France, 1917
“Nurse Granger,” he said, fumbling to form the words around the piece of cold glass in his mouth.
The young nurse leaned over to pull out the thermometer. “Please call me Hermione, Commander,” she answered. She waited, as if she expected him to invite her in turn to call him Severus.
Commander Snape intended to do no such thing.
“Your fever’s down,” Hermione Granger said at last as she put down the thermometer. “Your body seems to be fighting the infection fairly effectively.”
“I suppose I should be relieved to hear that,” Snape noted noncommittally.
Nurse Granger continued working, chatting idly in that way nurses did. “There’s new news from the front,” she told him. “There’s word that you-know-who is planning another offensive, but everyone agrees it’s no more than a last stand. At long last, we’re finally winning.”
Snape met the nurse’s eyes. “I am not afraid to hear the name of the Kaiser.”
“No,” Granger said slowly. “You wouldn’t, would you.” She was a silent for a moment. “I understand that you flew a plane before your injury?”
He had never driven a plane in his life. “Yes, that’s right.”
She picked up a chart and began to record numbers. “Royal Navy. Very commendable.” She put the chart back down. “I also heard that you served as a trusted counselor to the Kaiser himself, ostensibly advising him how to invade Britain while you secretly gathered information for the Allies. A double agent.”
Inside, his blood ran cold, but his outwardly apathetic exterior had long ago become second nature. “And wherever did you hear such a tale as that?” he asked.
She looked around. The ward was empty. Carefully, she pulled a card out of her shirt and handed it to Snape. An Mi6 license to kill. “Hermione Granger, His Majesty’s Secret Service,” she said.