(A/N: So I know it's bad of me to start a new story when I have others that need my attention, but I just couldn't get this plot line out of my head. This story takes place during the final battle, starting during the one hour of rest that Voldemort gives them while waiting for Harry to come to him. If you haven't read the last book, you might be a bit confused.)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
She didn't know what made her do it. Didn't know what made her turn around and flee back to his side. One moment she was hugging Ginny in the Great Hall as she watched the Weasleys mourn the loss of Fred, and the next she was scampering across the grounds.
She'd noticed Harry had left when they weren't looking, and she felt guilty for not helping him through his grief as well. The final battle had taken many valued friends from everyone, yet she knew Harry would blame himself for all of it. She could only hope his destination was not the forest, as Voldemort demanded of him.
She'd stood in the hallway outside the Great Hall for a few moments, debating between searching for Harry or returning to the Weasleys and supporting them as best as she could. Perhaps there were other things people needed of her as well, cleaning or healing or such.
As her mind raced with trying to grasp the evening's events, she felt a chill run down her spine. It felt like a signal, a call, an alert that something had gone wrong. That was silly, though, because she already knew that everything had gone wrong. Death and grief surrounded her, and their chances of winning looked slim. Facing the possibility of her own death was certainly wrong, but she was.
Yet then the shiver had run down her spine once more, sending goose bumps over her entire body. It felt as though someone had traced a cold finger down her spine, almost in a plea. Then, before she could think any further, she was running out to the grounds. Someone was calling for her, and they needed her desperately. Her course of action was now clear.
So here she was, darting around the bodies and debris that littered the grounds of Hogwarts. She cast a quick disillusionment charm over herself in case there were any enemies still near by, and ran as fast as she could. She only had an hour before the battle recommenced.
As she reached her destination, dread fell over her like a bucket of ice cold water. Why had she run here? She was standing in front of the Whomping Willow, which was completely still for once. It had sustained injuries during the battle as well, and it seemed as though it needed a rest.
Yet why was she here? This certainly couldn't have been where she was needed. The only place the Whomping Willow led was… the Shrieking Shack. Catching her breath, she realized who'd been calling for her help. Professor Snape was the only person anywhere near this area, and she'd left him for dead. They all had.
She bent and scrambled through the entrance and down the tunnel, her mind racing. Why was she going to his aid? This man was not her professor, her ally, or anyone whose life held any value to her anymore. He was a murderer, a death eater, and a liar. He'd fooled them all, and yet, she was running to help save him.
She'd defended him for years as Harry and Ron had spoken ill of him and been rude to him. She'd put all her hopes into him and the position he held to help them win the war. She'd respected him for his power, his grace, his intelligence, and his authority. When he'd turned on them, it had upset her more than most.
Coming to the end of the tunnel, she paused for a moment and rocked back. Was she really going in there? What if he meant to kill her? She was making a mistake. There was no good in that man, as she'd once thought. Turning around, she began to crawl back out towards the grounds.
She only made it a few paces before the shiver pressed down upon her once more. This was stronger than the others, and held a sense of desperation. She stopped and closed her eyes, feeling the ghostly finger trail up and down her spine. It was a plea, and it was taking all of their energy.
She hesitantly turned around once more, crawled the remaining paces, and pulled herself up through the tunnel. Her stomach churned at the sight he made, drenched in blood. Standing, she walked to his side and looked down at him. He looked exactly as they'd left him, there was no way he was alive.
Then his eyes opened and locked on hers, and she dropped to her knees by his side. She felt the finger trace up her spine and a ghostly hand grasped her mind, sending images into it. She watched as he learned to love Lily, betrayed her, and then swore himself to Dumbledore. She watched him care for the Headmaster, and watched him receive his instructions to kill Dumbledore himself.
She felt the very despair that shook him as he watched Dumbledore's lifeless body fall, and the regret that swept through him as he ran. She watched as he tried to maintain a proper front as Headmaster while still protecting the students to the best of his abilities. She saw him lying there, gravely injured by Nagini, gazing intently up at Harry. She felt the jolt of remembrance he'd felt as he'd locked gazes with those oh-so-familiar emerald eyes.
By the time the hand withdrew and the memories halted, there were tears coursing down her face. The entire time, he'd been on their side. He'd suffered endlessly… more than any of them could even begin to imagine. The trials he'd overcome were incredible – how hadn't she seen it before? This man was no enemy; he was still her headstrong potions master. And she'd left him to die. What kind of person was she?
She hesitantly reached forward, her hand coming to rest lightly on his cheek. Pressing softly, she turned his head slowly to the side to observe the wounds he'd suffered. Brows knitting in concentration, she set to closing them one by one. It seemed like an eternity had passed before she'd managed to locate and close every last puncture wound the snake had left. Waving her wand in a quick, steady arch, she cleaned him of the blood to inspect her work.
She had no way of restoring his blood loss, however, and he was still incredibly weak. Casting her eyes down towards where she knelt, she observed the vast quantity of blood he'd lost. His clothing was drenched, as was she. Her legs and the edge of her skirt were slick with his blood, and her hands were stained crimson as well. Glancing down at her professor, she was a bit alarmed to see him return her gaze evenly.
His eyes portrayed a world of pain, sorrow, regret, and a hint of gratitude. How could she have mistaken such a man for evil? She moved slowly to rest behind his head, pulling his upper body as gently as she could until his head rested in her lap. As she looked down at him and found him staring up at her still, her cheeks flushed lightly. Glancing away, she quickly reached up and tied her hair into a high messy bun, effectively streaking his blood through it.
What was she to do now? He was hardly in a state to be moved. She could levitate him back to the castle, but the battle would restart in the next half hour or so she supposed. He was in no condition to be among a war, that's for sure. Taking him into the midst would also surely only get him killed since everyone on the light side assumed he was a traitor. For that matter, since Voldemort wished him dead, the death eaters would be after his life as well.
No, he simply could not be moved yet. So what to do with her potions professor now? As she pondered her friends and what they were all doing at that point, her mind jumped to Harry. He'd run off, and she had no idea where. Yet Professor Snape had given him a vial of memories; were they the same that he'd just shown her? If so, maybe she had a chance of receiving some aid.
"Sir," she began timidly, "The memories you gave Harry… were they the same you showed me?" She looked down at him breathlessly, unsure of how he would answer or if he was even capable of answering. When she was sure he had no answer for her and was about to look away, she felt the finger trace up her spine lightly once more. It was as if he'd whispered, 'yes' directly into her mind.
Her brain calculating now, she tried to measure how much time they had and the possible places that Harry could be. He could be sitting alone depressed, on his way to Voldemort in the forest, or viewing and comprehending the memories. It was risky to try and contact him, yet he seemed like her only hope for help at this point. Making up her mind, she reached for her wand and formulated her message in her mind.
Waving her wand quickly, she conjured her patronus and with another flick, sent it to deliver her message to Harry. She couldn't help but smile softly as she watched her little otter pounce away eagerly. She had no doubts that it would find Harry, she could only hope he was alone and would take her message seriously. Glancing down at her professor, she found him gazing curiously up at her. Knowing he was wondering what she'd done, she quickly answered his questioning look.
"I sent a message to Harry asking him to view your memories as quickly as possible and then to come to the location we'd been just before the castle with a few vials of blood replenishing potion from Madame Pomfrey." She explained quickly, hoping he wouldn't be offended. She'd tried to think through every last word of it, knowing that Harry would know where she was speaking of. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't question him either because everyone was gathering supplies for the injured at this point.
Her cheeks flushed once more as his head dipped lightly in a curt acknowledgment. It was the closest she'd ever gotten to praise from him, and it was a tad bit overwhelming. She'd spent years trying to earn his approval over her coursework, admiring the high standards he'd set for them all. She had always overlooked the prejudices he'd held and the easier way he'd treated the Slytherins because she herself had preferred the challenge he'd presented.
Leaning back, she rested her head against the wall. She was exhausted, and there was nothing she could do at this point. If Harry didn't come to help, she'd have to wait here with him until the battle ended. It was a terrifying thought and it left her feeling very helpless. People would die and she'd be hidden safely away like a coward. What if Harry and the Order were all killed?
As dark thoughts gripped her exhausted mind, tears streaked silently down her face and she reached down to rest her arms around his shoulders. She had good reason to be here, she reminded herself, as she slipped into a light sleep.