Disclaimer: Just borrowing.

Approaching her door, I stopped, preparing myself for what to expect upon seeing her. I took a hesitant peek around the door frame, and froze. She was lying in the bed, deathly pale and unconscious. My breath caught, for never had I thought I would have to see her in such a state. I fought the damned tears that were currently threatening to spill. I entered.

Sitting in the visitor's chair next to her bed, I kept to myself while everyone tried to converse with her unresponsive form. I needed to sort this out.

My Hermione. My beautiful, brilliant Hermione. My love…

She had been attacked, and I should have been there to protect her. My fault… I should have been there…

She will be okay. She has to be okay. If she doesn't make it, I won't make it. I can't go back to life before her; when alcohol was my best friend and I lived to hurt because I knew no different. Hermione had changed that, the only person to ever bring true love and bliss to my miserable, lonely life. I need her…

I waited my turn, to be with her alone. I couldn't do this in front of them. If I tried to face this with an audience, I would lose it.

I had put my head in my trembling hands, when I heard, "Damn it, she's seizing again!" I looked up to see Hermione shaking, trembling against the restraining hands of her friends. The healers came rushing in.

"Everyone OUT!" the main healer yelled. No, I can't leave her now. I need to be here, with her. I need to.

"Severus, come on!" I heard Minerva shout. I looked back over at Hermione, being held back by the healers, and reluctantly made my way to the door. Minerva had put her hand on my shoulder, but I couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anyone at that point, unless it was Hermione.

I sat stiffly in a chair of the waiting room, redheads and friends surrounding me. I was unsure what to do with myself. I felt like I couldn't just sit there, and wait. My stomach growled then, and I remembered the dinner we had planned, and what I had planned for after that she knew nothing of. I realized just how insignificant hunger was at that moment, sitting in a hospital, as well as all other basic needs. Fruitless, superfluous.

I looked up at the perfect time to see the person that indirectly caused my Hermione's pain, stumble out of a nearby loo. Something clicked in me. This was him! He didn't cast the cruciatus on her, but he may as well have! She had to pick up his drunken arse. If she hadn't had to, they would have been at the restaurant, and he would be proposing.

"Severus, don't do anything rash!" Minerva whispered next to me, obviously following my gaze. I do not like advice.

The next thing I knew, Ron Weasley was slammed against the wall, I the slammer. His eyes were dilated, clearly he was still inebriated.

"If you hadn't called her, we wouldn't be here! Why did you call her? WHY would you do this to me?" I knew I wasn't thinking straight, that my accusations and inquiries were ridiculous. But I could not persuade myself to care. Logical thought and reasoning were just not agreeing with me.

"B-but Professsssor, it wafn't my fault! I needed to get h-home!" Ron stuttered.

"So. Did. She." I growled. I felt the tears in my eyes, but refused to let them fall, refused to show my only weakness.

"Severus!" I heard Dumbledore call behind me, his voice a distant awakening. I turn to him, glassy-eyed and incoherent. His expression softened instantly as he saw me. "Let him go, my boy."

I roughly let him go. I knew there was no use. It was up to the healers now.

If sacrificing my life would save hers, I would skip merrily up to the Dark Lord wearing numerous Order endorsements. I would freely tell him my double-spy role, and hand over my soul.

Am I dreaming? Am I sleep walking through my waking life? Is this all a terrible scenario that my mind has made up, as a punishment for my torturous Death Eater years? Could this be just a nightmare, a dream so realistic that I wake up in a cold sweat, only to find my self holding her tiny frame to my chest?

I can't do this.