It goes without saying that J.K. Rowling owns it all, and that I'm just having fun living in the world of her genius :)
Chapter Two
But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right through Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny 'Oh!' as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless. (© J.K. Rowling)
It was widely acknowledged that Hermione Granger was very intelligent. In fact, her intelligence was her defining characteristic, her redeeming feature, something upon which she could rely to set her apart from others when feeling insecure about her appearance, excessive practicality, or uncanny knack to alienate those around her. As such, she found herself perfectly aware that what she was experiencing was, in fact, a dream. Her logical brain was perfectly aware that she was not at the Yule Ball, and that the pleasant warming sensation in her chest was not from copious amounts of Butterbeer. If, however, she was in any doubt as to whether what she was experiencing was real, this was quickly dissipated by Ron quietly reading Hogwarts: A History in the corner, next to a pile of untouched Chocolate Frogs.
Of course, there was also that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she should be worried about something. Admittedly, that sensation was not unusual; it was rare that Hermione found herself completely carefree, particularly when there was homework to be done, and of course You-Know-Who to be defeated. However, this felt different, like there was some sort of present threat, like she was primed for action against an unnamed danger. She turned away from Ron and cast her eyes towards Harry…
"Harry!" Hermione jerked awake with sudden urgency, sat bolt upright in a bed that didn't feel like hers. Taking a deep, unsteady breath she began to survey the room, and had just about reached the conclusion that she was in the Hospital Wing when a searing pain ripped through her chest, and wiped her mind of anything other than the sheer unendurability of it. An unholy scream that she dimly recognised as her own pierced her eardrums, and she felt something warm trickling down her cheek.
A cool hand pressed itself to her forehead and a kindly voice from far away instructed her to breathe evenly. With no other choice than to obey, Hermione took several deep breaths, reducing the white hot lava conquering her chest to a smaller, more manageable flame. With some persuasion from the owner of the hand, she lay back against soft pillows behind her, trying to settle her pounding heart.
"Hermione?" A familiar tone; Hermione immediately felt more at ease. Ron was here; she must be safe if Ron was here. "Hermione, are you okay? Well, obviously not, you look bloody awful, but…"
"Ron!" Hermione croaked pitifully, before contorting with the effort of speaking. Swallowing thickly, she managed to spit out, "where's Harry?"
"He's with Dumbledore, he's been ages now. He's alright, everyone's alright. Just-"
"That's quite enough for now, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey proclaimed shrilly. "Perhaps now Miss Granger has woken up, you would be so kind as to let me see to my patient!"
Ron must have acquiesced, for Hermione once again felt the cool hand against her forehead. Although it was bliss and there was nothing she wanted more than to curl up and sleep with that hand cooling her forehead, she had the niggling suspicion that Madam Pomfrey's intervention had been timed to prevent Ron revealing something important. She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, however before she could utter so much as a syllable a very familiar voice immediately rendered her silent.
"Miss Granger, I do not wish to be sat in this room all night. Kindly for once keep your mouth shut so that we can get this over as quickly as possible." Hermione's eyes flew open in shock to find Professor Snape looming menacingly over her bed, regarding her with his usual mixture of contempt and lack of interest.
"P-Professor Sna-"
"It appears," Snape enunciated deliberately, with unmistakeable derision, "that your capabilities have been vastly overestimated. You seem unable to follow even the simplest of orders. It therefore seems that you rank below even a Hippogriff in comprehension."
"Oi! Don't talk to her like that!"
"OUT, Weasley. And fifty points from Gryffindor, for talking to a Professor with such disrespect." Hermione could almost imagine the colour of Ron's face right now, however to her relief he left without further argument, the only evidence of his departure a particularly vicious door slam.
"Perhaps I may now continue without interruption." Snape smirked as if enjoying some private joke. "Prepare yourself, Miss Granger, this will be unpleasant. Frigus coro!" Hermione barely had time to steel herself before an icy grip clutched at her heart, instantly rendering her freezing cold. She gasped, desperately trying to gulp air into her frozen lungs, to no avail. Feeling her heart slowing, she clawed at the empty air in front of her in an attempt to fight off the invisible suffocator, again with no success. Time slowed to a crawl, and Hermione felt her body begin to feel sluggish without oxygen. I'm going to die; Snape is killing me. Harry was right about him. Oh God, Harry, what will he do if I die…
"Breathe, girl!"
Hands shook her shoulders. Fingers prised her mouth open. Cold.
"PARUM VITAE SCINTILLAM!" Snape screamed, an intense blue shock emitting from his wand, absorbed completely by Hermione's limp body. In an instant, she choked on air suddenly accepted into her lungs, the ice in her chest immediately gone. Dragging deep, noisy breaths, Hermione felt her body becoming her own once more, feeling returning to her extremities, her heart beating steadily.
"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey's high-pitched exclamation immediately caught her attention; Professor Snape was knelt on all fours on the floor, oily hair touching the flagstones. "Severus, tell me what you need!"
"Nothing," Snape whispered, the air whistling in his chest. "See to Granger."
Madam Pomfrey instantly snapped to attention, bustling around Hermione, peering into her pupils and casting diagnostic spells at her chest. Apparently satisfied, at least for now, she took a potion from the rack adjacent to Hermione's bed, unpopped the cork and unceremoniously tipped it down Hermione's throat.
"Lie back, Miss Granger. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? I said lie back!" Hermione obeyed mechanically, eyes glued to the pitiful figure of her Potions master, still panting on the floor. His cloak had slipped from his shoulders, better revealing his painfully thin form. He looked as if he had not eaten properly for weeks, his paper white skin an almost painful contrast to the blackness of his attire. He lifted his hand to push his greasy hair from his sweat-covered face, unwittingly exposing his Dark Mark; an ugly bruise-like scar marring the impossibly pale skin of his forearm. Despite her robotic state, Hermione felt a rush of gratitude to the dark man, mixed with guilt for doubting him and confusion as to why he would risk his own health to help her, a Gryffindor, for whom he obviously held great disdain. As if sensing her gaze, Snape suddenly lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers; narrowed onyx meeting widened brown. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a trace of concern cross his face, but that was impossible, and when she looked again, he wore his usual impassive mask. Unable to process the myriad of thoughts speeding through her mind, she found herself overcome by a sudden, overwhelming weariness, likely induced by the potion she had taken. Eyelids drooping, her last vision was of her feared Potions professor intensely studying her face, gaze boring into her soul, before she finally succumbed to sleep.
Severus Snape stiffly descended the stone steps of his dungeon quarters, every movement sending shooting pains through his very bones. Once into his living room, he sank slowly into a patchy green velvet armchair, which had undoubtedly seen better days, and with a swift jerk of his wand summoned a glass of Firewhiskey. After a mere heartbeat, the glass was empty, and silence settled over the dank, mildew-edged room and its broken and sore occupant. It was only then that he allowed himself to reflect.
What had he done? He had seen plenty die before him, and many just like Granger, clawing for air in their last moments. It was almost ironic really, seeing powerful witches and wizards, those who prided themselves on being able to bend nature to their command, to mould their world merely to fit their own desires, reduced to fighting for oxygen like the mere mortals that they were. It just goes to show that even magic turns to dust, in the end.
So why hadn't he let her die? He had done everything that he was obligated as a person in loco parentis to do; he had cast the counter curse to save her from the purple flames consuming her insides, to save her from the cage of oblivion that imprisoned her as her body became ash. And yet the curse, although dousing the flames, had failed, the ice had suffocated her. It was something he could not have predicted, and from which she should not have been saved. Whatever gods that sat high in the heavens had proclaimed that her life should be forfeit, and that no healing spell should be enough to save her. Hermione Granger was no longer intended for this world.
And yet he had not accepted this. He had taken the only remaining option, and given her Life Spark. Uncaring of the consequences, he had donated part of his magical soul to a mere teenage girl. Not just any teenage girl, but Hermione Granger, irritating friend of Harry Potter, the very bane of his existence. What the hell had possessed him?
Of course he would regain most of his strength eventually, he was a powerful wizard after all, and thankfully he hadn't been stupid enough to donate his whole soul, which would have rendered him a weak and useless Squib forever more. In fact, if temporary loss of magical and physical strength were the only consequence, Snape would have been much freer with his soul, regardless of the potential danger in facing the Dark Lord with less than optimum strength. If the opportunity had arisen, he might even have donated Life Spark to Black. Well, perhaps that was going a bit far. Then again, it would have been a satisfying sight, to witness Black awakening to realise that he owed a life debt to Snivellus. Snape smirked, however this dropped slightly as he realised that not even Life Spark from Merlin himself could save Black now. A lifetime of animosity had embittered Snape such that he could not mourn Black, just as he had not mourned James Potter, however to his surprise he found that he could not rejoice in his death. He was yet another sacrifice, another character in this never-ending charade who had laid down his life for Harry Potter. Like Lily.
Snape immediately tore his thoughts away before the ever-present grief for his beloved Lily hit him with renewed force, and focused once again on the matter at hand, and the real problem of this situation. Namely, the fact that the soul of Hermione Granger would forever more harbour a piece of his own. She would forever be tainted by his evil, her life spark dulled by the acts that he had committed. In saving her life, he had condemned her to a cursed life. He had permanently scarred her innocent soul.
But she is alive, Severus. Lily's voice came unbidden into his head, as it often did when he was too tired or distracted to occlude his conscious mind from the dark abyss of his subconscious. Better a half life than no life at all.
"It was necessary." Snape spoke aloud, and despite his misgivings knew it to be true. Who knew how Potter might have reacted at the loss not only of his godfather but also of one of his best friends. The war was reaching a crucial stage; the Dark Lord had now made his first public appearance, and it would not be long before he once again reached the terrifying heights of power that he had previously held. Potter must be kept on his trajectory at all costs. Snape had sworn both to Dumbledore and to the memory of Lily on the day that the Dark Lord returned that he would protect the boy with his life. Snape brightened a little as he realised that this must be why he had saved Granger's life today; she was vital to Potter's success and so his vow had kicked in. There was no element of free will at all; he had not chosen to save her.
Of course, it was nothing to do with the fact that she reminds you of me…
Snape immediately squashed that thought. Granger was nothing like Lily, Lily had been naturally beautiful and talented, everything she said was valuable and important. Granger was plain and boring; her supposed 'talents' lay only in the memorisation of books. Everything that came out of her mouth was irritating and pointless, parrot-like repetition of the genius of others. She was certainly nothing like Lily. Not at all. Granger was just another student to whom Snape was bound to protect, her only value was her proximity to Lily's son.
Along those lines, Snape rose slowly from his armchair, his muscles screaming in protest as he limped towards his laboratory. If the day's sacrifice were to mean anything at all, he must brew the plethora of potions that the girl would need to recover properly. And if along the way he were to brew a pain-banishing potion to soothe the muscles that he knew would be aching just as much as his own, this would mean nothing. After all, Severus Snape most certainly did not care about his students, and particularly not about Hermione Granger.