Calling Dr. Granger

Calling Doctor Granger

Chapter 5

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don’t recognize.


“The water’s boiling, Hermione.

“I said the water is boiling--”

Hermione looked up from the chess game with a bit of annoyance. She’d been thinking about Prof. Snape again. In a way, it was like being in love. The memory of how his back looked and the sight of his face writhing in passion, returned to her often. But it wasn’t love, it was just some sort of emotional processing going on. Just like she kept flashing on the sight of Dr. Falco dying. She was patient with herself, though, because she knew it would pass in time.

“Well, you’re closer to the kitchen, why don’t you do it? I swear living with your mum has made you the laziest git on this planet.”

“Well, for one, I don’t have my leg on and two…” Ron’s eyes searched the ceiling. “And two…”

“Oh, all right. Don’t let it all boil away.” Hermione moved her chess piece. “You’re two moves from beating me anyway.”

“Actually, one. Check.”

Hermione stood dead in tracks and glared at the board. “You distracted me!”

“I didn’t need to do anything of the sort. You do a fine job of distracting yourself.”

Hermione headed into the Burrow’s underused kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. Ron hopped in behind her. “Are there any of those chocolate covered digestives left?” he asked.

“Just one and it’s mine.” She said, placing it on her plate.

“’Ere, give it over.”

“No, there are plenty of gingernuts left and I’m sure your mum is bringing more bickies when she gets back.”

Ron swooped around her and deftly grabbed the chocolate covered cookie. “Ron!”

“I won the game, and to the victor go the spoils.” He said taking a bit of the cookie.

“You are a spoiled brat you know that.” A sudden look of pain flickered in his eyes and Hermione silently cursed. “I mean you’re a lucky… Oh, damn.”

She headed into the eating area with the tea tray. She slammed down the tea tray on the long wooden table. Sundays, she thought, it was like strolling through a minefield. Kaboom! No, not a minefield that was just way too apt.

Ron sat down, he face sullen and pensive. “It’s all right, Hermione.”

“No. No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be living here with her. You should be out and back in the world again. The two of you have become way self-indulgent.” She scowled, not caring how severe it made her look.

“Easy for you to say.” Ron’s voice had a low, dangerous quality.

“No, it’s not. I’m not perfect, but I’m not a living monument to the past nor am I living in a museum. Face it-- you and Molly need to sell the Burrow. Keep one or two mementos for each of them and then move on. You can continue living together if you must, but get a place in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley.”

“I’ll agree you’re not perfect and we’ll just leave the rest as codswallop, shall we? People who live in glass houses.”

“Ron, I have a job. I have a life. I didn’t bury myself.” She put too much cream in her tea and looked at it with disgust.

“Eh, didn’t bury yourself? You did exactly that. And in your favorite manner-- I bet you still spend every spare moment in the library. You should have become a librarian, not a doctor.”

“You make me so angry, Ron Weasley.” She took a moment and forced herself to breath. “Come on. Let’s just leave off. Put on your leg and we’ll take a walk outside. It would do you good to have some fresh air.”

“That’s your problem. You could always dish it out, but you couldn’t take it.” He poured himself some tea.

Hermione finished fixing her cup and discovered that she didn’t want it anymore. She bit into a gingernut. “Anything you say, Ron. Now, let’s take a walk.”

Ron blushed and she knew what the answer would be. She’d originally nagged at him to just have the magical prosthesis fitted. She had hoped once he had it and looked like any other Wizard, he’d be willing to leave the Burrow. It was only after he had acquired the artificial limb that she realized that Ron’s inability to go outside ran a bit deeper than vanity.

“No, not today. I prefer it here. And you are just trying to change the subject.” He blew on the tea and sipped it.

“The subject being?”

“You claim to have a life. You tell me that you go out, see men, and go on dates. But I never get to meet them.”

“You never leave this place! What, I’m supposed to bring them to your home, like I was bringing them to my mother for approval. ‘Excuse me, Nigel, this is my best friend from Hogwarts. He’d get up to greet you but he likes to feel sorry for himself and pretend he’s an invalid.’”

Fire flashed in Ron’s eyes and Hermione worried that maybe she’d gone a bit too far with that remark. Still, this was the way it was every Sunday, with them bickering like an old married couple. Each poking at the other’s sore spots, wanting to help but just pouring salt in the wounds.

“You need therapy, Hermione. Ever since Draco rap—“

“No fair. No fair. Time out. It wasn’t a rape.” She gestured a huge “T” with her hands.

“Come off it Hermione. There were witnesses.”

“I was buying myself time so he wouldn’t kill me. I willingly let him have a go so I could have him distracted long enough to get my wand. And it would have worked if—“

“If Prof. McGonagall hadn’t blown his head off.”

Hermione giggled. Ron shook his head. “You see. You’re laughing about it, that’s bizarre.”

“Rather laugh than cry, Ron.”

“You’ve been tetched since then. You didn’t talk for three days.”

“Right! I also couldn’t look anyone in the eyes for weeks. But that was war and it’s been over for years now. And I’m over it now. And you got to admit it was a bit absurd. I mean here he was with his head clean off and his body just kept going at it. You got to admit it’s a bit funny, because we all knew that Draco didn’t need a brain as long as he had his wee willie-winkle to think for him.

“The important part is that I didn’t let it stop me. I have sexual relationships. I go out. Damn it, Ron, you always turn it around to make it sound like I’m the virgin. But no, I’m the normal one here.”

Ron sighed noisily.

Hermione thought, round one: my point! Now to go in for the kill--

“There’s nothing bad or disgusting about having a missing limb, Ron. If you’d just go out to the pub with me one night-- Three Broomsticks or The Leaky Cauldron, your choice-- you’d see how many Witches would be all over you.”

“Drop it. Okay, you won this round. You made your point. You’re normal and I’m the freak.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you! Look if you are nervous about chatting some girl up, we’ll practice together.” She deliberately placed her hand on his leg, just above where it had been lost at the knee. “You are a handsome man, Ron.”

“Hermione, now that is bloody disgusting!” He pushed her hand away from him. “You’ve been like my sister all these years, and now you’re acting like some harlot!”

“I said practice, as in pretend.” Hermione crossed her arms and looked very angry.

Ron started to feel a bit chagrinned. All right, he thought, perhaps he had overreacted a little to her touch. “Don’t be pissed off with me.” Ron slowly wrapped his arm around her and planted a kiss on her forehead. She forced herself to appear relaxed in his arms. She mustn’t give into the crazy feelings that sometimes a simple hug could engender. This was her friend after all; he’d never hurt her.

“So how soon will Molly be back?” Hermione asked coolly.

“Not until this evening. She’s going to a concert as well as doing the shopping. I told her to take a long time.”

“Why? We’ve done our usual. Nothing special about today.” Hermione chased a speck of biscuit around her plate before standing up and walking over to put it into the sink. “How about a chance for me to get even. I’ll set up the chess set again.”

“The funeral’s tomorrow.” Ron watched her carefully.

“Yes.”

“You say that like it’s somebody’s cat being laid to rest, not that poof you’d fallen for.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. All right, Ron? Just let me get through it first.”

“And not a word about how it felt to be kidnapped by that creep? You need to talk, Hermione. If you don’t one of these days…”

“Not a word about Prof. Snape. He’s still my patient—“

“Now, that’s odd. Why are you still working with him? Wouldn’t there be some sort of conflict or something.”

“I can handle it.” Hermione began to set up the chess pieces.

“That’s what you always say just before you head flying off the deep end.”

“I say it because it’s the truth. Nothing, but nothing life dishes out to me, I can’t handle.”

“Physician Heal Thyself.” Ron quipped as he helped Hermione set up the pieces.

“What does not kill me, makes me stronger.” She sipped her tea even though she didn’t want it.

Ron stopped, still holder his rook. “I hadn’t heard that one before.”

“Nietzsche. Muggle madman and philosopher.”

“Trust you, Hermione.”

She looked at Ron with her steady, unwavering, brown eyes, “That’s right, trust me.”


&&&


It was the middle of the night when the attack came. A flurry of fists struck Snape while he slept in his bed at St. Mungo’s. One particularly severe blow to the kidney sent him to unconsciousness. When he came to, he crawled under his bed. That was where he was found come morning. Of course, there was only a skeleton staff at St. Mungo’s that day. There had been a lottery held to decide who would keep the hospital running while all the others attended Dr. Falco’s memorial service.

Short handed as they were, no one even noticed him under the bed until halfway through mid-morning rounds. It took two orderlies to get the terrified Wizard up and into his bed.

Snape had tried hard to orientate himself. But it still all felt blurry and out-of-focus. He wondered if his food hadn’t been drugged. He’d seen Hermione for only a short while upon their return was it two, perhaps three days ago. She apologized for bringing him back. He’d just nodded, quite aware that there was no place to go, no safe place to hide. Not if it was whom he thought it was meant him ill. No, then he’d have no chance at all. St. Mungo’s had probably been the safest place for him until he figured out a course of action. That had been before the attack. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think straight. Everything seemed too dreamlike.

And he just couldn’t shake the certainty he was dead. They’d killed him.

He’d tried to tell Hermione that. That he was only a dead man. She called it dissociative thinking, the result of his trauma and would clear up in time. Snape didn’t think time would cure Death, rather over time one would simply become deader. Perhaps, there would be less confusion in time—the problem was that he wasn’t a vampire, or a ghost or a ghoul. He didn’t fit into any of the undead categories. He ate and he had needs. He hoped she was right. Even more, he hoped to get into her knickers again. He’d do a better job this time, he’d be sure to take care of her needs first, that he would.

He was scared to say he loved her-- he’d never said that before to a soul. He feared that he might scare her off. And, what if he were dead? Did he have the right to involve her in a relationship which really couldn’t go anywhere but the grave?

Snape shook his head. Something about his thinking wasn’t right. Hadn’t been right since he found himself in St. Mungos. He had to get out of there so he could think clearly again. Either that or he needed to resign himself and not fight it. But every time he thought about her, he got this sense of something. It was a very alien feeling. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be hope.


&&&

Hermione came storming out of the ward. It had been a very bad day and it was getting worse by the moment. She’d been to the funeral and had been snubbed by Falco’s entire family. She’d tried to pay her respects to Claudius Withercrust, Flavia Falco (his ex-wife), his son, and his niece. She had tried but they all just glared at her, even Withercrust. But it hadn’t been her fault. None of it had. So why did they hate her? She didn’t stay long. It had been very crowded anyway and, realizing how enormously popular the man had been, she felt very alone. He’d made her feel welcomed and special, but she was just starting to realize that he had had that effect on everyone. She felt very small, diminished with his passing.

Claudius held onto the Falco women as if he was drowning and Falco’s son put his arms around them all protectively. The image stayed with her even as she arrived at the hospital and made her rounds. And then she discovered that Snape had been attacked during the night. But no one would admit it to her. Everyone said, read the chart, read the chart. What the chart said was, injured having fallen out of bed. And it was all lies. She’d tried to ask the ex-professor what had happened, but he’d merely cut his eyes at the new protector assigned to Hermione and smiled. She tried to project a thought at him, hoping that Legilimency might work and they could communicate that way, but he shook his head and then turned away from her. She suspected that he was afraid for both of them.

Hermione didn’t know where to go, whom to turn to. Albus Dumbledore was in the hospital now with pneumonia and though she visited him daily, it was like visiting a ghost.

She was in the woman’s loo, locked into a stall when she heard someone enter the room. In a low voice sent a silencing spell went over the room. She brought her feet up from the floor so no one could tell she was there and she gripped her wand, ready to protect herself. She felt more than heard the second spell being cast. When he began to speak she realized that with the second spell the Wizard had disguised his voice. It came out all sort of hollow and whispery.

“Doctor Granger, I’m going to give you one warning. And only because I’m sure Dr. Falco would have wanted it that way. Don’t try to protect Snape. He’s going to get whot’s comin’ to him.”

“Then I’ll get him released.”

“You do that. Then the Aurors will take over. They’d like to ‘question’ him. Mark my words, he’s a dead man either way.”

“It was an accident. He was a loyal member of the Order.”

“He’s also the last living Death Eater, and no one cares that it was an accident. Dumbledore’s dying and with him goes Snape.”

Hermione pulled her feet up even closer to her. A cold chill overtook her and she felt some tears spill over and down her face.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you will not get yourself ‘accidentally’ damaged. The doctor was fond of you.”

Hermione heard the door close and felt the silencing spell lift from the room. She slid down onto the floor of the stall and stayed there for a very long time trembling.

A/N: Losing my readership faster than I care to think of. So it’s extra big hugs to all those who are sticking by me on this little trip through darkfic land. Let’s shout it out for: LittleBird, The Grey Lady and LovesthePotionboy!

Also, I’ve decided on a double ending! Whoopee! How many fanfic writers are able to go both ways?