This was written for chacus_amucus_kilier in the HPFC Fic Exchange. I had a blast writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it as well!
Pairing: Severus/Hermione Rating: T or M Must Haves: Angry!Draco, Severus saves Hermione from an attack by Draco (before, during, or after), eighth year, Romance No-Nos: Present or future Romione Bonus: Hermione and Draco have a heart to heart and he apologizes, smut scenes
-Chapter 1- Aug 24
The hospital wing at Hogwarts looked almost the same as it had before the Final Battle. That was to say, the volunteers had done a wonderful job fixing the place up. The white walls gleamed – maybe not as brightly – and the floors squeaked beneath entrants' shoes.
Hermione took a look at the readings of the sole patient in the hospital wing and slumped into the chair at his bedside. She ran a hand through her tangled, impossible hair nervously, trying to muster up the energy to feel anything but disappointment and powerlessness, but her attempt was unsuccessful.
The tests had declared him exactly the same as last time: steady heartbeat, normal blood pressure, normal breathing. Also, there was very little to no activity in his brain and there were no fluctuations in his magic levels, which read to be keeping at a steady average.
He had been in this magical coma since the battle.
Harry'd insisted they return to find the man who had sacrificed so much to aid him, hoping against all hope that, though he had seemed to be dead... hoping that not all had been lost. He'd been dead, or had appeared to be, and all three of them had known that. He'd seemed to know of his imminent death, if he'd given up precious memories. It had been as though he was certain he was about to die. Completely convinced, with not a grain of doubt.
But something had needed fixing within all of them - maybe a way to make up for the destruction the war had caused. So they'd gone back.
Upon returning to the Shreiking Shack, they'd found and proved, once and for all, that their sour Professor had been good at Potions, not that there'd ever been much doubt.
Hermione, who had done a fair bit of reading about magical healing, all theoretical research with no time to test it out, had tried to place a stasis spell on their barely-breathing Professor. Upon further research, it was found that he had taken a precautionary venom-neutralising potion with him, smart man, and taken it just before his meeting with Voldemort. Unfortunately, the effects of the potion had only kicked in just in time, and despite both Hermione and Harry's wide range of spells that had aimed to try and revive the Professor, nothing had worked.
It had been obvious, though, that Severus Snape was still very much alive.
The squeaky floor announced the arrival of another person, no doubt Poppy Pomfrey back from St. Mungo's. The woman had been spending more and more of her time there in the past few months, even after the rebuilding of Hogwarts had been completed.
"No change?" Came the question. Hermione heard the exhausted hopefulness in her tone.
"No," Hermione's dejected reply was filled with unhappiness, though an attempt was made to mask it. Madam Pomfrey, for all she worked, didn't need Hermione to make things worse. "How was the hospital?"
"Dreadful. There are hundreds – thousands – of patients, and simply not enough manpower to manage." There was a heavy sigh.
"I see," Hermione said.
"Hermione, dear," the Healer said softly, with an edge of regret. "He is beyond help, but many who are not getting treated at St. Mungo's are not. You have improved your formidable skills drastically this summer, and you would truly be an enormous help to the Healers."
The offer was one that had been made many times before. Hermione responded the same way she always did, "I do not have the qualifications, magical skills, or training to be of any real help at the hospital." Inside, she wasn't protesting about her credentials – or lack thereof – but about taking her Professor, Severus, off of the precautionary spells that kept him alive. (Possibly, as they knew little of how to treat his condition). There was some deep-seated horror in her that quaked at the idea of losing him. Not an infalliable Professor, all-powerful. Never.
"Yes, but-" Madame Pomfrey began to say, but Hermione cut her off.
"Besides, school is starting up in a matter of weeks," revealed Hermione tightly. "I am planning to return to officially finish my schooling."
Somewhere inside of her she knew one of the reasons she was returning to Hogwarts was so that she could continue to keep an eye on Severus.
Throughout the exchange, Hermione didn't once look up from the sheets pulled tightly around Severus Snape's immobile body. It could have been a sign of disrespect, but Hermione and Poppy had worked in close quarters the past summer and often shared moments of camaraderie. This wasn't one of those close, almost familial, moments, but the two of them, despite the age difference, were friends.
She heard the older woman give another loaded sigh, felt a familiar, soft hand pat her on the head, and then heard the sounds of the Healer retreating to her office.
A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed her suspicion that it had gotten late, and Hermione straightened. She was tired down to the bone, and she needed to rest. The next day was sure to be as trying as those that had preceded it, and she was in dire need of time for repose.
Beside Severus' bed, which was in one of the most secluded areas of the hospital wing, there was an expanse of blank wall. There were no adornments to add colour; it was the same brilliant white as the rest of the wing. Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped at the wall, muttering something under her breath.
A door appeared where there had previously been nothing, and she stepped through. Upon seeing the familiar, sparsely decorated room she'd occupied for the past month or so, Hermione fell face first into the firm mattress of her bed and almost immediately fell asleep.
She dreamt of flashes of light that changed colour as they spiralled towards her. There were green flares that got her heart racing to an incredible speed, and the pale white of a spell that made the pain in her soul fade just momentarily. In her dream, she dodged and rolled away from the colours and lights, avoiding them.
They just kept coming though, new dangers and challenges that she couldn't possibly keep moving away from. She was sure to tire eventually, to surrender to the lights that couldn't be as bad as the burning in her lungs and the acrid taste on her tongue.
There were bursts of memories that wormed their way into the dream, filling the scene with blood and death. A pale face full of freckles lay still on the ground, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the face of whoever was making those lights shoot at her.
There was a woman, tall and pale, with enormous black hair, heavily lidded eyes, and voluminous, dark robes. Her wand was held almost carelessly and she cackled. As she turned and spun around, giving Hermione short breaks between the shots, there was a glint of silver. A knife dangled precariously from one pocket, something that could do so much damage; it could kill, it could torture. She was hard pressed, in her dream, to remember that she'd faced that dream in the most intimate way and lied.
Hermione hated and feared that dagger.
She awoke in a cold sweat, chest heaving in exertion, as though she really had been dodging the spells. Hermione pulled her body into an upright position on the bed, bringing her legs up to hug them. She was trembling and had to blink a few times to shake of the image of that dagger that haunted her dreams from her mind.
As the shaking began to calm and her heart rate returned to a normal speed, she reluctantly began to get out of her bed. The fresh breeze coming from a window that – Merlin knew how – opened to the outside reminded her that the crispness that came with fall was fast approaching.
And with it, Hogwarts.
Feeling even less rested than she had the evening before, Hermione began pulling on her clothing. She was nowhere near ready to go and push through one more day, but it was inevitable. Her hair fell down and across her face in crooked curls, so she hastily flicked them away.
With a watery smile directed at her reflection as she left her bathroom as she half-heartedly washed up, Hermione tried to bolster her energy and mood. She all but crashed into the door frame as she left the room, and then caught her fingers in the door as she tried to close it.
"Oh, bugger it all! Ouch!" Hermione flailed her fingers about, trying desperately to make the throbbing recede. Tears of frustration prickled at her eyes, blurring her vision momentarily. As she blinked them away, she caught Madam Pomfrey's amused glance, meeting the woman's eyes and actually realising she was there about ten seconds after she began hopping about.
"Well then, good morning," said the Healer, looking highly entertained – though the dark bags under her eyes exposed her fatigue. "Up until those antics you just pulled, I would have said you're developing your skills as a Healer very well."
A blush heated up Hermione's face. "My apologies," she said. "I'm still feeling groggy."
Madam Pomfrey waved a dismissive hand at Hermione, "Water under the bridge, my dear. Now," she continued, the serious expression that often took up residence on the Healer's face back. "I have to go help out at St. Mungo's. They are planning to relocate some of the younger patients with less serious injuries."
"Oh?" Hermione was interested. "Where?"
"Here," The pursed lips and tightening around the eyes alerted Hermione to the fact that the Healer did not seem impressed by the idea. "They seem to be under the impression – the Head Healers there – that I will have additional help from you. They're desperate, and seeing as you're unwilling to go there, they've decided to bring the patients here."
"But-" She had been struck nearly silent. "I have classes, and I'm still brewing like mad for you. I have Severus to take care of… I'll have schoolwork, and we still do not have a Potions master to teach, meaning we'll have someone fill in and I'll be the one requested to host study sessions…" Hermione blanched in response to the responsibilities she had listed.
"Don't fret, dear." The warm, comforting tones were ones Hermione recognised as ones the Healer used to reassure patients experiencing shock. "It will all work out. I am very thankful for all your help with the brewing, and I admire that you are planning on continuing your education…"
Hermione understood through the finality in Madam Pomfrey's tone that she was suggesting Hermione take her future into her own hands and forget about the needs of the Healer, but that didn't sit well with her. "I can't just leave you here with patients; you'll be swamped!"
Madam Pomfrey nodded reassuringly at her, not pressing the issue. There were deep lines of fatigue on the older woman's face, and Hermione knew that she could never leave Madame Pomfrey alone. Of course, Madam Pomfrey said, "You think on it, there is no pressure. I have to go get ready for the hospital. I should be back earlier than usual, and they're bringing the new patients in early September. Of course we'll have to get the wing looking better, but that's a worry for later."
With that, she marched off to her office, where the fireplace was, and promptly flooed away.
There was something niggling Hermione about what the Healer had said, and realised it a few moments later. Early September. That was when Hogwarts was to begin. She hadn't been lying when she said she wouldn't leave Madam Pomfrey on her own, but she also knew she was correct in her predictions of the school year. She was going to be overworked like no one else.
She felt as though she were in her dream again, trying to dodge the obstacles that fell into her path but knowing with a dreadful certainty that she couldn't hold up much longer.
Worlds more unhappy than she had been earlier in the day, Hermione took a seat beside the bubbling cauldron. The heat and moisture in the air had made her hair even larger than usual, and she felt a trickle of sweat travel down her neck. She wiped at her brow, disgusted by the dampness there, and – not for the first time – asked herself why on earth she'd agreed to return to Hogwarts.
She remembered the day McGonagall had reached out to her, requesting her help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. They'd been desperate for power, and had resorted to requesting the aid of their more prominent students in light of the losses that had occurred during the war.
Hermione had agreed. It'd been early June, just after the insanity and grief had begun to take second place to rebuilding the Wizarding World.
The building itself was completely fixed by mid-July – the innate magic of the castle helping the process along, she believed – and it had been discovered that she was good at potions… and that St. Mungo's was desperately in need of them.
There were unfinished things in her life that she had to tend to – her parents, Ron, Harry, her schoolwork, her future – but she had left it all behind for a while, focusing all her energy on brewing, Severus, and helping Madam Pomfrey.
Madam Pomfrey had taken to her after only a day or so, and Hermione had made up her mind to stay until the beginning of the school year, knowing her parents were oblivious to their real past and refusing to deal with the other loose ends of her life. It could all wait until she got things sorted. What things, however, she wasn't sure of.
She tried not to think of the day Severus had been transferred from St. Mungo's, but it was always playing in her mind. Harry had been filled with guilt upon learning that Snape hadn't been as much of a bastard as they'd always thought; reminded of all the pain he had caused the older man. Harry had lost too many good people in the war, starting with his parents, and he hadn't wanted the procession of people who'd died for him to end with yet another who'd had good intentions. Snape.
The look in his eyes when she told him she'd be looking over him as they tried to heal him had been one she'd thought had been lost forever. The smile he had sent her had been dazzling, and she, a kind and well-wishing person in essence, had made it her personal goal to make sure the man recovered. It helped that he was one of the only things she had to worry about, so his recovery was one of the few things she exerted her energy upon.
It also helped that she, herself, had some things she felt she needed to make up for. Stupid things she'd been forced to do at too young an age, things no one should ever be asked to do. After all the suffering, she had to spread her help somewhere. S.P.E.W. simply didn't cut it anymore.
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed for a fraction of a second, but she forced them back open. There was no time for rest; she had to brew.
St. Mungo's continued to plead for her assistance with brewing potions even then, months later. She truly did love the Potions work, but it was getting overwhelming. She was to brew Blood-Replenishing Draught, Calming Potion, Pepper-Up Potion, a modified version of Skele-Gro, and many other specialized concoctions that dealt with blood pressure, heart rate, internal bleeding, swell-reducing, and numbing. There were far too many to count, and though Hermione loved the challenge of focusing on many things at once, she was feeling the strain of so much work.
The timer she had set abruptly rang out, forcing Hermione out of her seat. Three stirs, and then an added eye of newt, and she was finished! The flames under the cauldron were extinguished with her wand and she let out a sigh of deep-rooted relief.
Severus probably would have berated her for thinking her work was over; the product of several long hours (nearly nine) of brewing left her with a good hour's worth of bottling and storing that she had yet to do. Feeling terribly sorry for herself, she set to work on that. She'd made five different potions, each with enough for two hundred doses. However, that wasn't going to last long at St. Mungo's, she knew.
She wasn't quite sure when she'd begun to refer to her Professor Snape as Severus in her mind, she mused as she set into the boring task, though the fact that Madam Pomfrey could never get herself to call him "Professor" ("He's younger than me," she always said.) might have aided that.
The walk back to the infirmary with boxes of vials that clanked and knocked against each other was uneventful, almost monotonous save for the occasional clang. The boxes were levitated behind her, and she had to keep a close eye so that she'd fix the wobbling that started up every so often. The potions were then put into Madam Pomfrey's office for transport to the hospital, and Hermione went into the main wing to check on her star patient.
It had become something like a ritual to take his readings, and Hermione could never get to sleep - no matter how tired she was - before she did so. The same, disappointing assessment was displayed to her. No changes. There never were any, she thought angrily.
Feeling as though her life had been taken into the hands of someone else and then been thoroughly fucked with, Hermione sat in the chair at his bedside once again. The rise and fall of his chest was, thankfully, not the result of any spells. He was very much alive, physically.
Mentally… well, that was a different story. One that was still a little hazy.
As her eyes followed the sharp lines of his face, tracing the hollows at his cheeks and admiring the high cheekbones, Hermione had to wonder when she'd gotten so close to Severus, her Professor. Long months of near-solitude - with Poppy Pomfrey and Severus Snape the only true constants in her life, Hermione supposed it wasn't so unthinkable. When he woke - she was sure he would sooner or later, or couldn't let herself even think of an alternative - she wasn't sure how it would go or if it might be awkward.
Right then, it was all simply a matter of getting to a point where that could be experienced at all.
Hermione had to admit - though she hated it - that she was losing hope. The prospect of him waking up seemed less possible each and every day, though she'd had high expectations to begin with. Exhausted, she didn't wait around for Madam Pomfrey to arrive, and went to her room once again.
Her bed invited and embraced her with warm sheets and a soft pillow under her head. She was asleep within a matter of moments, once again, happy to fall into the mindless darkness.
-End Chapter 1-