Healer!Hermione Part 2
If the Shoe Fits by ginny_weasley31
The Janus Thickey Ward by sophierom
Healer Healed by _Levicorpus_
Phoenix Feathers by camillo1978
What Makes Nundu Spots? by beaweasley2
A Healer’s Touch by Angel420 WIP
At the Shore of the Heart by neelix_2000
Shattered by Adriana
Doubts and Desires by Cassie
Ars Memoriae, or The Art of Memory by ofankoma WIP
It Should Be Me by ks51689
The P-Word by paisleysnail
1. Okay, Mr Poppleford, what is it?’ asked Hermione.
‘I-I beg your pardon?’ croaked Twitching Man.
‘By my estimate, you’ve been waiting in this cubicle for half an hour, but you haven’t sat down,’ stated Hermione dryly. ‘This means you are here because of one of two things. Either you have a case of haemorrhoids the size of a nicely ripe bunch of Pinot grapes, or you have something that shouldn’t ever be in your rectum, in your rectum.’
Twitching Man winced. Then he twitched. Then he sighed and bowed his head. ‘It was all right to begin with, but now it really hurts,’ he whispered.
‘That may well be the case,’ snapped Hermione. ‘I’ve been on shift for fifteen hours of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift, so all I really want to know is which suction charm to use. You can be shy and make me hang around in this hospital even longer than I have to, or you can tell me quickly, and I’ll consider giving you a muscle relaxing potion before I start.’
‘A Snitch!’ Twitching Man immediately responded.
Hermione let her right eyebrow join its companion. Then her features relaxed into a glowing smile. She Summoned a phial of blue potion with a flick of her wand and handed it to the grateful Snitch-twitcher.
2. For over an hour Severus sat in the quiet dark of the parlour… his thoughts drifting over the circumstances he found himself in. One month since the final battle. Two weeks in a coma, another two weeks awake regaining his strength. He felt better each day as the pain faded. The only real reminder now was the appalling scars that littered the side of his neck. The inflamed red of the scars contrasted prominently with his alabaster skin, making them appear even more horrid. It amazed him each time ‘Belle’ tended to him for she never grimaced or turned away in disgust. She accepted his scars and, for some reason, her quiet acceptance of his scars, and his sacrifice, warmed his soul. With those last lingering thoughts, he turned in for the night.
The next day dawned brightly. A note left on the kitchen table caught Severus’ attention.
I should return around 1:00 p.m. for lunch. If there is anything you need, use the Galleon.
3. ‘P is for penis—,’ she began, only to be abruptly cut off.
‘As difficult as it might be for you, Miss Granger, please try to refrain from repeating commonsense basics and only tell me what I actually need to know.’
Assuming that he was embarrassed by the subject matter because of their past relationship, Hermione gave him what she must have thought was a soothing smile. ‘Please treat me as you would any other Healer, Mr Snape,’ she said coolly, in her best medical-professional voice. ‘I will not divulge the contents of our conversation to any other sentient being.’
‘Use your head, girl!’ he spat. ‘This is obviously the sort of problem I would rather not discuss at all.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘And I am treating you exactly as I would treat any other Healer.’
Hermione stared. ‘So what are you saying? You’d prefer me to pretend that we’re friends or something?’
‘Just spare me that hideously artificial Healer voice and your grossly over-simplified explanations, Miss Granger.’
She seemed annoyed. ‘I might be more inclined to stop calling you “Professor”, if you would stop referring to me as “Miss Granger”. “Hermione” is fine if “Healer” isn’t to your taste.’
It is not.
4. "Look," said Crowley after dragging Hermione into her office, "it's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment. Give them a day in the sunshine. Lovely, I know."
Hermione briefly closed her eyes. Why hadn't she considered the fact that Crowley might take her lunch to the garden on this lovely spring day?
"You must think I'm a cold-hearted witch, but we have rules in this ward for a reason."
"I don't think you're cold hearted." And she didn't, not anymore. Two months on the ward had left Hermione unable to make judgments about almost everyone — most especially Snape, who seemed to rattle her more with each passing day. "But you've seen the difference in the ward, haven't you?"
The cracks in the tiles were, for the most part, gone; the walls had gone from dull grey to a sunny yellow; the sheets were crisp, and the ward smelled blessedly neutral, a lovely change from the perfume of urine and chemical cleaners that used to hang in the air.
Crowley smiled. "Yes, I never knew Snape was so talented with domestic spells. But if the Board finds out about this, if it becomes a larger problem, having the patients in the garden each afternoon… there's already some talk of closing down the ward."
"What? But where would they go?"
"A few for-profit homes have opened since the war. And maybe they're better suited … out in the countryside, stocked with more resources —"
5. “Well, unless we can figure out what Rennet Goyle put in her potion, I’m afraid that you will just have to wait it out,” she said, turning her gaze to the six cauldrons, thirty-nine glass tubes, twenty-seven small dishes and eighteen vials, none of which indicated which ingredient his student accidentally dropped into her cauldron. “We’ve been trying to determine this elusive ingredient for two days straight. And you said that nothing is remiss or missing from either the N.E.W.T. Potions cupboard, the general school cupboard, or your own private stores… I’m at a loss.”
He stopped pacing, leaned against the examining table, crossed his arms and glared at her. However, in his red satin boxers, the effect wasn’t quite the same as he had hoped. “So, what you mean to tell me, wife, is that I am going to stay this way?”
“Even with the Skin-Regeneration Elixir, it takes forty-five to fifty days, Severus. So, unless you want to peel like a snake every three to four days for the next six to seven weeks, I’m afraid the answer is yes.”
He exhaled slowly, his dark eyes narrowing into a furious scowl.
“At least Christmas holiday starts the end of the week,” Hermione said, hoping to console his anger. “I’m more than happy to write a dismissal from teaching for the week, and by start of term the spots should have faded enough to use a Concealment Charm – hopefully.”
“Hopefully?” Professor Snape inhaled deeply and clenched his teeth, turning his head toward the potion implements on the counter. His anger radiated from him in waves, absolutely tangible from where Hermione stood across the room, watching him. “Humph,” he exhaled sharply.
6. Hermione rinsed the pan and set it with the ever growing stack of clean ones before grabbing the next. This time, however, she couldn’t resist the urge to check her watch: 8.15. Officially, she’d been off-duty at seven, and judging by the stack of soiled bedpans she had left to scour, she had another forty-five minutes to go.
If this had been one of her twelve-hour shifts, she wouldn’t be nearly as cranky or exhausted as she was now. No, her mentor had seen fit to assign such a tedious and menial task at the end of a thirty-six hour shift.
This was one of the things that wasn’t mentioned in the pamphlet she’d read about becoming a Healer. She hadn’t expected the training to be easy. No, Hermione Granger had been through a war, after all. Not only had she been through a war, but she’d been on the front lines. It was in preparation for that war that she had learned basic First Aid and Healing charms and discovered her love for the art of Healing. She had also seen many things in the war that had given her experience to put her heads above her present classmates in the Healer Training Program.
She felt she had come into this career choice with her eyes wide open. That hadn’t made the decision any easier for her to make. Following the war, she, Ron and Harry had all been promised positions in the Auror Training Program. After several weeks of agonising over the choice, Hermione had ultimately decided not to accept the position with her two friends.
7. Healer Penrose turned to her, his face set.
‘Madame Granger,’ he said quietly, ‘this is Lucy, our new patient.’
Lying on the bed in the centre of the room was the most beautiful woman Hermione had ever seen. Her pale face was surrounded by soft, straw-coloured hair, and her eyes were half-open as she looked at her, her lips upturned in a small smile. Hermione smiled warmly at her.
‘Hello, Lucy. How are you feeling?’ Hermione asked her.
‘Tired, and a little confused. Where is Severus?’ she asked.
Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked up at Edward, who nodded, his mouth set in a thin line.
‘Her husband,’ he murmured.
‘Where is he?’ Hermione tried to keep her voice neutral, but her brain was working quickly, throwing up a million questions and suddenly making this situation more complicated, and for Hermione, more personal.
The door of the room opened, and Hermione gazed onto the pale, drawn face of her former teacher. He didn’t look at her or at Edward. His eyes were fixed on the woman in the bed, and he walked over to her bedside, sat down slowly and took her hand in his.
‘Severus,’ Lucy murmured, smiling at him.
‘I’m here, my love,’ he replied in a whisper.
8. “Quite the Quidditch fan, are you?” asked a puzzled Severus. They had been on this page now for ten minutes, and he had only skimmed the article as he had very little interest in these specific healing spells.
“Hmm?” Hermione said, jerking from a reverie. Looking down at the page, she seemed to realize the question.
“Oh, well, no, not really,” she replied. “But Ron is, and well, he really isn’t interested in my other work.”
“I see,” Severus said with a nod. “Yes, I suppose hearing about Mrs. Mayweather’s bubble-producing hiccups or Mr. Andrew’s poorly-aimed Engorgement Charm is only entertaining to the few of us in the medical profession.” Hermione laughed at his dry joke and put the journal down.
“No, no,” she responded through her laughter. “He also finds those stories amusing. It’s just, there are only so many of those a day, and he never wants to hear about my research interests.” The last part she said rather quietly, as if embarrassed to even be bringing it up. Severus leaned away from her slightly, placing weight on his left hand so he could get a better look at her face. She was staring straight ahead, her brown eyes unfocused in thought.
9. You should be in bed, Severus.” Hermione said, having gotten up to find him out of bed and about to look in a student’s personal medical file. She took the file from his hands and sat it back in its place beside of the bed. “Come on, Severus.” Her tone was gentle and calm.
Severus looked at her. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked in an unfamiliar tone of sincerity and vulnerability.
“He’ll be just fine, Severus. Come back to bed.” Hermione said, leading him back to his bed. In that moment, she would have given the world to hear him call her a silly girl or given her a hard glare. It pained her. He looked so broken and lost, almost childlike.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “What have I done, Hermione?” he asked in a whisper. He didn’t have all the answers for once. He felt vulnerable. Human. He never wanted to harm his students. Sure, he made threats and such, but they were HIS students. They were in HIS care.
Hermione sat down beside of him and took his hands in hers. “Severus, listen to me. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. Just lie down and get some rest. You need to rest. You suffered quite a head injury and lost a lot of blood.”
10. Five months of creative spell work later, Hermione hadn't made a dent in their mental battlements. Three years of accelerated Muggle university study, four years of medical school, one internship year, and several residencies in Neurology later, Hermione still hadn't progressed beyond their outer walls. In the meanwhile, she had moved into their neighbourhood and struck up a friendship with the couple, but when she had asked to spend her Christmas holidays with them that first year during a momentary loss of emotional restraint, they kindly encouraged her to spend it with people she knew back home. It was all quite well-intentioned – they simply couldn't fathom why a young woman would choose to spend her holidays with a couple she barely knew when she had family and friends back in England.
That Christmas had found Hermione in inconsolable tears on Molly's doorstep. When she had returned to her own across the globe a few days later, she had discovered a small fruitcake bundled in ruby cellophane with a note attached from the Wilkinses: 'Happy Christmas, Hermione!' Portioning it out sliver by sliver, she ate it alone at her kitchen table every morning with tea until it was gone. It had lasted through the third week of January.