Author's Note: Please note that as of 4/7/18, this chapter is a heavily revised version of what was originally posted. Many, many thanks to my betas, TamraPraxidike and HeartOfAspen, for all of their help.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize.
Saturday, December 19, 1998
Hermione hefted her satchel further onto her shoulder, wincing as the strap dug deeper into her flesh. Despite the pain, she could not help the smile that graced her face at the thought of the new books she had borrowed from the library, some of which Madam Pince had set aside especially for her, knowing she would take a special interest in them.
Normally, the strict librarian would refuse to allow any students take books with them on holiday for fear of either never seeing them again or apprehension at the condition they would be returned in. Hermione agreed; too many of her peers did not appreciate the knowledge each book presented, or give them the care they deserved. Thankfully, the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall had offered Hermione unfettered access to the library's collection when she returned to Hogwarts in September to prepare for her N.E.W.T.s. As she had finished sitting for her final exam the day before, and planned to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, she had all the time in the world to find new topics to explore. Her smile grew at the thought.
Finally, I'll have some peace and quiet, she thought blissfully, glancing at the star-filled night sky through a window as she passed. She loved Ginny, she truly did, but the youngest Weasley was enjoying far too much firewhiskey than was healthy. If she was not at the Quidditch Pitch, she was either attending a party or hosting one, which led to her relentless hounding for Hermione to join in.
Hermione recognized that the loss of Fred had hit the entire Weasley clan hard, but Ginny did not seem to be moving on like the rest of her family was trying to do. Additionally, when Hermione would decline each invitation - particularly the one to the end-of-term holiday party hosted by the Hufflepuffs, which she skipped in favor of studying for her Ancient Runes N.E.W.T. - Ginny had not taken kindly to the rejections, snapping at the elder Gryffindor for being such a swot.
Truthfully, Hermione was glad everyone had left for Hogsmeade Station several hours earlier. Now that she had no reasonable excuse to not join in on the festivities, she was more than happy to simply go about on her own terms as she decompressed after the hellacious past two weeks. Tonight, what awaited her was a warm bed - something that had been severely underused of late - and a good book. Practically giddy with anticipation, she pondered which volume to read first.
Her train of thought was broken when she felt something brush up against her legs. Looking down, she saw a small, black, and incredibly fluffy kitten gazing up at her with startlingly large eyes.
"Well, hello there."
Hermione crouched down slowly, not wanting to startle the tiny creature. She held out her hand, allowing the kitten's cold nose to bump against her palm as it got acquainted with her scent. Just when she had decided to try and pick the kitten up, it darted out of reach and trotted a few paces toward the direction she had just come from.
"Why, you're a little rascal, aren't you?"
The kitten meowed plaintively, continuing to stare at her before it trotted forward a few more paces again, looking back at her once more.
"You go on now. Maybe Mrs. Norris will want to play," she suggested, though she suspected the feisty feline would not want to cater to the kitten's playfulness.
Turning her back on the strange cat, she paused as it called out to her again, louder this time. Sighing, Hermione turned to look at it once more, "What is it? I don't have any food for you."
It flicked its tail impatiently before trotting back over to her and nipping her heels.
"Oh!" Her brow furrowed as the creature's surprisingly sharp teeth dug into the tender skin under the fabric of her robes. She waved her hand to shoo it away, but the kitten darted to the side too quickly. "What on earth was that for, you little bugger? That hurt!"
Without any warning the kitten lunged at her heels again, forcing Hermione to stumble back in the direction she came from, not wanting to give the kitten another chance to draw blood. Apparently appeased, the cat darted out in front of her, looking at her over its shoulder, almost daring her to turn her back again.
"Do you want me to follow you? Is that it?" Hermione blinked several times when she thought she saw the kitten dip its head in agreement. She could not deny that her curiosity getting the best of her. "Fine. But this better be good."
A flick of its tail was the only response she received as it trotted off once more, seeming satisfied with itself that she was following.
The deeper the cat took her into the castle, the more Hermione's brow furrowed. She was no longer sure of where, exactly, they were, except that it was a part of the dungeons she had never been to before. As it led her to a dead end, she could not help but feel exceptionally foolish that she had just wasted the last fifteen minutes traipsing across the castle after a cat that likely had no bloody idea where it was going. In fact, it was now staring expectantly as a stone wall. Something clearly was not right with it.
She shook her head and started to turn around when she noticed that an imposing wooden door had slowly begun to manifest itself right where the kitten had been staring. Once the door was fully revealed, the cat moved forward and began scratching at the wood frantically, calling out with pitiful cries.
Hermione shuddered when her palm met the cold, metal doorknob, knowing that this could be a huge mistake as she thought back to her first year when she, Harry, and Ron had made the acquaintance of Fluffy. She looked down at the kitten once more to find it still trying desperately to claw its way through the wood. Knowing animals had a penchant for sensing trouble or danger, she squared her shoulders and slowly pushed the door open.
The kitten raced inside at the first opportunity. Following it, Hermione quickly realized she was in someone's personal chambers, a professor's from the look of the expansive rooms.
Turning around for fear of getting caught trespassing, a blood-curdling scream chilled her to the bone. Dropping her satchel and gripping her wand, she raced toward the sound. Throwing open the next door she came to, she raised her wand, a hex already on her lips as she prepared for an attack.
The sight that met her was impossibly worse.
Severus Snape lay writhing in his bed, drenched in sweat and blood.
Hermione's eyes widened as she saw him clawing at his neck, more blood staining the sheets and dripping down his arms as he let loose another scream of pain mixed with terror. Taking action, she grabbed the professor's hands to prevent him from making the wound worse.
"Professor," she called out when his cries momentarily died off, trying to remain calm and keep her wits about her. But her strength was no match for his, and when he threw her off of him, she quickly realized she was in far over her head. "Professor Snape, I need you to wake up now!"
The older man's brow furrowed and a light of hope burned in Hermione that she had got through to him. Her attempts were for naught however, when instead he thrashed harder and quickly overpowered her once more, returning to clawing at the side of his neck.
Realizing that that this was far more serious of a situation than she was equipped to deal with, she grabbed her wand and performed a quick Patronus charm. Her otter sprang forth and danced merrily as it awaited instructions.
"Go to Madam Pomfrey at once," she instructed. "Tell her Professor Snape is in his chambers and is gravely hurt. She must hurry."
Just as she said the last word, the otter disappeared through the walls, leaving a trail of silvery mist in its wake. Hermione set her sights back on Snape, resting a knee on the bed as she worked to gain leverage and apply pressure to the wound on his neck. His hands continued to fight against hers, but she ignored the cutting pain of his nails digging into her flesh. Biting down on her lower lip, she refusing to let loose a cry of pain.
You must remain calm, Hermione, she told herself, taking a moment to breathe deeply. You know if you lose your composure, it will do nothing but increase his stress levels, which he certainly doesn't need at the moment.
"Professor Snape, it's time to wake up now. You're hurting yourself, sir. It's just a dream." She did not know for how long she attempted to wake him, repeating the same words over and over, to no avail; he was too far gone in his dream. This was no typical nightmare she had ever witnessed. No, this reminded her far more of the night terrors Harry had experienced when Voldemort was at his strongest, but even those paled in comparison to what she was witnessing now.
She sighed in relief when she heard the door burst open to admit Madam Pomfrey. The matron's eyes were wide as she took in the scene before her.
"I-I didn't know what to do," Hermione exclaimed, desperate for help. "He won't wake up. He was thrashing and screaming when I found him, clawing at the scar on his neck."
In a single, practiced glance, the healer took in the scene and quickly moved to action.
"Keep pressure on his neck. I'm going to immobilize him and then we'll work on closing the wound and replenishing his blood supply. I daresay he's lost nearly a liter of blood already, supposing none of this is yours?" Hermione shook her head. "Very well."
Hermione watched as Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand sharply, Snape's body freezing mid-spasm. Her eyes widened when she continued to feel blood seep through her fingers, silently begging the healer to hurry. Even with a Blood-Replenishing potion, losing this much blood was not a good sign.
"Now, on the count of three, you're going to remove your hands." Hermione nodded mutely, watching as Madam Pomfrey took a clear vial from her nightdress pocket and pulled the cork out with her teeth. "One. Two. Three."
The young witch hurriedly got out of the healer's way, knowing that every second counted in healing, no matter how simple the task. As the matron poured the contents of the vial onto Snape's neck, soft green smoke billowed upward as his skin knitted itself together, and Hermione recognized the curious healing process of Essence of Dittany.
"The wound is sealed for now," Madam Pomfrey stated. "But he's still in the middle of the night terror. I'm going to release him from Immobulus. He'll likely try to fight us again, but I need you to lift his head with one hand and pinch his nose with the other. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Hermione moved to the other side of the bed, reaching one hand beneath his head to cup his neck and positioning the other above his nose. Madam Pomfrey popped open two more vials and spit out the corks, not caring where they landed.
"Good. On three again. I'm going to pour the Calming Draught and Blood Replenishing potion down his throat. The effects of the draught should be nearly instantaneous, and then I'll be able to address the wound more carefully." The healer's authoritative and controlled voice helped calm and center Hermione's racing thoughts.
As expected, the moment he was released from the immobilizing charm, Snape's body began thrashing once more, working against them. With Hermione's fingers pinching off the airflow to his nose, he opened his mouth to breathe, which allowed Madam Pomfrey the opportunity to pour both potions into his mouth.
Hermione watched his throat, noting the exact moment he swallowed, and mentally counted to ten in her head. Though she knew this was approximately how long it should take for the draught to take effect, nothing happened.
She looked up at Madam Pomfrey in confusion. "Why isn't it working?"
Madam Pomfrey cursed a wild streak before pulling another vial of the draught out, ignoring Hermione's question. "Damn fool of a man," she said to herself. "You're going to kill yourself." After Snape swallowed the second dosage, Hermione counted to ten once more. When the potion took affect this time, she could feel her tense shoulders finally relaxing. She had thought Harry's nightmares were bad, but this? This was far, far worse.
Gently resting his head back against his pillows, Hermione noted that despite his calm outward appearance, his jaw was still clenched and his brow furrowed.
"I'll fetch some flannels to clean up the blood." She looked down at her own hands and realized she needed to clean herself up as well.
"First door on the left," Madam Pomfrey intoned, directing her to the lavatory. She had already moved on to inspecting Snape's injury with a closer eye.
Hermione took a few moments to clean up in the water basin, taking care not to make a mess; Professor Snape had always been particular about the conditions of his pristine classroom. While most students were under the impression that he was just being a git for taking points off, Hermione recognized it was actually a safety precaution. With all the classes he taught back-to-back, each at a different difficulty level, it was a given that a number of various ingredients would be used. If the wrong two ingredients were combined because of one careless student's mistake, the results could be catastrophic.
Freshly cleaned, and with her arms full of damp flannels, she re-entered the professor's bed chambers to find Madam Pomfrey still kneeling on the ground, evaluating the wound.
"This has happened before, hasn't it?" Hermione set the towels on the nightstand, taking one in hand before turning back to the bed. The matron shot her a sharp look. "You knew what was wrong right away. You had the Dittany, Blood Replenishing potion, and Calming Draught at the ready."
Without providing an answer, Madam Pomfrey stood and moved to the foot of the bed, lifting her wand to perform a diagnostic spell. Hermione watched in fascination as several scripts glittered in the air, stemming from various parts of the professor's body.
Noting the young witch's curiosity, Madam Pomfrey quickly transferred the results to a spare bit of parchment on Snape's desk for later perusal. Huffing in frustration, Hermione set to work on cleaning the blood from his neck. Ever so carefully, she brushed away strands of hair that had got caught in the coagulating blood and patted the flannel gently against his raw skin, not wanting to aggravate it further.
As she worked, a pit formed in her stomach. Several sets of puncture wounds and a particularly nasty gash where Nagini had bitten off a chunk of his flesh appeared. Despite knowing that the wounds were several months old, she might have guessed they were new.
Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out as she was transported back to that dreadful night. The metallic scent of his blood filling the air, his cries of pain intermixed with the creaking floorboards…
Breaking into a cold sweat, she closed her eyes and forced herself back into the present moment, pausing her cleaning for a moment as she waited for her hand to stop shaking. He's safe. I'm safe. He's safe. I'm safe, she chanted internally, forcing herself to believe it. Opening her eyes, she focused on his face. The muscles were still tense, his jaw still clenched, but his nostrils were flaring steadily. He's breathing, he's safe, she continued her litany as she set back to work, moving the soiled sheet from his bare torso. The crimson blood spatters stood in a frighteningly stark contrast against his overly pale skin, making her feel slightly nauseous.
Under the guise of returning to the loo to grab more flannels, Hermione slowly slid to the floor, her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around her knees as she took several shaking breaths. She only allowed herself a few moments before she forced herself to stand back up, but had to brace the wall for support when her legs proved unstable.. After giving herself one more moment to fortify her will, she hastily grabbed a few more flannels so as not to raise suspicion and returned to Snape's bedside.
Almost mechanically, she continued cleaning his body, washing away the blood before patting the area dry. She lifted his hands and ran the flannel over each digit and across his forearms, making sure not a speck remained.
When she had finished, she looked up at the other witch. Madam Pomfrey was studying the bit of parchment with Snape's diagnostic results.
"What was that? That happened to him?"
Madam Pomfrey lifted her gaze, not saying a word.
"Well?" Hermione demanded, frustration welling inside her once more. She felt helpless, but most of all, confused. This should not have happened. Why is this happening? He was supposed to get a second chance...
"You know I am not allowed to disclose information regarding my patients, Miss Granger. I'm sure you understand that the same respects you are given apply to others as well."
"You and I both know it's not that simple." Hermione retorted sharply. Her confusion and worry about what she had just witnessed had made her filter defective. "I have every right to know!"
The healer paused, but did not look at Hermione. "Professor Snape is in no danger of dying in his present state."
Hermione, huffed, growing increasingly more frustrated with the lack of information she was being given.
"I think the more pressing question, Miss Granger, is what you were doing down here on this night, so far from your rooms..." Madam Pomfrey folded the parchment with the diagnosis and placed it in her pocket, taking a spare towel and cleaning off her own hands as she eyed Hermione.
"I was on my way back to my rooms when…" she looked around, realizing she had not seen the black kitten since entering Snape's chambers. Her eyes finally settled on the tiny creature, which had jumped onto the dresser and was practically glowering in Madam Pomfrey's direction. Madam Pomfrey followed her line of sight. "That kitten led me down this hallway, and then the door appeared. I heard the professor scream and when I couldn't wake him, I summoned for you."
Madam Pomfrey eyed her with her signature glare that made many a first year hesitant to return to the Hospital Wing with a fake illness.
"I know how it sounds, Madam Pomfrey, but I swear it's the truth."
"That is neither here nor there. You may leave now. Professor Snape is under my care."
"No!" Hermione protested quickly, and a bit too loudly. She winced as the healer eyed her with a raised brow.
"Oh?"
"I mean," Hermione blushed, flustered at her outburst, "I want to stay. To help." When Madam Pomfrey did not appear moved by her pleas, she added, "Please, I deserve that much. You and I both know that I have far more invested in this than anyone else. Perhaps even yourself."
"Very well," the healer conceded after a moment. "You may watch over him while I inform the Headmistress of his incapacities and return with further supplies. He won't awake, the potion should last-"
"-For up to six to seven hours, yes," Hermione finished for her, recalling the specifics of the potion with ease. But how long, she wondered, her inquisitiveness unable to stay quiet for long, would a double dose take effect for? And what about adverse side effects? She kept her questions to herself, knowing she was already pushing her luck, and Madam Pomfrey's patience. Madam Pomfrey nodded succinctly, mollified at least, that the chit would not further deteriorate his condition, and turned from the room.
The kitten, which had remained alert and tense on the dresser, now visibly relaxed upon the healer's departure; it lithely jumped down from its perch and brushed up against Hermione, winding itself in and out of her legs.
"Not particularly a fan of Madam Pomfrey, are you?" Hermione kept her voice quiet and was careful not to step on its tail as she moved closer to the bed. "I must say, she and I aren't on the best of terms right now either."
Wondering just how much the healer was keeping from her regarding Snape's condition, she sighed. Perhaps she should have known to expect this.
Glancing back to the prone form of her professor, her heart lurched for this man who had sacrificed everything in his life to make amends with one woman through her son. He had pushed everyone, everything, away. She closed her eyes in sorrow before steeling herself and throwing her hair into a messy bun, squaring her shoulders and setting to work.
