she thought she had dreamed the disturbance. It was merely a nightmare, an echo of the past.
Then she heard the scream. She knew that voice: Harry.
Hermione raced from bed. Her lounge was dark, but there were two figures slumped in front of the fireplace.
“Please,” Harry said.
She put on all the lights. Harry blinked at her behind his glasses. In his arms lay Severus Snape, bloody and unconscious.
“What happened?”
“We were attacked—ambushed. Somebody tried to kill him!”
“We need to get him to hospital! Why did you bring him here?”
“I can’t—I couldn’t—” Harry choked on his words.
Finally her body reacted and she stumbled forward. She was just in a shirt and her knickers, but it didn’t matter.
She knelt before them and checked Snape’s pulse. It was strong. Thank God it was strong.
“Was he Cursed or just maimed?”
“I don’t—I think—”
“Harry,” she snapped. “I need you to remember.”
Harry was a powerful Auror, a competent one, and it spoke to the importance of his friendship with Snape that he was too rattled to express himself clearly.
“I can’t lose him.”
She tried to soften her tone. “I need to know so I don’t further hurt him.”
He took a shuddering breath. “The fucker was only able to get off two spells before he Disapparated. The spells … the first one was red, the second was white. I don’t think he was Cursed. I think the fucker wanted to take him alive while hurting him in the process.”
Not Cursed. Good. She could manage that.
“Let’s get him to my kitchen table. I need a flat surface to work.”
Harry levitated Snape in the air and Hermione rushed ahead to chuck all the books and parchment to the floor.
Then Snape lay on the table, and he looked—he looked—
“Please help him,” Harry whispered.
“Yes.” She Summoned her favourite spellbook—the one with all her notes—and she directed it to float in the air beside her at eye level.
Hand trembling, she cast a gentle charm to clean the blood from his face. Horrible cuts nicked his nose and cheeks and chin. She saw how they trailed down his neck and disappeared into his Auror robes.
“Help me, will you? I need to get his robes off.”
Harry rushed forward to assist in easing the heavy scarlet material from Snape’s body. When they were done, Snape lay in his trousers and boots. His skin gave off a sensual peppery scent. It took her a moment to realise Snape was wearing cologne.
Hermione cleaned the rest of the blood from his injuries. The fresh cuts mingled with the scars that licked up and down his chest. There was a light dusting of black hair across his pecks, spreading down to his navel. His nipples were a delicate shade of pink.
Focus, she growled to herself.
Hermione raised her wand and muttered, “Quaerito Magicae.” She moved her wand in neat crisscrosses over his body. The spell sought out any curse or dark magic. She wanted to confirm that Snape in fact was not Cursed.
The spell glowed a vibrant red above his faded Dark Mark. It made sense that there was still some residual dark magic there.
Satisfied, Hermione ended the spell. Sweat was dripping into her eyes. She flipped through the book, looking for her most trusted Healing Spells.
“I swear it looks like that fucker tried to use his own spell on him but only managed to cause the lacerations, not the haemorrhaging—”
Hermione blinked at Harry. “Haemorrhaging?”
“Yeah,” Harry said weakly, pushing up his glasses with an unsteady hand. “That’s why I didn’t think he was Cursed … there wasn’t enough blood.”
Hermione flipped through her book again. She was sure the strongest diagnostic spell she knew was on page 304. If Snape was bleeding internally, then she needed to know as soon as possible.
When she found the spell, she did a quick survey of the page. It had been a while since she practised this spell. Right. She could do this.
“Revealio Interio,” Hermione said, moving her wand up and down his body.
Snape let out a loud gasp. Hermione and Harry jumped.
“Fuck! What's the matter with him?”
Hermione peered down into his face. Snape appeared to still be asleep. His pulse was still strong.
“I don’t know, Harry. Please, you must be calm. You must.”
Snape’s body emitted multicolour smoke. Hermione quickly checked the chart in her book. A bright magenta meant he had internal bleeding.
“What do you see?” Harry whispered.
Hermione blinked through stinging sweat. “No magenta, no magenta … but what does the cyan mean? Oh, it means there is enough oxygen in his blood … very good.”
“What about the black smoke?”
“It’s from my old Mark,” Snape croaked.
Hermione and Harry jumped again.
“Severus! You’re awake!” Harry clutched his hand.
“Just barely.”
Hermione stared resolutely at the smoke, making sure she didn’t miss any colours. “Where do you hurt?” she asked him.
“Everywhere.”
“Yes, but does the pain feel deeper? I can only see the surface lacerations.”
“Just patch me up and be done with it.” Snape closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you to St Mungo’s,” Harry said urgently. “The man who attacked you …”
“He looked like Auror Knight. The fucking bastard.”
Hermione blinked. She had never heard Professor Snape use such language. He’s no longer a professor …
“Yeah, that fucker,” Harry growled. “If it really was Auror Knight, then I don’t feel comfortable trusting anyone but Hermione until we figure things out.”
“They’re just little cuts … nothing more …”
“I disagree,” Hermione said, biting down the urge to call him sir. She pointed her wand at the cuts on his chest and said, “Episkey Laceratio.” The skin knitted itself back together, but it was a painful process.
“Fuck,” Snape stuttered.
“It really would be best if you were unconscious for this part. I’ve got a Sleeping Draught that I brewed myself.”
“Did you use African violets?” Snape asked even as he bared his teeth in pain.
“Of course I did,” she sniffed.
“And did you crush the scorpion stingers before—”
“Do you want the Sleeping Draught or not?” She couldn’t believe he was questioning her brewing abilities while he bled onto her kitchen table.
“Wait,” Harry said. “Severus, I want you to stay here with Hermione.”
Snape grimaced. “No, take me home. I can protect myself—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry snapped. “Not many people know where Hermione lives. And she doesn’t get many visitors—”
“Thanks for the reminder, Harry.”
Harry shot her a pleading look. “Please, Hermione. You know I don’t mean anything by it. I’m desperate.”
“Do I get a say in any of this?” she said.
“Of course!” Harry said quickly. “It’s your house and of course—”
Hermione looked at Snape. “It will only work if he wants to be here. I’m not going to chase him down if he tries to leave.”
Snape gulped. “I think this is all unnecessary—”
Harry squeezed his hand. “Please, Severus. I can’t lose you. You’re like a father to me.”
“Fine, Harry. Whatever you want,” Snape answered softly.
Hermione Summoned the Sleeping Draught from her hallway toilet. She uncorked the phial and leaned over Snape.
Snape’s dark eyes fluttered open. He gazed at her up and down, then muttered, “Granger, why are in your knickers?”
“Hush,” she said, and tipped the draught into his mouth.
Once he was unconscious again, Hermione got back to work.