Part X

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked quietly. For the past ten minutes, she'd been staring out the window, not focusing on the work in front of her, watching the sky grow dark. He'd be there now, dressed like a Death Eater, kneeling before Lord Voldemort, and maybe... being tortured. Her heart ached at the very thought of what he could be going through, right now. Harry was watching closely and seen something of the aching sadness in her eyes. She was suddenly grateful that Ron was looking for books for the particularly nasty Transfiguration essay McGonagall had set them, that he was, of course, not finished-so she was alone with Harry, who despite his obvious dislike of Snape and what he'd been going through since Voldemort's return the previous year, Hermione was suddenly certain that he would understand.

"It's Snape, isn't it? Something's up with him." Her eyes went wide.

"How did you--" Hermione began, and Harry pulled the Maurauder's Map from his robes.

"Map," he said. "I've seen you in his office, real late, the last few nights. There... is there something going on between you?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said softly. "But he's been... different. Softer, somehow... and he's been having me assist him with potion-making for the Order. I made Lupin a batch of werewolf potion yesterday—and he said it was perfect."

"Is that why you've been so worried today? In case... you made a mistake?" Harry had no doubt in his mind that Snape would have abruptly told her in his usual fashion had the potion not been drinkable.

"No," she said honestly, after a moment. "He's been... summoned. He'll have left after Potions—he's there now," she said quietly.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked. Ginny had told him about Hermione's vigil at Snape's side, and Harry knew Ron suspected that more was going on... but of that, Harry was certain thanks to the Map, there was not.

"Yes." To both their surprise, Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes—and Harry reached over and wrapped his arms around her, holding her. It was not, she realized suddenly, the embrace of someone who cared for her romantically, and never would be... but one friend, or even a brother, comforting another.

"He's strong, Hermione. He's been through this before. He'll be all right."

"I know," she said quietly. "But last time he nearly killed him," she added softly, fear suddenly obvious. Harry nodded.

"I know." Her eyes widened in surprise. "Ginny," Harry said, reddening. Hermione nodded. Though she still felt shaky and near tears, she felt determinedly better than she had even a few minutes before, and she was grateful for her friends, not for the first time. She only wished Ron would react anywhere near as grown-up, not questioning her word that there was nothing else going on—but she knew he wouldn't. His hatred of Snape was such that it would only become more intense if he had any idea how she felt about him, and that her feelings for him were changing. And heaven forbid he should learn of the... attraction, or at the very least chemistry, between them. Now there was more... trust. He trusted her. Hermione went back to work on her own essay, even smiled when Ron, hidden behind a stack of heavy books, tripped on his way back through the portrait hole.

"Shut up, Harry," he complained as Harry laughed at him. Still smiling, Hermione gathered her books and headed up the stairs—she didn't want to answer questions from Ron tonight.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione picked at her plate. McGonagall came down the aisle, on her way to the staff table, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She knows, Hermione realized. Snape must have told her. Hermione glanced at her head of house and nodded gratefully, aware without even looking at the head table that Snape was not in the room.

"Is there—any word?" she asked softly.

"Not yet," McGonagall said sadly, and continued on. Hermione didn't have to ask to know that her professor was just as worried about Snape as she was.

It was nearing ten the following night when the portrait hole opened and McGonagall came in. Hermione was seated in the corner with Harry and Ron, who were as usual playing chess. She looked up.

"Professor?" she asked.

"A word, if you please, Miss Granger," she said, and the tight-lipped look of concern in her eyes told Hermione at once that something was wrong. Scurrying to her feet Hermione paused only to grab her wand and then followed the head of her house to the hospital wing, as fast as she could walk.

"How bad is it?" she panted.

"Bad," McGonagall said. "Certainly as bad as last time," she added she paused in her hurried stride, giving Hermione a look. "He was semi-conscious this time. He asked for you." Hermione nodded, fighting the tears threatening to overwhelm her.

"We've—we're closer, somehow, than before. Since last time," Hermione said.

"Do you care for him?" McGonagall asked.

"Would I be here if I didn't?" Hermione asked more harshly than she intended, offended. McGonagall sighed.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger. I've just never seen him show this kind of affection for any student before, even his own. To show it to a Gryffindor is unheard of. It strikes me as odd."

"The only way I can explain it—is the connection that tends to form when one saves another's life," she confessed. McGonagall gave her a long look and then nodded. "I don't pretend to understand it myself... but I know that I'll be here. If he'll let me," she added softly. McGonagall nodded, wondering if the girl was aware at all of the bond forming between her and Snape. With his skills in Occlumency, McGonagall guessed it would be only a small amount of time before they were able to silently communicate, regardless of distance.

At last they reached the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey was bending over a clearly unconscious, black-robed figure, Professor Dumbledore standing at a respectful distance, watching. The headmaster looked up as they approached and gave Hermione a kind smile.

"Headmaster, will he-"

"I think he'll be fine, Hermione," Dumbledore said. "But he—he needs you, you know." The headmaster gave her a stern look. "If I did not know how hard it is for Severus to trust anyone, there is no way in the world I would ever condone such a union...but in this case, I think I may have to make an exception, especially since in only two years' time you will yourself be of age to make the choice. Though I would request that you not inform Professor Umbridge of this," Dumbledore said. Hermione smiled.

"Don't worry, Sir," she said softly. "I won't... and I'll be there for him, as much as he'll let me."

"Of that, Miss Granger, I have no doubt." Dumbledore gave her another small, kind, smile.

"Miss Granger, could you fetch a bottle of strong healing potion for me?" Madam Pomfrey asked without looking up, and Hermione hurried to do so.

The Very Long Night of Severus Snape—again. Hermione remained next to Snape, reading Dickens to him again (this time, Oliver Twist) through the night. McGonagall had said that she was excused from her lessons for the day, and Harry came to find her that afternoon.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Bad. There's been little change since last night," Hermione said softly. "Madam Pomfrey said that his spirit is debating whether or not it wants to live, or go..." her breath caught in her throat. "I can only hope we can convince him to stay," she said quietly. Harry looked down at Snape. He had never liked the mysterious potions master, but he'd never wished him harm, either. If Snape left—that probably left them with Umbridge to teach them.

"Don't go, Professor," Harry said quietly. He doubted whether Snape heard him, or would listen, but he said it anyway, and then left to find Ron to study, leaving Hermione alone at her vigil. Dobby appeared with a tray of food at dinner.

"Begging Miss's pardon," he said awkwardly. "Master Dumbledore sent this for miss."

"Thank him, please, Dobby," Hermione said, accepting the tray from the House Elf without even a word about Dumbledore using him to run errands. Dobby's wide eyes rested on Snape for a moment, and with a sympathetic murmur of—something, vanished with a crack. Hermione returned to her silent vigil, holding his hand.

"Please, Severus," she said quietly. "Don't go. I... I'd miss you terribly. I... still have so much to learn from you... and there's our new friendship. I don't want to lose that, either. Please... don't leave," she said, her head bent low, next to his ear. When she looked up again the room was empty. Funny—she thought she'd heard someone. She had not noticed Ron watching her, bent close to Snape, far closer than any student should ever be to her professor, injured or otherwise, and begging him not to leave her--nor did she see his face darken menacingly.

Author's Note: I'm painting Ron in a decidedly darker way than he's portrayed in the books—but given his apparent attraction to Hermione (and his jealousy about Viktor Krum and anyone else who could conceivably be in Hermione's life) I'm trying to show what his reaction would doubtless be to perceiving tension of a different kind between Hermione and Snape, given his attitude about Snape. I have no doubt he'd react with less than pleasure at best... I am trying to keep him as close to the canon character as I can, but since this is a relationship JKR has not explored, I have to do a little inventing. I hope I'm not veering too off course here!