The Potion Master's Amalthea

Hermione goes back to the Shrieking Shack, determined to bring back Snape's body. When she gets there, there is absolutely no evidence of his death. Suddenly, somebody grabs her from behind. Who is it, and what really happened to Snape?

* * EWE and some changes to DH * *

~*~O~*~

They had laid the body of Tom 'Voldemort' Riddle and those of the Death Eaters in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of the others that had died fighting Voldemort, since nobody wanted them lying next to their loved ones. In the Great Hall lay all the wounded and the fallen heroes of the battle. Well, that is how history would recognize them. Hermione helped carry in another fallen, laying the fifth-year Ravenclaw down carefully. She stood up to look for Ron and Harry and saw Harry standing in a circle of redheaded men.

The death toll was harsh, in Hermione's view. The bodies of Percy, Hestia Jones, Elphias Dodge, Dung and Tonks, and so many others were laid out in two long rows, surrounded by those who had fought by their side, friends and loved ones, mourning their loss. Lupin was being carried in on a stretcher and gently laid next to Tonks. Colin Creevey's body was brought in right after his. A thick lump had formed in Hermione's throat, watching Professor Lupin's body pass by on a stretcher, but seeing little Colin Creevey was shocking. His tiny hand lay on his chest, exactly where the lump in Hermione's throat fell as she silently watched him pass her.

There had to be over fifty lying on the floor. More were coming in from the school grounds. McGonagall had moved the house tables against the walls for those who needed to sit. People moved around the dead and injured as the Healers and medi-wizards tried to help those they could, stabilizing injuries of those who were to be transported to the Wizarding hospital. Hagrid sat in front of the head table as a medi-witch and medi-wizard tended his multiple Acromantula bites as Grawp watched, crying from a hole in the ceiling.

Wearily, all jumbled together, teachers and pupils, house-elves and parents, sat in groups together, consoling each other or mourning the loss of a loved one or friend. Even the ghosts floated among them with their shoulders sagging. The centaurs stood in solemn vigil by their fallen brother, looking down at Firenze as a medi-wizard attended his wounds. Grawp kneeled to peer in through a smashed window, then stood again to lean in through the hole in the ceiling, tears sliding down his cheeks, making heavy splashes on the table below him. Nobody bothered wiping them away from the surface of the table.

Hermione made her way over to the Weasleys and stood quietly beside Bill. Ron looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears, still kneeling where he'd apparently carried in Percy's body, laying his brother at his mum's feet. Ron wiped away a tear quickly before it traveled too far down his cheek as he gazed at Hermione. She held out her hand to help him up. Once on his feet he didn't let go of her hand, needing her supportive touch.

Harry and Hermione stood silently with the Weasleys, surrounded by members of the Order. Mr. Weasley was standing with his arm across Mrs. Weasley's shoulders, trying to offer some sense of comfort as she stood crying over her two sons; Percy lying there on the floor – dead, and Fred, lying unconscious on a stretcher with severe injuries and his left arm and leg immobilized in supports. George knelt next to his brother as the Healer from St. Mungo's stabilized him for transport. "Molly, he came back to us," Mr. Weasley said softly as she stared at Percy's body. "In the end he knew… He chose, and he chose us." Mrs. Weasley broke into great sobbing tears, and Mr. Weasley pulled her into his arms.

"Yeah, Mum, the git changed sides and died to save Fred," George added, receiving a scowl from Bill. "What? He did!"

"Don't be a git, George. At least he was placed here, Mum," Bill said, placing a hand on his Molly's shoulder. "They saved this section of the Great Hall for the Order members. At least he is being counted as one of them."

The members of the Order – all its fallen members… "Snape," Hermione said, pulling slightly on Ron's arm. "We should go bring him here."

Still stricken, Ron silently nodded, still holding firmly to Hermione's hand, both for comfort and support. "Yes, Hermione – we should… But where is Harry…?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, turning Ron to face her. "But I need your help to get him." She wasn't sure if Ron was listening or not, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Ron, I need you to come with me." Ron nodded again and started walking. Hermione guided him toward the doors.

Luna drifted over, coming up behind Ron and Hermione as they tried to worm their way from the Great Hall. "Ron, I think Professor McGonagall was looking for you."

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick approached just as Ron turned to Luna. "Not right now, Luna. Hermione needs me to do something," he said, absentmindedly. Luna nodded and Ron turned to follow Hermione again.

They didn't get far. "Oh, there you are, Ron." Professor McGonagall stopped him before Ron and Hermione made it to the doors. "Where's Mr. Potter?" she asked concerned.

"I'm not sure," Ron said with a shrug. He turned and pointed. "I think he's – last time I saw him he was by my parents."

"Professor Snape, he should be here, I need to go get him," Hermione interjected quickly before either Professor told her she couldn't go. "I know where he is, and he needs to be recovered – brought here." Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick nodded, and they moved out of their way, both holding out arms to keep anyone else from following them.

Walking down to the Whomping Willow made Hermione uneasy. There were still Death Eaters out in Hogsmeade and possibly still in the Shrieking Shack, but she had to check. She tried to avoid the stains in the grass as they made their way down to the tree. Great gashes and holes could be seen in the castle towers and many battlements and turrets had been destroyed. The roof had collapsed in several places, there were great gaping holes in the walls of the castle, shattered and missing windows, and great chunks of rock and glass were scattered in the grass around them. The devastation brought tears to her eyes. "Hey, Hermione, it'll be okay," Ron said softly. "We'll bring him back to the castle and join my family. You'll see; everything will be all right."

She smiled as Ron pulled out his wand. He levitated a rock and aimed it at the knot in the trunk just above the tunnel entrance. It took him two tries to hit the knot and quiet the vicious tree. Ron climbed in first and Hermione followed.

She paused as Ron shifted the crate that blocked the entrance and climbed into the shack. The room was quiet and still. The floor was dusty, and except for her footprints and Ron's, there was no evidence that anyone had been in here for ages. Except that she had. Harry had knelt here, right next to Professor Snape, and I did too. "We were in here just a few hours ago…" she said as she stared at the floor.

"I know, Hermione, I was with you, remember?" Ron said, shaking his head.

"Then where is he?" she asked, turning around, confused.

Ron was already returning to the tunnel to go. "Well, they must have taken him or something. Let's go. No point staying, is there?"

"You go. I'm going to look around a while. Something seems – wrong – out of place…" Hermione said. She had the urge to leave, the desire to return to the castle, but her mind refocused on the lack of blood on the dusty floor. "I just want to check one thing…" she said as she walked over to a door.

Ron was already slipping into the tunnel. He stopped and turned, only his head visible. "Want me to wait for you?" he asked.

"No… I'll be along in a minute. You go; I'll catch up to you in the tunnel." She opened the door and looked around the empty room. This was only her second time in the Shrieking Shack, the first time back in her third year. She'd had little curiosity for the place, but even then she remembered that there had been footprints in the dust on the floor: dog prints, rat prints, even cat prints and human. The urge to leave was strong, but seemed unnatural. It's not fear… it's desire – a Repelling Charm of some kind. Why on earth would someone cast a Repelling Charm in the Shrieking Shack? She reached the stairs and gazed up. Footprints and scuffmarks could be seen on all the steps. Evidence of people being here… But you can't get here without leaving footprints on the floor… there. She turned around again.

Going back to the room where Professor Snape had been laying, Hermione carefully examined the floor again. No blood, Ron's big feet and mine… But I know I knelt here… She turned around, checking her bearings. Yes, right here. He was on the floor, bleeding, and I touched him… She checked her hands. I had his blood on my hands… wiped them on my jeans, she recalled with absolute clarity. Looking down she could still see the smeared bloody prints. I'm not going crazy, he was here – right here.

Suddenly an arm grabbed her from behind, and the heavy weight of a body leaned against her back, nearly toppling her to the floor. A wand pressed into her side. "What are you doing here," a scratchy voice said in her ear. Hermione tried to turn, stunned, but his arm grasped her tightly as if using her as his sole support. The black sleeve of his robe smelled of dirt, sweat and faintly of blood.

"Professor?" she asked in complete disbelief. "I thought… you were dead – I-I came to get you, b-bring you up to the castle – where you belong…."

"To parade me around as your captive? Like some war trophy, perhaps?" he snarled.

"NO! I wanted to retrieve your – you and bring you back up – where you belong," she insisted. "What can I…?" He stumbled slightly, and she turned grabbing onto him. "You need help, you need a Healer…"

"I need nothing from you," he snapped. His legs gave and Hermione was pulled down to the floor with him, kneeling, still locked in his grasp.

"What can I do?" she asked, looking down at him, worried.

"Nothing." He glared at her a moment. He tried to rise, but apparently couldn't.

Hermione stared at him, their bodies tangled together, deeply concerned for him, and unsure of what to do.

"In my left pocket, I cannot reach it with you grasping at me," he snarled, and then teetered, obviously growing weaker. "My anti-venom, a green vial… green…" She shifted her weight off him, and he slumped to the floor. Snape was deathly pale, shaking slightly and Hermione could only watch him, concerned. A rag of some kind had been wrapped around his neck and was stained in his blood, slightly oozing on his pale skin.

"Professor, what can I do? I only have Dittany with me. There are healing potions up at the castle," she started to say and was interrupted by his harsh, cold chuckle.

"I have the potion in my pocket, Miss Granger. Get it out. Left pocket," he said in a less scathing tone.

"You want me to reach into your pocket?" she asked, stunned. Usually he avoided physical contact of any kind, and she was momentarily intimidated to touch him in such a personal way. Okay I know he grabbed me… But being grabbed is very different than just sticking your hand in someone's pocket – especially someone like Snape!

"Yes, Miss Granger, unless you intend to let me die. The green vial, then a dark purple one with a silver snake, and a cream ceramic jar," he forced each word out harshly.

I can't just slip my hand into his robes and grope his pockets!She pulled out her wand and used a Summoning Charm instead. "Professor – how…? I can't get them out." He tried to scoff at her, and his laugh came out as a ragged cough. At the sound, she slipped her hand in and fumbled with the multiple vials, pouches, bottles and jars with a look of confusion. "I thought… How come I can't get it? How do I…?" she stuttered, annoyed. "I can't get them out."

"Put your hand in my pocket, Miss Granger, then Summon the ones you want non-verbally. It's Nagini's anti-venom," he instructed. Hermione nodded, her lips moved as she concentrated on the spell, and the bottle slipped into her hand. She pulled out one bottle of pale putrid green, removed the stopper and tipped the bottle to his lips. "Now, same pocket, Blood Replenishing Potion, a Regenerative Potion and a Healing Salve." She nodded again and slipped her hand into his pocket, concentrating on the potions and salve he mentioned. Two bottles and a jar rose to her fingers, and she scooped them out.

"Which one, sir?" she asked, holding the two potions, one in a green glass bottle and another in a vial of the deepest eggplant with a silver snake stopper.

"Green one," Snape simply said. She opened the stopper of the green one and he opened his mouth. She filled his mouth, nearly choking him. "Now the other one, pour a little on my neck," he instructed. Her nose wrinkled at the thought of removing his bandage, and he scowled at her. "Yes? You asked to help me, untie the scarf and pour it on the wound." She undid the knot and gently unwrapped his neck. The gash from the snake's bite was varied shades of red, grey and purple-blue. The wound looked like the snake had bitten half of his neck. She held up the second bottle, tipped a few drops into the wound and waited. Snape closed his eyes for a moment, obviously in pain. "Pour more on my neck, please."

She complied, watching his face carefully. His usually stern scowl was a grimace of pain. She tenderly moved a strand of hair from his face and his dark eyes opened, staring intently at hers. "If you would apply the salve and redress my neck, I would appreciate it. Then you may leave," he said with his usual disdain.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I'll take care of your wound, then you will come with me to the castle…"

"No, Miss Granger, I will not be going to the castle," he snapped, reaching for his potions. "I'm not going up to the castle to be handed over to the Aurors." Hermione exhaled in a huff, and he glared at her. She handed the vial, bottles and jar to him, and he slid them back into his pocket.

Silence enveloped the room, and although she knew he tried, he was barely able to raise his arms. "Then, if I am not taking you to the castle, you have two choices; my bedroom at my parents' house or Grimmauld Place," she stated determinedly.

"Neither," he said, trying to sit up. Hermione helped him to rise. He leaned on her briefly and balanced himself, standing shakily. He turned, and Hermione, for an instant, thought that he was going to fall and reached for him. She felt the squeezing sensation of Apparition before she could summon help or intervene. However, the usual pulling sensation was slightly off, and she realized a moment too late that he hadn't adjusted for her extra bulk. Hermione added her will to his Apparation, hoping that she could boost his spell and they would land safely.

Suddenly, they appeared in a sitting room. Snape jerked his arm from her and fell, landing hard on the floor. Hermione knelt by his side and conjured a pillow for his head, then looked around the small room. One door with a heavy lock and chain, the front door, perhaps… one window with heavy curtains, and bookshelves – the walls are all bookshelves! This cannot be the entire house? "Professor?" Hermione kneeled down by his side, rolling Snape onto his back. "Professor?"

He was unconscious. His breathing, although light, was steady, and he didn't feel too clammy or sweaty. He looked asleep. She looked around the room. Bookshelves… one small Floo… one window… one door. The walls were completely covered with books, most bound in old black or brown leather and some newer. One threadbare sofa, an old armchair, one rickety table, and an old carpet… A sitting room perhaps. A sitting room with only one way out? No, can't be. She looked for a light source and saw a candelabra hanging from the ceiling. Using her wand, she lit the candles. "They're merely stubs, only about four inches, if that. That won't give us much light for long, Professor," she said, more to hear a voice than for conversation. She crossed to the Floo and conjured flames, watching them dance in the grate, before turning to assess her situation.

No way out except by that door, which will let me outside… But if this is Professor Snape's house, there will be a Fidelius Charm on it – if not countless complicated wards and protections. With the life he's led, this place would be more secure than even Hogwarts. I'd never get back and he will die because I won't be able to tell anyone where he is. She looked around for something to transfigure into a blanket. Nothing… oh wait! She tried transfiguring the sofa into a bed and levitated Snape onto her makeshift cot. Using the cushions, she made three more blankets and Transfigured the two throw pillows into a blanket and pillow for herself. That will do for now.

She slipped her hand into his pockets and tried to summon various potions. The anti-venom, Blood Replenishing, Regenerative and Pain Potions as well as the Healing Salve slipped easily into her hands when she Summoned them nonverbally. She tried again for various healing potions but only a Headache Draught and Bruise Salve slipped into her fingers, and she had no idea what the other bottles, vials and jars she could feel contained. "Well, at least I'll be able to tend your wound," she told Snape. "I hope you are sleeping and not unconscious from another serious injury. I'm not a Healer, you know."

She pulled out her evening bag and drew out the extra clothes she'd packed and fumbled inside for plates, cups and her tooth-brush. Hermione aimed her wand carefully and said, Aquamenti," filling both cups with water. Drinking hers, she tried getting Snape to drink some, managing to get him to swallow small amounts. "Well, you got some fluids in you. Maybe if I make some tea later, I can get that in you, too."

Now she had no idea what to do. She sat on the floor, hugging her knees, deciding her best course of action. I have some food, and I can make tea and water. But that won't last long. I cannot use the Galleon to summon help, because I'm sure I can't tell anyone where I am. And I can't just leave him here – he'll die. She turned to look at her one-time Professor and the man Dumbledore trusted more than any other. He looked peaceful, as if he were simply sleeping. He's not in pain, thankfully, and I think I have enough of his potions to treat his wound three – maybe four times. So, obviously, I'm going to be his Healer. For now. She looked back at the fire and sighed.Her mind replayed the last scenes of the final battle.

Harry was carried toward the castle in Hagrid's arms. Hagrid crying "Harry's dead – he's dead," over and over. Yet Harry was alive. Neville pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat just as Harry said he had in the Chamber of Secrets. Neville killed Nagini and Mrs. Weasley killed Bellatrix. Hermione shook her head. But the wand, the Elder Wand existed – and Riddle had it. Nevertheless, it flew to Harry's hand the instant Riddle tried to use it against Harry.

Hermione turned again to check on Snape. He looked the same. But if you killed Dumbledore, then why was the Elder Wand Harry's? Harry said it had something to do about Draco? Harry had Draco's wand, he took it from him… It couldn't be that simple – could it?

Hermione had bought her first wand from Ollivanders just before her first year at Hogwarts. Mrs. Toblesmire had arrived with my Hogwarts letter and stayed through lunch answering my parents' questions. I had begged my parents to let the Hogwarts representative take us to get my school things that very day, so excited to be going to such an exclusive school and to meet other kids like me. Mum and Dad relented, allowing Mrs. Toblesmire to lead us into a pub that only Mrs. Toblesmire and I could see and onto a street of objects and products that my parents could hardly believe was real. Hermione recalled every detail of that day. The sights, sounds, smells, and the people…

She tried to remember that day in the wand shop. There had been a boy and a girl – cousins, at the counter buying their first wands. A pile of discarded wands lay on the counter. I marveled at how sleek, beautifully made and ordinary they looked. Hermione chuckled, and a soft groan came from the man behind her. There was one, though, that didn't look like the others, a sleek wand with a delicately carved vine and tiny leaves. It seemed to… not really glow… or… be alive… Yet it seemed to… slip toward me slightly. So, I picked it up, and the shaft glowed and soft stars emitted from the tip and it felt – happy. "Mr. Ollivander had said that 'the wand chooses the witch,'" she said aloud.

The man on the couch stirred. Hermione checked her watch. Nearly nine. Should I redress his wound or do it tomorrow? She laid her hand on his forehead, and it didn't feel hot. Warm, slightly clammy, but I don't think he has a fever.

Suddenly she remembered the portrait of Phineas Black. She pulled the portrait out of her bag with some difficulty and propped it up on the chair, but the canvas was blank. "Professor Black?" she asked the canvas. It remained blank. Probably still partying it up with the other portraits in the castle...

She picked up the pain potion and tipped Snape's head back a bit to get him to open his mouth. He resisted slightly but she managed to get him to swallow a mouthful. She switched the bottle for the bottle of Nagini's anti-venom and gave him a mouthful of that one, too. Then refilled his cup and helped him drink as much water as she could get him to drink, then sat back and waited.

She finally fell asleep on the floor by his cot.

The sun's rays were making a white line on the old Persian rug as they shone through the slit between the curtains on the window, hitting Hermione in the eyes. She rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position, before registering that she was on the floor. Gingerly, Hermione rose, sitting cross-legged, looking at Professor Snape. He looked better – slightly. Taking as much care as she could, she undid his bandage and checked his wound. The wound wrapped around nearly half of his neck, with the deepest tears in the front near his Adam's apple and his cervical spine. Probably from the fangs. It was a deep reddish-pink and light grey, in the areas where the snake's teeth marks had been, and whitish-yellow ooze in the center of the gash. The ragged tissue along the edges were purplish and yellow. That does not look good!

Hermione rummaged in her bag until she found a clean shirt and her Potions knife. She tore a new cloth from the shirt, setting it aside, and fished out her cauldron. "Scourgify," she repeated several times to assure herself that her cauldron was as clean as it could get and filled it with water, set it in the grate and relit her small fire. When the water looked warm, she carried the cauldron beside the cot and gently cleaned the gash on Snape's neck.

Careful not to pour out too much, she allowed several drops of the potion in the dark purple bottle to fall into the gash. Next, she smeared on the salve from the jar and re-bandaged his neck, careful to move his head as little as possible. She gave him a small amount of the anti-venom again and the potion from the green bottle and sat back.

During the hour that Riddle gave everyone to collect their dead and wounded, and for Harry to surrender himself, the house-elves, unsure of what they should do and wanting to 'help,' had been passing out trays of food and bottles of drinks. Several house-elves pressed sandwiches, chicken, fruit, breads and desserts on Hermione as she moved around the Great Hall. She had put a Stasis Charm on all the food and slipped it into her purse. Now, she was ever so thankful for the house-elves' thoughtfulness.

"Professor?" she asked, touching him again. He hadn't been all that responsive when she ministered to his wound but he had swallowed the potions. "Professor Snape?"

She pulled out a tea bag and two sandwiches, making a pot of tea and then soaking his sandwich in the tea. It looked disgusting, but it was food. "Liquidus," she said swishing her wand at the contents of the cup. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the glutinous muck. "Too bad I can't make this taste any good. But you have to have something in you," she told Snape.

He moaned as she lifted his head, but he swallowed the small amounts of the liquid sandwich that she poured into his mouth.

With that accomplished, Hermione selected a book from one of his bookshelves and situated herself by the window, and began to read.

When the sky outside became too dark to read by, she fixed another sandwich mashed in tea and fed him before she ate. After that, she read by wand-light until she was sleepy.

This was to become her routine for the next four days.

~o0o~

Day 5

It had been four days of cookies, stale sandwiches and cakes, wilted fruit and water from her wand. She had to ration out the food to last, not knowing how long she would be trapped here. She was now hungry. Several times Hermione had pulled out her Protean Charmed Galleon to try to send messages, but no one answered. She doubted that any of her friends were bothering with them now that the war with Tom 'Voldemort' Riddle, as she had come to think of him, was now over. The portrait of Phineas Black was still propped up on the chair, but he had yet to make an appearance.

She had little to do but read books and tend Snape's wound twice a day. She had gone through several of his books already, mostly choosing the old books bound in black or brown leather and some more recently printed ones that she knew Hogwarts did not have in the library. She was surprised to see that not all the books were about the Dark Arts – in fact, most of them weren't. Her study journal and quill sat on the floor as Hermione returned the books she'd finished and selected the ones she wanted to read next.

The sun was setting and the light was fading. Time to check his neck and try and force him to swallow more soggy sandwiches.

"Who are you?" a hoarse voice broke the silence of the room.

Hermione stiffened, knowing that if he was awake, he would probably be quite angry with her. Especially since she had been attending to him as if his personal Healer, and she knew he'd most likely fume over some of the necessary intimacies she'd had to perform. Taking a deep breath to get her fear under control, she turned around, stepped over to where he could see her better and said, "Hermione Granger, sir."

His eyes opened wider, then narrowed them into a scowl. "Where did you take me, Miss Granger?"

"Um – nowhere… You did," she said uncomfortably.

"I did no such thing," he snapped, obviously very irritated. He was silent for a while as he mulled over her statement. "How in the blazes did you… Where are we?"

"I don't know where you brought us. I believe that this may be your house, sir." She cringed inwardly while trying to maintain the appearance of composure.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing in my house?" he snarled angrily. "And what exactly do you think you are doing here?"

"Re-shelving books, Professor. I finished reading them, and I am putting them back as I found them," she answered more calmly than she actually felt.

"Reading what exactly?"

"A – books from the shelves, of course," she said as politely as she could muster, ready for him to berate her. He rolled his head and groaned in pain. "I wouldn't do that, you'll rip your throat again, and I'm running out of your potions."

"How long," he asked.

She could tell that talking was difficult for him. "Five days," she said simply.

His eyes narrowed into a scowl, and she could almost feel the animosity radiating off him, even in his weakened state, and uncertainty sliced through her again "Five days?"

"Yes, sir," she said, coming closer to him so he wouldn't have to strain his neck.

"That is bloody unacceptable!" he snarled. Hermione stood with her arms crossed, not budging. "You will get out of my house this instant!"

"I'm sorry, sir, no."

"Excuse me?"

"Since I don't know where I am, and I'm quite sure you have a Fidelius Charm on the house, I'm not going anywhere until you are able to take care of yourself." He opened his mouth to speak, and she cut him off. "You have been a stone's drop from death and practically unconscious the whole time. I have been attending to you, cleaning your wound and administering your potions as best as I could to – keep – you – alive. Not that I ever expect you to thank me. But until you are able to rise off that cot and do for yourself or allow me to take you to St. Mungo's – I'm staying."

He glared at her hard, his teeth clenched and his breathing deep and forced. Hermione didn't move, budge or back down from his intense stare. After a long silence his breathing slowed and relaxed somewhat, but she could see that he was still very angry. "Fine."

"Now, we have a problem, sir," she said, once she saw he'd calmed down and might be reasonable. "I don't know how to leave this room, and as you can no doubt tell, it's a bit – rank in here. Also, you need a bath, and so do I. Not to mention food, a change of clothes and I'm running out of your potions. So, what can we do about that?"

"We?" The tic in his cheek was back as he clenched his teeth.

"Yes, we – as in you and I," she said with every bit of assurance she could muster.

"I don't want you wandering around my house."

Hermione nearly laughed. Of course he doesn't! "Okay, I won't wander. However, I'd like to have access to the loo and get you on a proper bed. I'd like to use the kitchen if you want food to eat, and access to this room. Is that acceptable?" she asked, trying to list out only basic requirements and hoped he'd understand the necessity of her requests.

He tried to sit up, struggling against both pain and his current weakness. Hermione reached out a hand to help him so he would not strain himself and tear the wound open again. She conjured several pillows to prop him up and support his head, held in place by magic. Once he was sitting up, he looked at her, appraising his situation and her request. "Fine, Miss Granger. However, you will limit yourself to the areas you have mentioned.

She nodded. "Now, about these potions…"

"Show me the wound," he said, cutting her off.

Hermione picked up a thin book and transfigured the cover into a mirror, then placed it in his hands. As gently as she could, she unwrapped his neck. The wound still oozed slightly with both small traces of blood and the yellow-white secretion she hoped didn't mean the wound was infected. The flesh in the gash was a dark reddish-pink, with light grey, yellow and white along the edges and in the center. The normal skin around it was still reddish, but it looked better than it had four days ago. "How often do you change my dressing?" he asked as Hermione rewrapped his neck.

"Twice a day." She crossed her fingers, hoping it was enough. He scowled, irritated at her statement. "I didn't know how often I was supposed…"

"No, you did not. How much potion is there?" Hermione retrieved the vials and handed them to him, waiting as he assessed the remaining contents. "I will have to…" Snape said, trying to get up, straining again, falling back onto the pillows and almost rolling off the cot. Hermione reached out to him, only barely managing to help him steady himself when he wavered, and then readjusted his pillows. "You will have to brew more," he stated with a glum, hopeless shrug, although he sounded petulant. "You will have to follow my exact instructions, Miss Granger."

"Of course, Professor. But I will need to clean my cauldron out and…"

"No, Miss Granger, you will have to assist me to my laboratory. The potion must be brewed in a sliver cauldron," Snape said with a disdainful sneer. "Surely, you didn't think all potions were brewed in pewter cauldrons?"

Hermione bristled at his rebuke, but tried to keep her emotions from her retort. "How exactly? You cannot even stand up and I can't carry you. How do I get you there?" she asked as patiently as she could.

"I'll walk," he said defiantly.

Hermione crossed her arms and cocked her head. "You can barely sit up…" He glowered at her, and she crossed her arms, thinking. "I can levitate the cot and float you to another room, but you must know I have never used the Mobilis Charm except in school and never on a person on a cot by myself." His scowl darkened but she ignored him. "I could use the Mobilis Charm, and float you, but I'd also have to make you stiff as a board in order to float you safely. I really shouldn't put any kind of neck support on you… that would really aggravate your wounds, but your neck must be immobilized somehow to move you."

He nodded "You may, but you will immobilize my neck and backbone only. I will be allowed to use my arms and legs as well as speak in my own house."

"Fine, I think I can do that." She mentally reviewed the Leg-Locker Curse and the body modification she would need to use to only affect his spine. Cratis, or, no – spinae. "I think I know how to modify the spell, sir."

"That remains to be seen," he grumbled. "Expositus, the word is Expositus. It will open the bookshelf behind me," he said softly.

"Okay, that tells me how to leave the room." Hermione smiled, carefully directing the Leg-Locker Curse to immobilize just his spine, and levitated him off the cot. "Upright if you please," he snapped irritably.

She smiled as she turned him so that he floated upright in the air in front of her. "Better, sir?"

"Fine," he snapped. "But do be careful and don't go banging me into the walls or my ceiling."

Hermione smiled as she draped his arm across her shoulders. Trying to walk with him was difficult but she managed to follow his directions through the hidden panel in the bookcase, and then down a short hall to his potions lab, only banging him into both doorways slightly and only once into the wall in the hall. He snapped venomously all three times, even though she profusely apologized each time.

The potions lab was large and expertly laid out for maximum production, with the capacity to make multiple potions simultaneously and easy access to all the supplies, ingredients and instruments. A large L-shaped worktable stood in the center of the room near the wall. There was a large desk and a chair on her right. Across the room was a double sink and cleaning counter with cabinets above and below it, full of various bowls and utensils. Next to the sink, a spigot jutted from the wall, providing a thin, steady stream of running water that fell into a stone basin. Behind the desk, above the worktable and part of the wall behind her, there were shelves full of ingredients, specimens, books, equipment and utensils and lots of vials, jars, and bottles of every size and shape, some empty and some full of potions. Hermione couldn't believe that she would be able to work in such a remarkable potions lab.

After Hermione Transfigured the chair into something more comfortable, and slightly resembling her father's Lazyboy chair, only more upright to allow him to see what she would be doing on the worktable, Snape began to bark orders. Hermione scrambled to collect all the ingredients and equipment he told her to get and set up the silver cauldron on the magical cold-blue flame. Working under his intense scrutiny was even harder to do than any lesson or detention she had ever had with him at Hogwarts.

She was measuring out the last remaining drops of Nagini's venom before introducing it into the potion, when Snape snapped at her, "That is all I have of the venom, Miss Granger. Measure carefully and be precise. If you are one dram off, you will ruin the potion, making it toxic, and I will die."

Hermione desperately fought to control her hand, under the added pressure of his statement. "Of course, Professor," she said, maintaining her composure by concentrating on the scale as she rechecked the amount of venom. It was a hair shy of perfect. "Couldn't I just go and get the snake's head from Hogwarts?"

"No, you cannot. Nagini was a unique snake; she was cross-bred magically between a python and a cobra. The venom will only work if it was milked from her while alive and is still fresh."

"This is all we have and it's slightly off, just below the line," she said, turning to him. "Should I add it? Will it be enough?"

He pushed himself up slightly, and Hermione braced herself to assist him if he teetered again, but he wanted to be able to see the measuring cup in her hand. He leaned forward as Hermione turned to show him the amount. He stared at it for a while, then averted his eyes momentarily, obviously considering the risk, and then checked the measurement before saying, "It will suffice." He nearly fell back into the chair as he sat back down. Perspiration beaded his upper lip and forehead, and he looked paler from the exertion.

"Are you sure?" she asked, alarmed by his tone.

"Who do you think brewed the potions that saved Arthur Weasley's life?" he snapped. "Finish it."

Hermione added the venom, and carefully followed the rest of his instructions, relieved when finally the murky burgundy-red liquid turned a pale putrid green. As the potion set, she began the next potion. His directions were still spoken in harsh, demanding tones, but with a growing edge of weariness. She did each step carefully and exactly, minimizing any questions or comments so that he didn't need to speak any more than he had to. Nevertheless, she could still feel the stress of Snape's intent, critical glare as she worked and suppressed her nervousness, concentrating on the task before her. Several hours later, four cauldrons sat in a row, ready to be bottled.

Hermione turned to him, placing her hands on her hips. "So, should I change your dressing now or later?"

Author's Note:

As the only evidence of the effect of Nagini's bite is Mr. Weasley's encounter, I have used his 'timeline' in consideration for this story. Using the Harry Potter Lexicon calendar for TOoP as a reference: Mr. Weasley was supposedly attacked on Dec. 18. On Dec. 19, Mr. Weasley allows Healer Pye to try using Muggle stitches. During Christmas, Mr. Weasley is still in St. Mungo's. On Jan 11, he arrives at Grimmauld Place, cured.

If Snape gave St. Mungo's the Regenerative Potion and Nagini's anti-venom Christmas day as I have stated in this story, Mr. Weasley was treated with Snape's potions for eighteen days before he was released from St. Mungo's.

So, I have Hermione tending to Severus for five and a half days by herself before Severus became conscious. She is with him through his twenty-one days of recovery.

The title: Amalthea [am-al-THEE-uh] was the nymph who nursed the infant Jupiter with goats milk.

In regards to the second paragraph of this chapter, I have changed the order in which the bodies are brought into the Great Hall and when, which does deviate from canon. And this is the point where I begin my story… I didn't intend it to fit canon exactly since I didn't particularly like the ending – so I'm changing it significantly. I hope you don't mind…

I want to thank my betas: Ladyinthecloak and Machshefa for helping me with this story and making it fit for sharing. You ladies were great!