Chapter Two

Everything was a dream. It simply had to be. What else could this strange, misty place be but something imagined?

Snape found it rather annoying that his eyes weren't functioning properly, for he saw nothing but a thick fog everywhere he turned and could barely see his own hands as he held them out in front of him. Random flashes of scenes from his life came and went before his blurry eyes, and nothing seemed to make much sense - except that he was doomed.

He found himself laughing bitterly. Doomed, yes. So was the story of his life. Should he be surprised? Hardly.

But amidst all the tragedy, he suddenly saw her face. It was clearer than the rest, and she was smiling at him. He remembered that smile, her pretty face, her sweet and understanding voice - how he had turned away from the young lady time and again, silently pushing her away with much reluctance, never deserving of someone so pure as her.

He thought he felt a light touch to his hand, as if someone were holding it, but then it was gone.

She disappeared, and everything went black. He remembered now. He remembered everything that had transpired on a battlefield what could have been hours, days, or years ago... Luckily, for him, Voldemort had been preoccupied with Potter, but that hadn't stopped the Death Eaters from coming at him. He was now an exposed traitor, and they were not about to let him die without having their fun first.

Burning hexes, boils, cuts, bone-breaking curses, Crucios - anything you could possibly imagine - they hurled at him. Initially, he fought back as much as he could manage, but being outnumbered ten to one is a severe disadvantage. After a while, weak with numbness, pain, and fatigue, he stopped fighting. If this was to be his end, then he would welcome it. He had fought and run and fought some more and then was running again, and frankly, he had had enough of it all. Sooner or later, he knew he would meet his fate.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was Lucius Malfoy's sneering face glaring down on him, his lips moving and no doubt uttering all sorts of vile names and curses, but Snape's ears had stopped listening - whether by choice or not, he didn't know.

And so, the blackness now returned after he had spent what felt like much time swimming around in a pool of vague reality and imagination. Suddenly, he felt a sharp, pulsing jolt of pain in the back of his head, and something was pulling him down with startling speed.

His tortured soul had endured enough of his nightmares, and without realizing it, he awakened. Gazing at his surroundings, his mind didn't register where he was. Reaching a shaky hand to his face, he gasped when he felt the bandages covering the whole right side. He then noticed that the curtains of black hair that normally covered his visage were absent, and so he moved his hands to the top and back of his head, only to feel more bandages. At the base of his head, he felt a lump under the bandages. Toying lightly with the area, he realized his hair had been tied back and stuffed under the wrappings. He pulled the knot free, for the odd pressure there was giving him a headache. Feeling a ponytail fall onto his neck, he sighed. He never wore his hair this way.

Looking to his left, he saw a window and noticed a dim sunrise shining through. Everything about the room was so clinical and clean and white. He saw a chair next to the bed and finally realized he was at St. Mungo's. So he hadn't died after all, and for whatever reason, he wasn't in Azkaban.

Yet, his mind taunted him.

But why had anyone bothered to bring him here first? Surely the Ministry would have been quick to convict the man whose face had been posted in the Daily Prophet and on posters everywhere for the past year. He should have been receiving a kiss - from a Dementor - right about now. Was this some sort of joke?

Snape scowled at the empty chair. As if anyone would ever visit him! What was he expecting? Perhaps the very fact that he was here and not in Azkaban had granted him a small shred of hope, but just as soon as it had come, it had fled. Hope indeed. No one cared about him, and they never would. Now, more than ever, he wished he would have died and ended his misery.

Basic needs taking presidence, Snape felt terribly thirsty. Thankfully, a cup of water rested on the small table next to the bed, between it and the chair. As he reached for the cup, his nose smelled a familiar scent. Her smell. Had she been here?

Gazing at the chair again, Snape noticed a slight indentation on the padded seat. Feeling his heart leap, Snape nearly dropped the glass.

Oh, Hermione... you foolish girl. Why would you have wasted your precious time coming here? he thought forlornly, raising the glass to his mouth and taking a drink.

With a sigh and too weak to move, Snape leaned back against the pillow and drifted to sleep.

x x x x x

Hermione had not been allowed to stay long at St. Mungo's. Reluctantly, she left shortly after having visited Snape, but she was glad to see her friends again. She arrived at the Burrow in the middle of the night, where Harry, Ron, and Ginny were still awake and sitting around the kitchen table, cups of tea clenched between their hands. She, apparently, had not been the only one who wouldn't find sleep that night. The battle was still too fresh in their minds.

"Hi," Hermione quietly greeted them, stepping into the kitchen.

The trio looked up at her. Ron and Ginny were relieved to see her there, but Harry looked angry and annoyed. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"What?" Hermione asked, aghast. "I told you - I would be at St. Mungo's. Severus is-"

"Oh, yes, 'Severus,'" Harry said sourly. "Yeah, I remember, but I don't recall you saying you'd be gone half the night. We were worried sick about you, Hermione."

With a deep sigh, Hermione sat down. She was too tired to stand anymore, and to be honest, she was too exhausted to be having this argument.

"Harry, I'm fine. You know how I feel about Severus. He's my friend just as much as any of you are. I would think that after all this time you would have accepted him."

Giving Harry a pleading look, Hermione wished he would simply let has beens be something of the past, but like Snape, Harry was stubborn and could hold a grudge for an inordinate amount of time.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. "I just... thought you would have wanted to be with us, is all. We've always been together, and now that Voldemort's gone, it's finally safe, and I thought you would want to be with those who are your closest friends."

Harry had a sullen look about him. He had finished off Voldemort, true enough, but Harry would never be the same again. For the first time in his life, he had killed someone, even though that someone had been an evil overlord.

Reaching across the table, Hermione placed a comforting hand on Harry's. "Harry," she said steadily, "look at me."

Harry did so.

"You know I love you as a dear friend and a brother." Glancing at Ron and Ginny, she added, "I think of all of you in that way. I am so happy you are all okay after what's just happened, and you'll always have me. You should know that. It goes without saying, but-" She paused, considering her next words carefully. "But I also care about Severus, and even though you don't like him, he's more than redeemed himself. He would have gladly died to protect you, Harry - to protect any of us. He isn't okay, though. If you would have been there - at St. Mungo's - and seen him... Oh, Harry, he looks terrible." Hermione couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. She hated crying, but she was beyond caring now.

Harry nodded slowly, and Ginny went to his side, embracing him. "You'll always have us, too, Hermione," Ginny assured her. "Right, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry replied, smiling a little.

"And you know you can always stay here," Ron added. "Harry'll be staying here until he decides what to do."

Hermione murmured her thanks, wiping the spilt tears away, and then voiced a question they had all been wondering. "Do you think we'll have to return to Hogwarts in the fall?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. That would be weird - having to go back to school after being off a whole year, and after everything we've been through, it would just seem so strange to have to go back, as if nothing had ever happened."

"And we'll all be a year older than seventh years are supposed to be," Harry reckoned. "I'll be eighteen next month..."

"And I'll be nineteen come September," Hermione said, surprised at the thought.

Even though they would only be a year older, they all felt like they had aged so much more than that. War changes people, and the experiences that come with facing such life-altering circumstances bring with them wisdom beyond youth and understanding beyond normal life.

"Well, let's not worry about that right now," Ginny said. "I know it's hard, but in a few days, we will sort things out. We do have reason to celebrate, too. Let's not forget that."

Smiling encouragingly at her friends, Ginny reminded them that nothing had been in vain. They had accomplished the task they had set out to do a year ago, and Harry had stepped up to the proverbial plate and done what he had needed to do. Life, overall, was good.

But as Hermione went upstairs to join Ginny in her bedroom, Hermione's mind kept drifting back to Snape. She wanted to go to him again, but her body was telling her that, for now, she desperately needed sleep. She surrendered to that fact and slept far into the morning.