Meeting in the Middle, Chapter 2: Do We Not Bleed?
I'm submitting this to Ashwinder tonight, but what the hell, you all can have it now. Reviews are love! :)
Title: Meeting in the Middle
Chapter 2: Do We Not Bleed?
Genres: Romance/Drama/Angst
Word count: 1,175
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Graphic gore, cursing (thus far)
Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione agrees to an unusual request in order to help Snape survive a curse.
When Hermione opened her eyes the next day, she knew immediately that she was not dead. In the afterlife, her nose probably wouldn't itch. She scratched it absently, listening to the hubbub of the hospital wing, watching the healers fading in and out of sight behind the privacy screen like apparitions in a Foe Glass. Some were lime green blurs, and she guessed that staff from St. Mungo's had come to help the survivors.
Survivor. She had survived. Hermione turned her face into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the sudden tears away. The black boot of memory had finally kicked down the door of her mind, and she was awash with the sounds and images of the final battle.
Draco Malfoy, red-eyed and coughing, horrorstruck at the death of Crabbe.
The ghostly Ron who had risen from Hufflepuff's cup just before she'd stabbed it, sneering at her that she was ugly and obnoxious, that no man would ever want her, least of all him.
The real Ron who had grabbed her spare hand urgently, whispering into the shell of her ear over and over, "Don't believe it, Hermione. Don't you believe a word of it. Go on and do it, Hermione, you can do it..."
The rasp of Ron's tongue on hers when she attacked him in front of the Room of Requirement. He'd had a cut on his lip, and it caught on her teeth as they kissed.
Snape's fingers scouring arcane patterns in the dust on the floor as he choked on his own blood.
Harry's trainer, hanging half-off his left foot as Hagrid carried him from the forest. It had leaves and mud caked on the bottom.
Ginny's white face as she watched her mother duelling Bellatrix.
The way Harry, circling Voldemort like a predator, was suddenly no one she'd ever known. No one she'd ever even seen, with that strange light blazing forth from his emerald eyes.
Ron, turning blindly from his family and running out onto the front lawn to throw up.
The grass scratching her calves as she followed him.
His soft Oof when Yaxley popped out from behind a tree and hit him dead center with a curse, screaming obscenities the whole time.
The dirt clod that had hit her shoulder after Yaxley's curse detonated next to her foot.
The blackness.
She opened her eyes. Stared at the cracks on the ceiling. Willed herself not to panic. Just as she opened her mouth to yell for Madam Pomfrey, to beg her for news of Ron, the left side of the privacy curtain was yanked aside, and there stood the lady herself, smiling tiredly.
"Good morning, dearie," she said as she twirled her wand in a complicated diagnostic spell over Hermione. "Gave me a bit of fright, coming in like that yesterday! But we'll have you all patched up soon." She gestured reassuringly at Hermione's bandaged foot, which buzzed with a numbing charm.
Hermione waved her hand impatiently, brushing away the comforting words. "Where's Ron, Madam Pomfrey? Please tell me, is he okay?"
Pomfrey blinked at Hermione for a second. At first she thought the nurse was trying to figure out which Ron she meant. Then she realized that Pomfrey knew exactly who she meant, but was trying to think of a way to break some unpleasant news to her.
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. It felt like she was holding her howling heart in. "Oh no... please no..." she began.
"He's alive and awake, dearie," said Pomfrey gently. "But he's taken a terrible curse, and it's really not my place to discuss it without his permission."
Pomfrey pointed to a huddled heap on a bed on the other side of the room. "When I'm done with your check-up in a few minutes, you may go visit with him if you like. But promise to keep your weight off your left foot--I was able to regrow the bones, but the muscles and tendons will take a while to reattach properly. I'm afraid you're stuck here for the next few days at least."
Hermione nodded, automatically accepting the cane Pomfrey conjured for her. Ron looked awful. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but he lay on his side, curled with his knees almost to his chest as he picked morosely at a stray thread on the sheet. He wouldn't look at her.
She frowned and lay back as Pomfrey continued to fuss over her, her deepest fears momentarily alleviated. A persistent plink, plink from the washroom nearby annoyed her. Filch ought to fix that. If he even survived, she thought.
She asked. Pomfrey frowned. "I haven't seen him since before the battle, but who knows?"
Who knows indeed, thought Hermione, turning her head to the right, where the privacy curtain was still up.
"Is Professor Snape still here?" she asked quietly. "He looked quite badly injured yesterday."
Pomfrey narrowed her eyes. "Yes, he's still here, and won't say two words to me or anyone else. Maybe you can get him talking."
"Me?" said Hermione, taken aback. "Why on earth would I be able to do such a thing?"
"Well, he carried you in here, didn't he? He must not hate you entirely."
"You do realize," said a rusty voice on the other side of the partition, "that I can hear you talking about me."
Pomfrey and Hermione both started guiltily, but Pomfrey recovered quickly, marching around to the other side of Hermione's bed and jerking the privacy curtain aside.
Hermione gasped. Snape lay against the pillows, swathed in a hospital gown, glaring malevolently at Pomfrey as she examined him. What she had taken for a dripping sink was actually Snape's arm, still bleeding steadily from his Dark Mark into a basin next to the bed.
Had she thought him pale before? He looked nearly dead now. He drank a deep red potion without a word of protest, raising his head slightly and swallowing with effort. Hermione noticed that there was no wound on his neck from Nagini's bite--not even the faintest scar.
His eyes swivelled suddenly to Hermione. She blushed and dropped her eyes, horrified to be caught staring.
"Close the curtain, Poppy," he ground out hoarsely. "This isn't a fucking zoo."
"Neither is it a pub, Severus, so I'll thank you to watch your mouth," snapped Pomfrey as she stepped closer and twitched the curtain back behind her so that they were hidden from Hermione.
Hermione lay back slowly, her mind abuzz with questions. How had Snape survived? How did he get that strange injury? And why on earth had he taken the trouble to carry her in to the hospital wing?
She supposed she'd hear about it sooner or later from Harry or one of the other Order members. But just then, two bigger questions began to crowd out all concerns about Snape: What was wrong with Ron? And why would he not even look at her?
She sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to get some answers.
A/N: The title of this chapter is from a quote in the Merchant of Venice. Expanded quote: "If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?"
Also, thank you all so much for your kind response to my first chapter! I was terrified about posting it, since I haven't written fiction in years. You all are the best! :)
Title: Meeting in the Middle
Chapter 2: Do We Not Bleed?
Genres: Romance/Drama/Angst
Word count: 1,175
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Graphic gore, cursing (thus far)
Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione agrees to an unusual request in order to help Snape survive a curse.
When Hermione opened her eyes the next day, she knew immediately that she was not dead. In the afterlife, her nose probably wouldn't itch. She scratched it absently, listening to the hubbub of the hospital wing, watching the healers fading in and out of sight behind the privacy screen like apparitions in a Foe Glass. Some were lime green blurs, and she guessed that staff from St. Mungo's had come to help the survivors.
Survivor. She had survived. Hermione turned her face into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the sudden tears away. The black boot of memory had finally kicked down the door of her mind, and she was awash with the sounds and images of the final battle.
Draco Malfoy, red-eyed and coughing, horrorstruck at the death of Crabbe.
The ghostly Ron who had risen from Hufflepuff's cup just before she'd stabbed it, sneering at her that she was ugly and obnoxious, that no man would ever want her, least of all him.
The real Ron who had grabbed her spare hand urgently, whispering into the shell of her ear over and over, "Don't believe it, Hermione. Don't you believe a word of it. Go on and do it, Hermione, you can do it..."
The rasp of Ron's tongue on hers when she attacked him in front of the Room of Requirement. He'd had a cut on his lip, and it caught on her teeth as they kissed.
Snape's fingers scouring arcane patterns in the dust on the floor as he choked on his own blood.
Harry's trainer, hanging half-off his left foot as Hagrid carried him from the forest. It had leaves and mud caked on the bottom.
Ginny's white face as she watched her mother duelling Bellatrix.
The way Harry, circling Voldemort like a predator, was suddenly no one she'd ever known. No one she'd ever even seen, with that strange light blazing forth from his emerald eyes.
Ron, turning blindly from his family and running out onto the front lawn to throw up.
The grass scratching her calves as she followed him.
His soft Oof when Yaxley popped out from behind a tree and hit him dead center with a curse, screaming obscenities the whole time.
The dirt clod that had hit her shoulder after Yaxley's curse detonated next to her foot.
The blackness.
She opened her eyes. Stared at the cracks on the ceiling. Willed herself not to panic. Just as she opened her mouth to yell for Madam Pomfrey, to beg her for news of Ron, the left side of the privacy curtain was yanked aside, and there stood the lady herself, smiling tiredly.
"Good morning, dearie," she said as she twirled her wand in a complicated diagnostic spell over Hermione. "Gave me a bit of fright, coming in like that yesterday! But we'll have you all patched up soon." She gestured reassuringly at Hermione's bandaged foot, which buzzed with a numbing charm.
Hermione waved her hand impatiently, brushing away the comforting words. "Where's Ron, Madam Pomfrey? Please tell me, is he okay?"
Pomfrey blinked at Hermione for a second. At first she thought the nurse was trying to figure out which Ron she meant. Then she realized that Pomfrey knew exactly who she meant, but was trying to think of a way to break some unpleasant news to her.
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. It felt like she was holding her howling heart in. "Oh no... please no..." she began.
"He's alive and awake, dearie," said Pomfrey gently. "But he's taken a terrible curse, and it's really not my place to discuss it without his permission."
Pomfrey pointed to a huddled heap on a bed on the other side of the room. "When I'm done with your check-up in a few minutes, you may go visit with him if you like. But promise to keep your weight off your left foot--I was able to regrow the bones, but the muscles and tendons will take a while to reattach properly. I'm afraid you're stuck here for the next few days at least."
Hermione nodded, automatically accepting the cane Pomfrey conjured for her. Ron looked awful. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but he lay on his side, curled with his knees almost to his chest as he picked morosely at a stray thread on the sheet. He wouldn't look at her.
She frowned and lay back as Pomfrey continued to fuss over her, her deepest fears momentarily alleviated. A persistent plink, plink from the washroom nearby annoyed her. Filch ought to fix that. If he even survived, she thought.
She asked. Pomfrey frowned. "I haven't seen him since before the battle, but who knows?"
Who knows indeed, thought Hermione, turning her head to the right, where the privacy curtain was still up.
"Is Professor Snape still here?" she asked quietly. "He looked quite badly injured yesterday."
Pomfrey narrowed her eyes. "Yes, he's still here, and won't say two words to me or anyone else. Maybe you can get him talking."
"Me?" said Hermione, taken aback. "Why on earth would I be able to do such a thing?"
"Well, he carried you in here, didn't he? He must not hate you entirely."
"You do realize," said a rusty voice on the other side of the partition, "that I can hear you talking about me."
Pomfrey and Hermione both started guiltily, but Pomfrey recovered quickly, marching around to the other side of Hermione's bed and jerking the privacy curtain aside.
Hermione gasped. Snape lay against the pillows, swathed in a hospital gown, glaring malevolently at Pomfrey as she examined him. What she had taken for a dripping sink was actually Snape's arm, still bleeding steadily from his Dark Mark into a basin next to the bed.
Had she thought him pale before? He looked nearly dead now. He drank a deep red potion without a word of protest, raising his head slightly and swallowing with effort. Hermione noticed that there was no wound on his neck from Nagini's bite--not even the faintest scar.
His eyes swivelled suddenly to Hermione. She blushed and dropped her eyes, horrified to be caught staring.
"Close the curtain, Poppy," he ground out hoarsely. "This isn't a fucking zoo."
"Neither is it a pub, Severus, so I'll thank you to watch your mouth," snapped Pomfrey as she stepped closer and twitched the curtain back behind her so that they were hidden from Hermione.
Hermione lay back slowly, her mind abuzz with questions. How had Snape survived? How did he get that strange injury? And why on earth had he taken the trouble to carry her in to the hospital wing?
She supposed she'd hear about it sooner or later from Harry or one of the other Order members. But just then, two bigger questions began to crowd out all concerns about Snape: What was wrong with Ron? And why would he not even look at her?
She sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to get some answers.
A/N: The title of this chapter is from a quote in the Merchant of Venice. Expanded quote: "If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?"
Also, thank you all so much for your kind response to my first chapter! I was terrified about posting it, since I haven't written fiction in years. You all are the best! :)