A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

All characters and some storyline themes belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no $$ from the writing of this fic. Thanks to JK Rowling and my beta Stephanie, aka VIVAvivacious, for allowing my stories to be the best they can.

6- A Turn of the Tide

Thus began the nightly tradition of Hermione reading Shakespeare aloud to pass the time during her shift, and Professor Snape choosing to sleep during the day when Deidre came in. It wasn’t that he disliked Deidre, exactly; it was just that he could barely understand a damn word she uttered and didn’t care for idle prattle about things he knew nothing about. At least Hermione had an idea about what his life had been like prior to his condition. She had seen him in every possible physical way during the past six months. He didn’t feel any unease with Miss Granger the way he did with Deidre. It was just too… uncomfortable under the care of someone he barely knew.

Miss Granger seemed to have matured a lot while he was in his coma. She had probably seen untold horrors no young woman should ever have to endure. He felt secretly responsible for holding her back when she should be at Hogwarts or out in the world making something of herself, not sitting with an ungrateful old man who was ugly, dried up, miserable, and had nothing to offer her in recompense. He couldn’t even sit up, for the love of God, couldn’t even hold a book and read to her in return. Severus felt completely useless, dead inside.

The only thing, no, the only person, who kept him grounded and sane during those first few long, grueling weeks was Miss Granger. She was a lone shaft of sunlight in a dark and dreary world. How he hated himself for being so helpless; he loathed being so fully dependent upon her. To his utter amazement, Severus came to look forward to her night shifts, pretending to be asleep until Deidre left and then conveniently waking up just as Hermione started her shift. It dawned on him that neither girl ever took a day off. They sat with him seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. He wondered how they could stand him.

A kind of trust and understanding grew between the Professor and his former student. She was always very professional about everything, and he never had to correct her for making him feel as if he were an invalid or something to abhor or be ashamed of. On the contrary, she was always positive and spoke of the “one day” when he would regain his movement again. Frankly, after almost a month of routine, he was quite astounded when, out of the blue, he was able to move his limbs.

Hermione had been reading from Shakespeare’s book of Sonnets for the third time while he lay staring at the horrid ceiling, merrily drifting along on the sound of her lovely voice when, very suddenly, he decided to try and move his arm to get at an annoying itch on his nose. Quite unconsciously, the arm obeyed, and he was able to scratch the itch. His eyes caught sight of his hand, and he just stared at it, dumbfounded, for a full minute before he was able to comprehend that he was actually able to move!

With a yelp of surprise, he lifted his other arm off the bed and stared in fascination at that one, too. Miss Granger was more than a bit concerned when he yelped and quickly dropped the book to rush over to his bedside. They both stared at his raised arms in absolute shock, still being held above his face; he was afraid to put them down for fear they wouldn’t move again. Hermione painstakingly asked him to move each finger in succession, then to raise and lower his arms, and then to wiggle his toes and lift his legs ever so slightly off the bed. He got a little overzealous and tried to roll over; he was greeted with an agonizing charley horse in his side for the effort. She made him lie still and rushed off to find Dr. Nitwit.

‘Yes!’ he thought fiercely. ‘Yes, yes, yes, fucking hell, yes!’ Maybe he was going to have a chance at life after all.