She had sunk to the floor, and was hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. Ron was doing nothing more helpful than muttering, which irritated Harry no end. Kneeling beside Hermione, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to breathe against her ear, "Shhh, it's all right. He won't do it. I swear he won't. I'll tell you later how I know, but I know, all right. Trust me, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, and stopped her frenetic motion, but she still looked worried.
When Snape stopped reading, he addressed himself to Harry. "I am seriously disappointed, Mr Potter, that once again, you cannot manage the simple matter of keeping your post to yourself!"
Ron's courage came sailing back upon hearing his friend unfairly attacked. "That's rich!" he yelled. "You're the one who takes his letters away to read them out loud, sir."
"Keep your mouth closed, Mr Weasley, or it will be points from Gryffindor," Snape growled, which did have the effect of shutting Ron up, though his eyes flashed a question at Harry: After what you said, he's not going to take points?
"I'm sorry I dropped the letter, Professor," Harry told Snape, keeping his tone even as he stood up. It was almost killing him to not give vent to anger, but the instinct that had helped him survive five years of trials was telling him not to escalate the situation further.
The tactic seemed to help, at least. When Snape next spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact rather than snide. "Obliviate really would be the simplest solution."
"No," Harry insisted. "You can't. If you do that to her, I'll explain the whole situation, every last detail. And I'll do it as many times as you use Obliviate, so there's not much point."
Snape's eyes flashed. "Perhaps I should just wipe your memory clean then, as well!"
"I don't think Dumbledore will approve of you obliviating any of us," Harry retorted, refusing to fold.
"Sometimes I really do hate you, Potter," Snape snapped back, while from behind Ron mouthed only sometimes? "All right, Miss Granger, calm down. I suppose Mr Potter has convinced me to leave your considerable intellect intact. Do try to use it for something other than showing off, will you?"
Hermione dusted herself off, though she wasn't dusty, and waved a bit at the smoke coming from the nearest genie's lamp, but when Ron finally went to her, she all but collapsed against him.
"Sir?" Harry asked, indicating the pillow strewn floor. "Please."
Snape scowled, but he did sit down cross-legged on the floor, his robes pooling around him. Only after Harry had sat as well did he speak.
"We seem to have a situation," he sneered. "Miss Granger knows more than she should, and no doubt Mr Weasley will weasel what she knows out of her during a passionate tryst, or what passes for grand passion among inept sixteen-year-olds."
"Can we do this without the insults?" Harry requested, which got him a baleful glare. But what was the point of Snape going on like that? Ron and Hermione both would already have figured out that something was up. They'd seen Harry swear at Snape and get away with it, so there was no sense in pretending, not with them, that the old animosity was still as thick and potent as ever.
Although, Harry thought, after this, all the old animosity might come roaring right back.
He was surprised at how much the thought dismayed him.
"It's Order business," Harry thought to say to his friends, since Snape had gone silent. Maybe without the insults, he just didn't know how to talk to students? No, that wasn't fair; he'd done all right with Harry in Surrey . . . "So I really can't talk about it," Harry concluded. "Sorry."
"How is it Order business that you need a transplant?" Hermione looked up to say. "And since when are you in the Order?"
"I'm not in it," Harry confirmed. "I'm just involved, as usual. And as for the other, you'll just have to trust me, Hermione."
Tears filled her eyes. "But a transplant, Harry? I know, I know, you were Muggle-raised like me, so maybe you don't know, but you really shouldn't be going to a doctor for a procedure like that." Wrenching herself away from Ron, she leaned forward to rest a hand against Harry's knee. "Isn't there something else that can be done? Have you been to St. Mungo's, spoken to a healer, something?"
Snape stepped into the conversation, his voice markedly calmer. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that in this particular case, magical remedies will not prove efficacious." He paused, clearly reluctant, but finally went on, "May I have your word, yours and Mr Weasley's both, that you will not press Harry for more information? That you will not investigate on your own? I cannot stress this more strongly: delving into this issue will put his life at risk. I think it's been at risk quite enough in the past few years, don't you agree?"
Ron was staring open-mouthed, but he managed to nod in reply.
"Miss Granger?"
When Hermione hesitated, Harry reached down and caught hold of her hand, still resting on his knee. "I'm not in danger," he assured her. "Not unless you start to pry, which could end up calling more attention to my . . . situation."
"But Muggle doctors," she softly moaned, meeting his eyes. "Harry, I nearly died twice before my parents figured out to steer me clear of doctors. They thought I was allergic, to medicines, immunizations, whatnot, but it wasn't an allergy. It was my magic, not wanting to be trampled."
Harry thought better than to tell her his own Muggle doctor horror story. "I know what I'm doing," he said instead, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. "And Professor Snape knows."
"That's not exactly reassuring, mate," Ron broke in, with a sideways glare at the professor, who raised his nose a bit, as though even incense couldn't mask the stench of a Weasley sitting five feet away.
"Well, Dumbledore knows, too, all right?" Harry tried, then realised he didn't know that for a fact. "Um, you did tell him?" he asked Snape.
"The headmaster was disappointed you didn't come to see him, yourself," Snape pointedly answered. "But yes, he knows the particulars of your situation."
"And he approves?" Hermione challenged.
"It's not an ideal situation, Miss Granger!" Snape bit out. "But we will all do our best if you will be so kind as to let us!"
"Promise me, Hermione," Harry begged, scared that if she objected too much more, Snape just might Obliviate her after all. "Promise you won't interfere. I'll tell you about it when I can--"
"Mr Potter!"
"When I can," Harry stressed. "Hermione? Promise."
"Oh, all right," she grudgingly agreed.
Snape audibly scoffed.
"I won't do a thing to find out more!" Hermione insisted, letting go of Harry's hand and sitting up straight. "Harry has my word on it."
"Break your word," Snape sneered, "and I'll not only see you expelled for phenomenally bad judgment, I'll use every Dark Art at my disposal to hex you into a quavering ball of mush!"
Harry sighed, thought about offering a calm Hey, don't threaten my friends, but decided he'd better not. He'd presumed enough, already, and for all he knew, Snape was heartily wishing he'd never gone to Surrey at all.
Hermione made things worse, though that wasn't her intention. "I don't break my word, sir," she haughtily replied, sniffing as though the very idea was offensive. "I'm a Gryffindor."
"So was Peter Pettigrew," Snape caustically replied, yanking his robes tightly around him as he rose to his feet. "There's nothing sacred about your house, loath though I am to destroy the pathetic misconceptions that no doubt lull you to sleep at night. Or is that Mr Weasley's job?"
"Professor," Harry warned.
"Potter," he mocked back.
Harry sighed. He didn't really know what to say to the man. Everything had been so much simpler in Surrey . . . of course, it hadn't seemed that way at the time, had it?