By tearsofphoenix.
Standard Disclaimer applies - it's all JKR's.
This companion-piece to "Watching the Witch" is set after the events of DH. It ignores DH's epilogue, of course, but doesn't ignore the fact that no one, there, bothered. And, of course, it doesn't ignore the fact that, despite DH, the world created by JKR, and her creatures, are charming, fascinating and still inspiring our dreams.
A huge thankyou to whitehound, who as ever has helped in her unique, inimitable, precious way.
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The place was cursed, no doubt about that. Perhaps all the rumours built in the past to conceal what really happened in the creepy building at every full moon had some basis… this additional explanation, poor one though it might seem, provided quite a good answer to her need to come to terms with herself. Because when she had given that small flask to Harry, and her friend had collected there the memories which were the last protection and the most precious weapon offered to him by his secret guardian, she hadn't reacted as every previous action made by her, in her not-so-long life, should have led everyone to suppose.
She hadn't done anything: she hadn't been able to. She had only glanced at Snape's body and then hurried back to the tunnel, followed by Ron. The threatening words that Voldemort had thrown in their faces at just that moment had frozen her will to try something for the sake of the agonized wizard, as she was now remembering, and so they had left the dying body of their former professor lying on the ground without a second glance.
But, if she was honest with herself, she knew that none of these reasons was the whole truth about what had inspired her behaviour. He was Snape, after all. Who had ever bothered? When, before that time, had they ever thought of him as a wizard, a man, worthy of compassion? Also, what they had heard about him during their long flight, during the whole previous year right up to that moment, hadn't improved their opinion of him. Harry had surprised himself and his friends by looking into his dying eyes and listening to his last words, but that had been all.
That last stage had been the crucial one among the phases of the battle, there was too much at stake and it had always been her priority to help Harry; even when it had meant choosing between him and Ronald she had been loyal to her doomed friend, and not only because helping him had been the only way to help their world to achieve a deserved peace.
Ronald. His words echoed in her mind, now: "Are you staying or what?"
And it was so weird that they were the same words that he had spat in front of her before… only, luckily, this time he hadn't frightened her, this time she knew better what she really was feeling and he had acknowledged her resolution with a maturity that had touched her heart.
He had tried to stay and help during the days following the last battle, but the devastating loss of his brother, right there, and his own need to go on with a life where he could be the leader, the main actor in his own destiny, had forced him finally to admit that, no matter how much he loved his friend and his girlfriend, it was another kind of life that he wished to live, and he wanted to live it far from this place.
She was remembering the moments that had changed everything, when they were so in danger and, still, Ronald had thought to save the elves, showing a concern that wasn't only meant to win her. It had been the first real sign that her beloved friend had really became a young man, able to do something more than just lighten the situation with a witty remark, able at last to do something deeper and more significant.
That moment, their first true kiss, had lingered prominently in her thoughts, later, but not for the reasons it should have done. She had been so happy, so glad to have finally reached what she had pursued for years… but that joy hadn't lasted long. Instead, after a very short time, the memory of that kiss had become a reminder of other emotions.
Her true reaction to the hurricane of events endured during those last months had prevailed: everything had been too pressing, but the horror of what had already happened, the fact that nobody had tried to see if there was a possibility that the dying man wasn't yet actually dead, well, this feeling of guilt had overwhelmed her from that moment, and had been her piercing companion for a long time. They had saved house elves, they hadn't abandoned them… but still they hadn't been able to do the same for a man who had given everything for their sake, as she had learnt - as everyone knew, now, thanks to Harry's speech during the last duel.
That speech had been decisive, and so she had run, as soon as she could after the demise of Tom: the hope that everything wasn't lost forever moved her tired legs, her feet, and her brain, with which she had remembered what to collect in order to try a last minute's desperate rescue… and someone else must have begun the miracle, because her intervention, even if delayed, had been successful. She didn't know if it had been Fawkes with his tears, or if Snape himself had succeeded in doing something preventative before the meeting with Tom and Nagini; Madam Pomfrey hadn't known for sure and Hermione hadn't dared to ask him about it, it wasn't how it had happened that really mattered… what had mattered to Hermione had been that the Blood Replenishing and other healing potions which she had carried there had done their job because he wasn't yet dead, unbelievable but true as the fact had been.
Hermione quickened her pace, now, through the long, deserted corridors, asking herself why this memory wouldn't leave her alone. Many days had passed since then and Snape now was alive and recovered. She had given him all the care that she and everybody else had failed to show him in the Shack, staying near his bed until the time when his recovery could be considered a certainty.
The smell of death was all around, those days, and not only because of the bodies which were to be buried… it was in the tears of the parents, in the heavy shoulders of the friends, in the hollow gaze of the siblings, in the disoriented movements of a lost baby… The victory wasn't yet something real, something that suggested a better season: for a long time it had meant only the end of the evil, and it had been this feeling, perhaps, which had brought her close to this barely recovering man, wishing that he would find a reason to fight for his life, and understanding that if he could do so, others might be induced to do no less.
To be so close to a sick person was a new experience, to her. And, to tell the truth, to stay for so long in a hospital was something she had never done before, despite the fact that in her school years she had been put in one of those bed several times, because on those occasions the injuries had been so different in nature and so easily fixed with magic. Above all, in those days there wasn't the current sense of loss, which coloured the real outcome of the war with an uncertainty which overwhelmed everything.
The wizard in her care, as everybody well knew, wasn't a pleasant person, so it hadn't been his appealing nature which suggested to her that she should assist him: it should rather, perhaps, have been a reason to leave, and in the end it was a long time before she asked herself what her reason could be.
And thus, lately, she hadn't had an answer when Ronald had asked the question.
Further on, though, she had known that, whatever the reason might be, to stay in this castle, a place that she had missed so much during the last months, was what she wanted. And the memories had started to make sense, the better to explain what she had lived through up till now, and what she anticipated for the future.
The library was her destination, at the end of her walk and of her reminiscences. There she had begun to make her contribution, when her presence in the hospital wing hadn't been needed anymore. Madam Pince, horrified by the state to which her kingdom had been reduced by the aftermath of the battle, had spent many days complaining, until the moment when someone had suggested she should take a well-deserved holiday far from the castle, with the promise that everything would be fixed during her absence.
Hermione entered through the heavy door, and found herself once more surrounded by debris. She had Evanescoed the dust during her first visit to the place, but it hadn't been a quick job, nor was it yet a completed one. The books were lying on the floor, some of them secured under protective spells… it would be a hard task get them back into good order, but it gave her a nice, satisfied feeling finally to use magic for restoration, and not for defence or fighting.
Many shelves were still empty, since almost all the books were lying on the floor in front of her, without any order. She pointed her wand into the centre of the room, and conjured a bright, golden F - the letter with which she was to start this stage of her job.
All the books whose title began with an "f" floated into the air, and positioned themselves on the left side of the witch. She began to examine them carefully, one after the other, leaving the remaining volumes suspended lightly above the floor.
They were books, a kind of object which wasn't supposed to bite, but she knew better than that. During her schooldays she had learnt that it was not only the tomes secluded in the Restricted Section which could be dangerous, and that in the magic world one couldn't really know everything… but she cast an identifying spell, and having reassured herself as to the harmlessness of the books concerning "flying spells" she started with them, rather than in strict alphabetical order, and sent the volumes floating like birds onto the right shelf.
"How… appropriate", the amused voice of Snape commented on this scene as he joined the witch in the library.
"Sir?" she replied, trying to keep a quiet tone, because choosing between surprise at his lightness of tone and irritation at having been startled by his sudden appearance wasn't a real option, at the moment.
"You should find a way to let others know where you are, Miss Granger. Your friends left some hours ago, and no one seemed to be informed as to your whereabouts in the castle. We are, after all, trying to restore some order" he added, no longer amused but almost patronizing.
She was at a loss for words. After the departure of Madam Pince, everybody knew that Hermione had chosen this place as her personal commitment, among the many tasks needed to rebuild Hogwarts, so what was all this about?
"I said goodbye to them, and the Headmistress knows…"
"Actually the Headmistress herself is the source of the current worry… she didn't see you leaving, and you weren't in the Great Hall at lunch time," he cut across her, then added "You do know what time it is, don't you Miss Granger?" in sudden understanding.
"Thank you, sir. I wasn't thinking." Or perhaps I was thinking too much, a little voice inside her protested.
He waited a bit, then, seeing that she wasn't leaving the room, he felt his curiosity rising. "Have you decided to bury yourself here?" he asked, finally.
With a quick flick of her wand she applied herself to tackling another group of "f" books, those which belonged to the "fire" category. Some were historical texts, telling about the infamous pyres in the Middle Ages, and others depicted the various kinds of magical flames, like the will-o'-the wisps or the inextinguishable fire…
These tomes weren't actually burning, but contact with them was still dangerous, because they could easily melt whatever thing they touched if not handled with care. Hermione therefore avoided contact, and set them on their special shelf, perennially frozen. She hadn't answered, and at the end of her performance she still didn't bother to.
When had all this concern about her from her former teachers started? Hogwarts wasn't a school at the moment, but she, like many students her age, had conquered and had learnt what was needful on the field of the most dangerous experience, rather than in some curriculum of studies… the Ministry and the Board of Governors had honoured them with a special school-leaving certificate, so she couldn't understand what was going on, really.
Rather than awaiting her answer Snape, suddenly regretting his interest, had begun to look at the part of her task which was already completed, and seemed, now, lost in his thoughts. If he noticed the moment when she left the room, she couldn't tell.
The portraits looked at the witch with attention. They, too, had spent agonizing days, sending each other news about what was happening inside the caste, fearful that even their eternal peace might be in danger; they were rather fond of the young witch and so they followed her progress as she walked to the common room of her House.
These days Hogwarts was home to a few young wizards and witches who had no other place to go, because their families had been wiped out during the raids of the previous year. The wizarding world hadn't ever thought before to provide a place which offered help to troubled mothers or education to orphans, or else perhaps a certain Merope Gaunt and her son might have lived a different story… Thus, now, it had seemed the right thing to do, until the day when the school would be re-opened, to host them here at Hogwarts, together with all the other survivors of the war who had no better place to go.
Hermione entered, and a beautiful charm encircled her. A light and poignant music seemed to fill the space, as if it wasn't just something ethereal but a thing almost tangible. She shouldn't have been surprised, for she herself had enchanted the room this way many days ago, because it had to provide the right environment to give peaceful rest to those that went there. But it was an aspect of the charm itself, that the soothing power of the music included this pleasant element of wonder, as if one couldn't remember how beautifully good it would be to stay here until the very moment when a person decided to enter into it.
The youngsters had already gone to their beds, and she was glad of this fact, because this evening she wasn't in the mood for chatting, but all the same her kind nature would have forced her to do them this little courtesy, if it had been needed.
Lying on the couch, she let her thoughts, once again, wander…
After his question about her true intentions, Ronald had understood, and since her reasons didn't include a sudden affection for someone else, he had left her and gone without complaint, the only regret which showed in his eyes being for a dream of his youth which for some time had seemed to be real. But, Hermione asked herself now, was that true? She couldn't deny the existence of certain sensations never felt before, and thus, even if she hadn't searched for it, perhaps a new affection was growing inside her. Exhaustion eventually came on the witch, then sleep, and it caught her thoughts, transfiguring them into promising dreams.
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"Professor Snape sends these textbooks" announced the little elf, putting the volumes down in front of her.
"Thank you, Winx, you may go." Hermione answered absently but without forgetting to say her name, a thing that seemed to the witch to be the bare minimum of acknowledgement owed to the kind and useful presence of each of these creatures.
Her job was almost done, now, after a couple of months spent in the library, and she was content. Snape had visited the room every now and then, following what she was doing with unexpected interest, and sometimes had provided advice or help. Hermione recognized the remaining books: they were the old copies of the sixth year's textbook that she, too, had studied, and she knew that they came from the Potions classroom, where they perhaps had been ever since that time, in the cupboard where the famous copy belonged to the Half-Blood Prince had been hidden until Harry had received it by chance, or by destiny.
The image of the Potions Master came naturally to her mind, and it was so different, the way she was seeing it now, from what it had been for so long. It was no longer his most noticeable features which were the first thing that she visualized when thinking of him… he had become so much more than those harsh lines, so much more than that black shape.
She deposited the volumes on a table, cast a "Reparo" on those too badly ruined by the many students who had read and used them, so that they could be useful again, then decided to stop for a bit, without giving any further thought to the vision which had suddenly appeared in her mind. A few minutes later she was in her room, and even if the mirror in front of her was silent, she could easily have guessed what it would have said… she needed to rest, to bathe, and a change of clothes.
Delaying the rest, because recently it often brought horrible nightmares rather than the deserved relief, and having done the other things, Hermione felt content. She loved to wear robes, they were so warm and therefore so useful when living in the castle… and dressed in these clothes she felt so much more a part of the little group which now was resident there, because even if she felt so comfortable in the Muggle ones, they were so out of character in this enchanted place.
And, again, the image of Snape came to her, thin, still black-clad, but perhaps no longer in mourning.
He, too, had decided to stay and, as she had hoped, life had overcome not only the sure death to which he had seemed to be doomed, but even his unwillingness to start again on the uncertain adventure of every human being on earth. He had helped Minerva, of course, and had seemed relieved about the fact that nobody until now had asked him to resume his role as Headmaster. Hermione could easily understand why.
What she found difficult to understand, however, was the way she had begun to look at him as a young wizard, younger than he had seemed in his teaching days, and when it was that she had begun to care for him, and not only out of concern for his sake. Perhaps it had started with looking at his thin body, hardly indenting the bed he rested on, and noticing how harmless and no longer intimidating he was. Or, after having heard Harry's speech to Tom, the difference might have begun during the nights when he wasn't ever fully asleep, hearing the tone of his voice softly breathing the name of the girl he had loved with such devotion.
She had also watched him, those days, during the times when he was unaware of her presence, and had felt it like a blow to observe his hollow, disoriented gaze, which suggested an incredulous acknowledgement of his state, of the possibility of a new start given to him when he had neither wished nor expected it.
His recovery had been achieved slowly, and one of the side-effects of Nagini's venom had been a weakness which hadn't left him for some time. And perhaps it had been one day, when he was walking towards the bathroom at a measured, unsure pace, and at some point had faltered, that Hermione had recognized for the first time that the constriction in her chest wasn't due to her guilt about the past but to her worry about him in the present, and to an affection which she could no longer deny.
"Why bother?" had been his bitter words when she had hurried to reach him, and had helped his walk with a supporting arm.
"Don't!" she had cried, almost on the verge of tears. "Don't say those words!" Trying to compose herself, she had added: "You are worthy of so much more than this little support, and it's about time that you knew how important you are".
Perhaps astonished by this unexpected outburst, or by the despairing gaze of her eyes, he hadn't replied, that time.
Later on she, too, had felt his gaze on her, when he trusted he wouldn't be detected, and the mutual admission of such an attention had surely been a further stage in the change of her heart, and towards the true healing of her need to atone for her and her friends' previous uncaring callousness, which still seemed to her to be one of the most unforgivable things that had ever happened.
Then, when he was fully recovered, they had sometimes worked together handling dangerous items during the rebuilding of the school, and she had, finally, felt his closeness to her as the reassuringly protective presence which he had always been, even during those years when she hadn't been properly aware of it. There had been one day, among many, when Hermione had joined Snape in the dungeons, and what had happened had been so revealing…
She had found one of the children crying, lost in one of the empty corridors, and had spent a great deal of time and energy comforting his loneliness, because the young wizard was always fearful and distrustful of everyone, after the terrible events he had witnessed when his parents had been caught during the war. Then, when the exhausted boy had finally calmed down, she had accompanied him to the hospital wing, and had found, after having asked Pomfrey for a potion to help him to sleep better, that the stock of many healing potions had been reduced to a very few vials. Despite her tiredness the witch had suddenly decided to tell Snape, who was now, again, the resident Potions Master, about the situation, offering her help if needed.
He had greeted her with a moderate welcome: "What brings you here, Miss Granger?"
She had explained, and he had agreed and accepted her help, without too many warnings about the conduct which he expected to be observed during the brewing. She had acknowledged this fact contentedly, feeling that it said a lot about the trust which she had gained during recent weeks. She didn't know if had been this buoyant sensation of happiness, or the tiredness due to the many tasks which had confronted her during that long day, but at some point something must have gone truly wrong, because a suffocating cloud of vapour had emerged from the cauldron and she, inhaling it, had felt dizzy.
Quickly, Snape had been at her side, hurrying her away, and she had slowly understood what was happening. She had waited for his shouted reproach, or his sneering words of disdain, with a heavy heart.
Instead, "Are you all right?" his words had asked softly, and she couldn't misunderstand the concern in his voice. She had nodded, unable to speak. He had lifted her chin with one of his long, slender hands, and looked at her eyes, searching for signs of possible illness, before letting her go.
"I'm sorry" she had muttered, at least, but he hadn't seemed pleased by the apology.
"You shouldn't tire yourself this way, Miss Granger. The world has survived without your intervention, for quite some time, you know" had been his response, but she felt that this remark had been made lightly and with relief, rather than with his old sarcasm.
The memory of that day, of that closeness, had never left her, she had treasured it like a precious sign of further understandings to come, and she had been right.
Hermione, seeing that it wasn't yet too late, and that the soft light of the sun was still brightening the late afternoon, ended her wonderings, abruptly, and left her room.
A walk would do her good, and perhaps the light breath of the air would clear her mind and let her have some rest without bad dreams… she quickened her pace, knowing that this now finally, fully-acknowledged change of her heart was good, and that she was making the right choice without hesitation or delay, this time.
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A/N: after some months there are many beautiful fan fictions that explain better than mine how it was possible for Snape to survive after Nagini's bite, so since I more love to indulge in other sides of the story, I've left this explanation a bit obscure. Everyone can choose his favourite among those many on-line… but what matters to me, in fact, is that it could have been done, if someone had cared a bit more for Snape, and this is the thing that has inspired this little story.