Hermione would remember that night forever. Forever etched into his brain was the memory of violently vomiting in the forbidden forest after everyone had fallen asleep. Cold and alone, pulling memories from her painful and still throbbing head, examining each one carefully in her travelling pensive. Methodically, she extracted the most information she could from each memory she gave him, a singular point forever captured inside the confines of two brilliant minds.
From the quick spliced collections of his memories, it took her a relatively short amount of time to realise he'd been on their side all along. The adamantly faithful third year in her was silently vindicated. Something changed, silently, yet irrevocably inside of her. It was relatively quick and easy for her to figure out Snape's plans, and why it was so vital for him to play the evil villain. It was hard for her to imagine how he could do it, pretending, day in and day out. It occurred to her that she would have to do this now. She wouldn't betray his secret, and she knew that he would abhor it. Plus, it occurred to her that he hadn't confided in her out of friendliness or a sense of kinship, she was nothing but a mere necessity facilitated by the impending vulgarity of war. She didn't know why, but that night, against the stormy façade of England's countryside, Hermione Jean Granger found comfort for the first time in the memory of Severus Snape.
Now, the violence of war surrounded the Golden Trio, and Hermione pushed everything from her mind but a series of spells, jinxes and hexes. She knew this was the final battle, and everything would come down to her and her allies' ability to outwit the enemy. Cautious, but unforgiving, she sent bolts of light from her wand in every direction needed, defending herself from more than a few jets of green. She suspected a rather large bounty must have been put on her head, for more than once a greedy, yet dim-witted faceless death eater had attempted to come straight for her, only to be silenced and fall to the ground with a thud. She only stunned them, putting them out of action until it was over. She wasn't callous enough to kill, not unless she really needed to, and if they won then she'd make sure they all got justice, even if that meant the dementors kiss. Ron and Harry had gone, looking in the abandoned chamber for more basilisk venom to destroy the remaining two horcruxes.
Three. She corrected herself, and guilt rose from her, hating herself from keeping the truth about Harry's scar from him for so long. That would all be over tonight. Sending out another yellow jet, her attention was grabbed by the screaming of Lavender. She couldn't find her, the noise was so distracting, and she couldn't single her out in the crowds of fighting robes and falling rubble. It was only when she saw Fenrir Greyback hunched over on the steps of what used to be the east wing entrance, that she saw the frail frame of Lavender scrunched underneath him. She'd stopped screaming. Hermione fought the urge to vomit again. Knowing she wasn't a match for Fenrir, she tried to stun him from behind, only for him to deflect it and start throwing unforgivables at her. She wasn't a match for him, and running every possibility through her head, Hermione was left with only one choice.
"Avada Kedavra." The words didn't leave her lips easily, and honestly, she didn't think she'd have enough power or hatred for it to work. He fell to the ground with a thud. Hollow. She ran to Lavenders side and wretched, dry heaving at the disgusting sight. What once had been an undeniably pretty face seemed to be sunken in, bloody and distorted. Hermione couldn't even see Lavenders eyes, her face seemed swollen shut at the most unfortunate and revolting angles. Running a few spells to see if there was any other damage, Hermione worked quickly to save Lavender, even if she couldn't repair the aesthetic appeal she'd once had. She healed Lavenders face partially until it revealed Fenir's bite marks. Hermione knew better than to attempt to heal Werewolf bites. She cleansed her quickly and was about to levitate her away to safety when a burning hex spread over her back.
Unintentionally, she threw herself over Lavender, as to shield her from whoever attacked. Screaming in agony, the deep, guttural chuckle of Gregory Goyle was barely heard, but Hermione knew it was him. She'd learnt well enough he wasn't too bright but unfortunately talented when it came to hurting others. Kicking her over, Goyle stamped on her hand so she couldn't use her wand and laughed again.
"Pretty little mud blood, aint ya? I guess I'll leave you alive and see what you can do. Maybe they'll find a little place for ya in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and I'll come visit you every now and then. Guess I'll find out if mud bloods do make your di-" From behind, he was hit with another killing curse. Though she could barely see through the blistering pain, and the sun was in her eyes, she'd recognise the white-blonde silhouette of Draco Malfoy anywhere. She summoned all her energy and scoffed at him.
"Well if that's how you greet your knight in shining armour, I can always find another fair maiden." Draco pulled her up, and smirked, wiping sweat from his forehead and somehow running his hand through his hair at the same time.
It was an unusual friendship she'd found with Draco. After the events in the prefect bathroom, Draco went through a cataclysmic change, which was basically a very Malfoy-like way of saying he'd had a mental breakdown. After nights of pacing the halls of Malfoy Manor, blasting several enchanted family paintings of muggle and muggle-born torture into pieces, and questioning everything he'd ever held dear, including his very existence, he had concluded that not only was his heart not in the Dark Lord's cause, but that he was actively against it. Seeing Hermione's blood, so red and, well pure, and the twisted grimace of pain on her face, proved that thinking being a pureblood was anything special was somewhat dim-witted and short sighted.
Early December, after one night of disgusting revels, a very drunk and traumatised Draco sought out the company of the only person he thought he could trust. Snape. Since then, he'd been working in a similar capacity as Snape, a student could see far more of the inner workings of Hogwarts than the head-master could, and who would have ever thought that the Prince of Slytherin, pureblood supreme, son of Lucius Malfoy would ever be part of the resistance to bring the war to the end.
On Christmas Eve, just outside of the protective wards, an albino raven found a certain bushy haired know it all. Hermione wasn't sure what she found more unreasonable. The fact that Draco Malfoy had suddenly seen sense, of that it took her an hour to decode the secret messages in his letters. She'd never give him the satisfaction of the latter. She didn't know why, or how her of all people had become some sort of conduit and confidante for two double-agents. Objectively speaking, it was probably because she was a muggle-born. If they won the war, no one would doubt the testimony of muggle born Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter.
Draco ran his infuriatingly still manicured hand over Hermione's back, and the burning of the hex dissipated into an uncomfortable warmth.
"There. It won't fix the issue, but it'll do for now."
"Wow Malfoy, wandless magic? Keep it going at this rate and you might be able to hold your own against a third year!" Malfoy scoffed. He wondered how Hermione's Gryffindor bravery had translated itself into a Slytherin like sarcasm, but they'd all gone through changes.
"Merlin." He bent down next to Lavender, and brushed a long of matted hair away from her swollen eye.
"I put her in a stasis charm, and I tried to clean her up and fix the best I could, but in this atmosphere, without access to potions or even knowing what he did to her.." Draco silenced her.
"You did good, Granger." She nodded, and he rubbed away a stray tear from her cheek.
"Can you take her? I need to find Harry and Ron, they should be back by now." Draco nodded. Before he even had time to ask, she added, "There's a makeshift infirmary in Detention Holding, the password is Flubberworms, though I'd suggest taking off that cloak before you go in." Draco was still wearing a black death eater robe. He nodded, and without as much as a goodbye, they were gone.
A darkness fell across Hogwarts, and screams seemed to reverberate across the sky. In the air, dashes of light, all different colours were accompanied by plumes of smoke, falling rubble and the haunting sight of falling bodies. Choking on a sob, Hermione knew. The onslaught at the Viaduct had begun. She needed to find Harry and Ron.
An hour later, Harry swore it was deja vu all over again, as he found himself, with Hermione and Ron, arguing in the Gryffindor common room. He didn't want to do what Hermione was suggesting, but he knew deep down that it was the smartest option. Ron however, was flat out refusing to listen to reason.
"He's not doing it Hermione! You have no idea what it could do to him, or what You Know Who could use it to do! I'm not losing another brother!" Hermione was furious, heartbroken and confused. They all were. The image of Fred, lifeless, broken, was forever etched into all of them. Ron, obviously, was still highly charged, and he couldn't find it in himself to grieve, not yet. Not until he knew if he'd have to grieve for other siblings. He couldn't let himself feel this, because he knew if he did, he'd never stop. Hermione put her arms around Ron. He let himself cry silently into her hair.
"He might not have been our brother, but he was our family." He pushed Hermione away, full of misplaced anger.
"Brother? Family? What the fuck does either of you know? You chose to leave your parents Hermione, and they don't have a clue who you are! Harry's parents are dead! He was too young, and you chose this! Fred didn't choose to leave me! He didn't want this!" He knew as soon as he said it that he was cutting Hermione deep, but the loss of Fred was too much to bear. He didn't mean it, of course he didn't mean it, he loved her, and he never wanted to hurt her.
Their attention was taken, however, by Harry screaming in pain. He'd delved into Voldemort's mind, to pre-empt his next move. Sick, revulsed and angered by their dead, they were in the common room arguing about the best way to bring the battle to him, and to finish it with him dead. He was clutching to the couch, falling, and Ron caught him and settled him on the couch.
"Look what you made him do!" Ron yelled, and Hermione stepped away from the two, feeling too much at once for her thoughts to make sense.
"Shut up Ron," said Harry, coming around to base consciousness.
"Are you okay Harry?" Hermione's voice was timid and afraid.
"You were right, I don't think he knows I was there, but he's suffering, I can feel his pain." Ron scoffed, "Don't Ron. I know where he is. I can see what he's going. He only thinks this connection works one way. He's in the boathouse, and he's asked Lucius Malfoy to find Snape, he wants to talk to him. I think he's gonna kill him." Hermione's blood ran cold. She didn't want Snape to die, but she didn't have time to tell either of them everything she knew, and she knew they'd not believe her even if she could.
"So? Let the fucking bastard die, you heard what he let happen! You saw what happened to Ginny! He killed Dumbledore." Ron's disgust was evident, and Hermione recoiled unintentionally.
"He won't be expecting me to go there! I'm going to go and I'm going to kill him!" He shared a glance with Hermione. "No, 'Mione. You're not coming!"
"We're not going to let you go alone!" Hermione looked at Ron, but he averted his gaze, looking intently at the rugged, foot worn rugs.
Harry and Hermione left for the boathouse, apparating a safe distance away, hiding under the cloak.
It wasn't that Ron was being a coward, he claimed, though secretly Harry thought it was. Harry understood though, after everything with Fred, and the state of the fighting in the Great Hall, he said he'd wanted to stay and protect his family. They stopped behind a large, suspiciously sentient looking oak tree about twenty feet away from the boathouse. Harry suggested that they hide behind one of the boats, slipping in under the lake, and attack him from there.
"No. You need to stay outside Harry. If he senses your scar, or who knows, the creep might smell it, you'll be done for before you can raise your wand. We wait until we know why he wants Snape, then we go from there." That was true, she needed to keep Harry safe, but she wanted to buy herself some time with the Professor too.
The boathouse was cold. Freezing. It felt empty, and she could hear their breathing. Rationally, the cold was her soaking clothes, but the ice was fear, radiating out from Voldemort, into every synapse. Hidden by the cloak, masked by undetectable charms, she still could have sworn Snape looked her directly in the eye.
From where she hid, Snape faced her, but Voldemort had his back to her, and she held her breath every time Nagini moved. She wasn't the strong brave woman she tried to convince herself she was anymore, simply being in the presence of him, being so close to the man who had done so much evil, committed too many depraved acts to count, paralysed her. She was a scared first year again, tiny and obsolete, facing the maniacal demon of her nightmares.
She listened, intently to the conversation.
"The battle is almost over my lord, victory will be yours by sunrise." Snape didn't miss a beat, skip a breath, or betray any emotion. In an objective setting, it would be fascinating to watch, but this was anything but objective.
"Really, Severus? My Death Eaters have failed me, so many bested by nothing but students and half-bloods." The revulsion was clear in his voice, and Snape didn't comment. He simply bowed his head in agreement.
"You called for me, personally, my Lord?" Snape knew better than to try to buy for time, Voldemort rarely had time for any social niceties.
"Severus." Voldemort took his wand from his pocket and held it up, between them. "This wand has yet to live up to its reputation, for me. Why do you think that is? I'm a skilled wizard, am I not?" He asked.
"The best, my Lord." There was no ass kissing or adoration in his voice. It sounded believable. His composure never broke, though his heart sank. He knew where this was heading. He readied himself for the inevitable.
"You've served me well, Severus. You've been a faithful servant, even killing Albus Dumbledore. It pains me for what I must do. We both know Severus. This wand isn't mine. I didn't kill Albus. You did." Hermione frowned. Everything that she'd read, and everything she'd seen that night, after Harry let her into his memories to practice Occlumency, contested Voldemort. That wand didn't belong to Snape, it belonged to Draco. Why wasn't he correcting him? Fear ran through her again, and she had to hold her breath to stop herself from retching as Nagini slipped between Voldemort's legs, advancing slowly towards Snape. Then she understood. He was protecting Draco. He wouldn't let Draco die just to save himself. He made no comment, instead, bowing his head in agreement.
"It pains me that your usefulness has come to an end. However, I'm glad I'm the one to do it Severus. War never did suit you." Voldemort put the wand back in his pocket, and turned his back upon Severus Snape, for what he thought would be the final time. Hermione's eyes widened in fear, as she knew what was coming.
"Eat, Nagini."
The snake lunged at his neck, hissing and striking again and again until the small room stank of blood and sweat. Snape didn't speak, scream or cry, though it was possible he couldn't even if he'd wanted to. Snape just fell, against the glass, crumpling on the floor. The man she spent years thinking was impenetrable and stoic fell, human, blood pooling around him.
As soon as Voldemort apparated away with Nagini, Snape's blood on his hands, Hermione threw the cloak off her and ran to his side.
"Harry! I need you! Help me Harry please God Harry!" Hermione was shaking but her hands were on Snape's neck, trying to stop the bleeding. She was sobbing, and she didn't know it.
"Fuck." Harry didn't know what to do or say. The man he hated was dying in front of him. "I hate you." He said to Snape, but he didn't sound like he meant it anymore.
It was then, Snape's eyes rose and met Harry's.
"Take them." As Snape breathed out, the silvery metallic film he recognised as memories poured out of his mouth. Harry complied. He crouched next to him, and Hermione was still frantically trying to stop the bleeding.
"Don't just stand there Harry, get my fucking bag!" Harry summoned Hermione's bag, and passed it to her.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked. He was still in shock, and rather ineffective.
"I have to save him, I have to save him, I can't just let him die like this. Not here, not like this."
"He was bitten by Nagini, we can't fix that." Harry clearly had a habit of stating the obvious in times like these. Truthfully, all he could really think about was that he was sick of having 'times like these.'
"Not true. I took the liberty of brewing some anti-venom to Nagini's poison a while ago, in case anyone was attacked, and if it works and I can stop the bleeding then he stands a chance." Harry was pulled out of his trance.
"How did you manage that?" He asked, finally making himself useful and keeping pressure on Snape's wound.
"I didn't. Snape did. When we had to leave that night, I snuck back into the restricted section and took his copy of advanced potion making. He had a theory for brewing specific healing potions targeted at venomous substrates, and I simply modified it. Yes Harry, he's the half blood prince. Though honestly, I don't know how it never occurred to you before, you've been staring at his handwriting for years." Hermione didn't bother looking at Harry, instead focused solely on pouring potions and dragging her wand across Snape's neck. His eyes were open, but she didn't even know if he was conscious.
Harry pulled his hands away from Snape like he was touching fire.
"But why him? Why him Hermione? Just let him fucking die! I'd have killed him if I had the chance. I hate you, I fucking hate you!" He targeted his words at Snape now, as if his tongue shot daggers into the Professor. Snape looked at Harry, and summoning the last pieces of energy he could, answered.
"I know." Even inches from death, the Professors voice was still like velvet, albeit a rather crumpled, dirty piece. Hermione slipped another potion through his lips, and he didn't hesitate. He drank it down. He was too exhausted, too pained and too confused to do anything else. Finally, as he closed his eyes, Hermione turned to Harry.
"Things aren't always as they seem Harry! I can't explain everything now, but trust me, I'm not just trying to fix him because he used to be my teacher. I know what I'm doing, and I know why I'm doing it. Don't focus on me or him right now. I'll explain later. Just take his memories, Dumbledore's pensive. Find out what you need to know, see what you need to see and do what needs to be done." Harry didn't move. "Harry! Go! You don't have time to hate him right now."
"I'm not leaving you alone with him."
"Like he could do any damage to me in the state he's in. Go Harry. You're the boy who lived for a reason."
Once he apparated away with a pop, Hermione continued her work on the Professor. Her tears flowed freely, angry and confused at the man who had given her just enough information to go on, but no explanation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she sat back and took a breath. It wasn't elegant magic, that much was certain, but even though her hands were caked in his blood, and he hadn't regained consciousness, she knew she had done enough.
He would live.