Part IV
The Very Long Night of Severus Snape

A/N: Yes, if any of you are B5 fans, that's my nod to JMS's brilliance... meaning, of course, "The Very Long Night of Londo Mollari." It just seemed to fit. So, that bit belongs to JMS. I borrowed the Dickens part from a scene in an episode of "The Pretender." Other disclaimers, etc. in part 1... more of the story to come, o'course.

The sky was long since light when she heard Ron's and Ginny's voices from the stairs, arguing. Mrs. Weasley had chased her upstairs around five, for a shower and change, and then made her swear she'd try to eat some breakfast when she came back down, but Hermione hadn't managed more than a piece of toast and jam. It had been enough to satisfy Molly, though, who had gently sent her back into the living room, promising that she'd make excuses to Ron and Harry for as long as possible and chase them out into the garden to continue the de-gnoming and keep them occupied. Hermione had thanked her gratefully and continued her vigil at Severus's side, holding his hand... clad now not in a revealing and blood-stained nightgown, but in muggle jeans and a T-shirt, her long bushy hair, closer to being tamed the older she got, held back out of her face in a ponytail tied at the base of her neck. She tried to focus her thoughts, to organize her confused mind in her usual systematic way and found it lacking. She didn't begin to understand why she was here—it was just that suddenly, seeing him so fragile and vulnerable had drawn her to him in a way she couldn't explain. What was—was. Madam Pomfrey said if he made it through the day, and night, he was out of danger. So she continued her vigil at his side.

Madam Pomfrey came in regularly to check on him, and instructed Hermione how to give him a fresh dose of healing potion every hour. Hermione accepted the task, and Molly came in, in the hours just before dawn, with her school bag, retrieved from her trunk.

"Read to him, Hermione," she suggested. "It might help. Your voice might anchor him," she said, withdrawing again and leaving Hermione to her vigil. Grateful to her, Hermione searched through her bag, looking for something suitable to read to him. Her Ancient Runes text would put any but a very select few to sleep, and she suspected Snape already knew the material, so that would hardly do... she rifled through her other books, and was debating pulling out Advanced Potion-Making when she noticed a small volume tucked away in one corner of her bag. Dickens. Pulling out the familiar dog-eared novel she frowned. How had it gotten there? She didn't remember packing it in the brief weeks she'd been at home... didn't even remember pulling it out to read, but she had, and had tucked it into her bag to take back to school. She opened the book and began to read.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..." Hermione broke off from the familiar text, her heart lurching as she realized how very like the age that Dickens described was to the age they were in now... silently, she took a breath to steel herself and continued reading, not noticing that the sun was bright outside and she could hear the laughter of her friends coming from the garden.

"'Mione?" the soft voice from the doorway, made Hermione jump guiltily and yank her hand away from Severus's, glancing up to see Ginny's slender form, her eyes bright and her cheeks red from running outside. "Oh!" Her gaze fell on the unconscious Snape lying on the sofa. "I didn't... Mum said you were in here but she didn't mention... I'm sorry," Ginny looked flustered. "I... wondered if you wanted to play three-a-side Quidditch, but I guess not?"

"Sorry, Gin," she said. "Maybe you and Harry against the Twins and Ron as Keeper?" she suggested. Ginny nodded.

"Right. Is he--"

"Madam Pomfrey says we'll know by morning," she said. Ginny nodded, looking sad, but ran off anyway. Hermione supposed she could hardly blame her, she thought as she waved her wand at the door and it closed again, and then she took Snape's hand again and picked up where she had left off in the story.

"Hermione?" the voice that came from the doorway two hours later took her completely by surprise; she'd been so engrossed in the familiar story that she had not even heard the door open. She looked up to see Remus Lupin standing there, insurmountably familiar comfortable in his shabby jacket, looking concerned. "How is he?"

"The same," she confessed. "Remus, what... what happened to him? Who did this?"

"We can only assume Voldemort tortured him. I only pray it wasn't... you know, Greyback," he said nervously. She nodded, understanding. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Well, about Greyback—the wounds were too clean for it to be a werewolf attack," she said to reassure him, and he visibly sighed with relief.

"Well, there's that, at least. But you didn't answer my question.

"I... I'm not sure. I don't even know what I'm doing here, Remus. He's..."

"Someone you care about," Remus prompted softly when she broke off. "Understandable—you've only known the man for five years, after all. That's a hell of a long time, 'Mione," he said.

"But he's... well, he's Snape. I don't want to care about him."

"I know." Lupin smiled, putting a hand of comfort on her shoulder. He was surprised just how very tense she was. He pulled her into his arms, then, and Hermione was surprised as another flood of tears started and she cried again.

"By Merlin, I'm sorry," she said when it stopped.

"Don't be. You're worried about him, Hermione. I understand," he said, feeling a ridiculous but brief surge of envy for Snape. He hoped the other man realized if... when he woke up... how lucky he was to have the love and devotion of this beautiful, intelligent, young woman. He thought of Tonks, and sighed... and he hoped that Snape knew well enough to take the chance offered him... but knowing Snape, he wouldn't. Of course. Making a mental note to speak to Dumbledore, Lupin hugged Hermione once again, cursing the werewolf not for the first time, and quietly retreated, leaving her once again alone to her vigil. As he pulled the doors shut once again, he heard the familiar words of Dickens as she resumed reading.