Chapter Ten: The Nightmare

Today was Snape's trial. Hermione was alone in her room listening to Dumbledore's portrait snore. She could tell it was early morning because each time of day had its own type of silence, and mornings were the most delicate. The soft morning light made her eyelids glow pale yellow. Even Madam Pomfrey was at the trial because she and McGonagall were going to testify on Snape's behalf. It would be an all day affair.

Hermione heard muffled voices in the hall and strained to hear them. Then the door opened.

"Go on. I'm going to meet your father at the gate."

Mrs. Weasley's voice was a loud whisper.

"All right, I'll be down in a minute," said Ginny. She walked quietly over to Hermione and sat on the bed as usual.

"Hermione, we're all leaving for Snape's trial, so we won't be in today. I hope you don't get too bored by yourself."

Ginny sighed loudly.

"Well, I had better go or they'll leave without me. I'll come back and tell you all about it."

Ginny slid off the bed and a few seconds later the door clicked shut. Once again, Hermione was blessedly alone, though Dumbledore's portrait had stopped snoring. Hermione hoped he would not talk to her for a while. The portrait had been given the task of entertaining her when nobody else was available. Hermione did not know who had told the portrait to lecture her in the seventh year subject matter, but most days she appreciated it.

It seemed that literally everyone was attending the trial. Hermione was especially proud of Harry for supporting Snape, even though he still disliked the professor greatly. Ron had grudgingly agreed to go with his family, saying he wasn't sure that Snape was really helping Hermione at all. Apparently he was not the only one with doubts. Through her various visitors, Hermione had gathered that many people outside the castle thought Snape was just using Hermione to stay out of Azkaban, but Hermione would not believe it. He had read to her, and he was worried when she slept too much. Could it all be an act?

Hermione decided that even if Snape was using her, she would not care. She did not believe for a moment that he was not truly trying to help her, but if her situation really was incurable, at least she would be able to keep him out of Azkaban. At least she had someone who could hear her.

Hermione's solitude was interrupted a while later when Dumbledore's portrait decided it was time for another lesson. This time the subject was Transfiguration. Hermione could not help being drawn into the complexities of magical theory, and she soon forgot her worries about the trial.

It must have been more than an hour later when she caught herself dozing. She realized that the portrait had stopped lecturing and was now recounting a story from Dumbledore's school days involving a girl named Greta Hornspout and her obsession with centaurs. Apparently she had some talent at Transfiguration and had attempted to become a centaur. Needless to say, it had not turned out well.

"Ah, yes, poor Greta was never the same. She dropped out of school and we never heard from her again. I believe it's safe to say that –"

"This is it, Flores, she's got her own room, you see."

"Yes, sir."

Two Healers had entered Hermione's sanctuary. One had very heavy footsteps and the other, a young woman from the sound of her voice, wore shoes that clicked sharply. The first sounded like a middle-aged man, and Hermione imagined that he was out of shape by the labored breaths he took after climbing the stairs.

"Make sure you observe her every hour and mark any changes on the chart, here," said the first Healer. "I don't expect anything new, but that's what we're here for."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll do the first chart, and then I've got to get back and check on my other patients. Contact me if there are any surprises."

"Yes, sir."

Hermione wondered just how long Flores had been a Healer. She sounded nervous. The first Healer left and Hermione heard the shuffling of papers, which she assumed meant that Flores was looking through her charts. Then Hermione heard the click-click of her heels as she paced the room and stopped by the rose window. Dumbledore's portrait was pretending to be asleep again, snoring a little too loudly. The heel clicks made their way over to the chair by the bed and Flores sighed as she sat down. Dumbledore's portrait stopped snoring.

"There is a library here, my dear. Why don't you make use of it?"

"Oh!"

Flores jumped out of the chair with a clatter.

"Thank you, I will," she said politely, and clicked away.

Hermione laughed to herself.

"Let us hope she has good taste in books, Miss Granger," said the portrait. "Perhaps I will convince her to read to us."

As long as she's better than Ron, I won't complain, thought Hermione.

A long while later, Flores returned and sat down in the chair again. Hermione could hear the flipping of pages every minute or so as the Healer read.

Before long, the portrait spoke up once more.

"I wonder, Healer Flores, if you might read aloud? Though I am only a portrait, I confess I do enjoy a good book from time to time. Five Tales of a Dragon Hunter sounds immensely enjoyable."

"I – suppose I could –"

"Splendid!"

"I –"

It seemed that Flores could think of no objection and was intimidated enough by the portrait that she complied.

Hermione was happy with the Healer's reading, though it did not compare to Snape's the night before. The Healer's voice was soft and low and she had a hint of an accent. It was not as smooth as Snape's, nor did it offer Hermione any comfort, but the Healer read fluidly and not once did she stumble over a word or skip a sentence.

Flores read on, stopping twice to check on Hermione again before settling back down to read. Hermione wondered that she could read for so long without her voice cracking. She checked Hermione a third time, and then finally her voice grew softer, and Hermione began to miss some of the words. The Healer's voice wavered and she stopped reading. Hermione heard her gasp.

A warm hand touched Hermione's face, then trembling fingers rested on her arm.

"Oh, no!"

The Healer touched Hermione's chest lightly, and Hermione realized that it had ceased to rise and fall in its normal rhythm. The hand on her chest rose only a few millimeters at most.

"What is it, Healer?" asked the portrait.

"She's become stone cold! And only in the past – " she paused, presumably to check her watch, "twenty minutes! She's nearly stopped breathing!"

The Healer sounded frantic. She scribbled something on the clipboard and ran out of the room.

Hermione's heart beat faintly in her chest, when it should have been pounding and sending blood rushing through her body along with a boost of adrenaline. She wondered how she was still conscious. Her mind did not seem to be affected by the sudden turn of events, but she felt very cold, stone cold, just as Flores had said.

Hermione was determined to pay close attention to what she felt. When Snape came back she would tell him exactly what was happening to her body. Was it just her imagination that her mind felt more sluggish now?

Dumbledore's portrait began speaking again, telling nonsense stories to fill the silence. Hermione listened and waited for the click of the Healer's heels to signal her return. Dumbledore's voice sounded far away and she could no longer concentrate on it. Why hadn't Flores come back yet?

Finally, she heard Flores approach, accompanied by at least two others.

"Oh, my!"

The Healer from that morning was back.

"This happened within an hour? After weeks and weeks with no change?! The Ministry will have my head if she dies on our watch!"

"I'd be more worried about what Snape will do!" exclaimed a third voice, which Hermione recognized as one of the Healers who had attended her before.

"Sir, what should we do?" Flores whispered anxiously.

"Cast a warming spell, Flores," said the supervisor. "I'm going to try to contact to Madam Pomfrey."

"Will that work, sir?"

"Well, we can't very well say we did nothing, can we?" he barked back. "Do whatever you can think of! Jenkins, assist her. I'll be back."

Though the Healers cast warming spells and covered her in blankets, Hermione felt no warmth.

"You must get Severus," said Dumbledore's portrait for the fifth time, but they ignored him.

"Look at her skin," said Jenkins. "It's so pale it looks grey."

"Do you think she looks thinner?" asked Flores. Jenkins didn't answer.

"What if we treat her as a petrification victim?"

"But she's still breathing!"

"No, I don't think so . . ."

"Yes, she is," insisted Flores. "Look!"

Hermione continued to feel nothing but cold. She settled into a state of tranquil indifference. Perhaps she was dying. She wondered what it was like to die. Harry had seen Dumbledore when he died, but then, had he really been dead?

Hermione tuned out the Healers' voices and began to drift off. Staying awake meant listening to two St. Mungo's Healers tell one another how awful she looked. She would rather not know that she already looked like death.

Hermione fell asleep and into disturbing dreams. She dreamt of the battle and in her dream she was crying, seeing Tonks and Remus and Fred. She dreamt of Snape in the Shrieking Shack, lying in pools of blood, so much blood!

Hermione relived that day in bleak flashes of memory, one fading as another appeared, sometimes repeating two or three times.

Snape returned to the battle, and she saw the battle in much greater detail than ever before. She saw the fierce faces of her friends as they defended one another. She saw Neville trip over a wounded Luna and cry out in horror.

Hermione was dodging curses from one Death Eater, when she saw Harry enter and quickly fall to Voldemort's curse. Then, two more Death Eaters seemed to appear out of nowhere and one of them easily disarmed her. Hermione knew she was going to die. They laughed because they knew the game had begun – a mouse and three cats.

Three curses flew from raised wands, and Hermione dove away from them, surprised at her own speed, but then she gasped in surprise as a fourth curse hit her back. Snape's face registered in her vision. She was falling, she was dying, and the world was turning black while she desperately clung to her last sight of it: Professor Snape's astonished, frozen expression. She had not saved him... she had not even tried. Harry was dead, Snape was dead, Hermione was dead, and Voldemort was winning. Perhaps it was better to die.

Hermione relived the memory over and over in her dream.

They had failed, she had failed, and Snape was dead. If only she had seen him, if only she had jumped a fraction of a second sooner! She would not mind dying so much if Snape was alive to defeat Voldemort. They had been wrong about him all along, she was sure of it... but he was dead now, just like her. She was screaming inside her head as she fell once again, screeching with anger. . .

"Good lord! That's a phoenix!"

Hermione heard Jenkins and Flores scrambling around the bed, both yelping when the creature let out another loud screech.

"What have you fools done?!"

Snape was back!

"Sir, we have done nothing!" exclaimed Jenkins.

Flores' voice rose up with firm conviction to correct her colleague.

"What he means, sir, is there is nothing we can do."

"Get out."

"Where is Madam Pomfrey, Professor? I believe we sent for her as well."

Jenkins did not sound as confident as his colleague had.

"Get. OUT!"

Fawkes screeched again, for Hermione was sure he must be the phoenix they spoke of. The fading click of Flores' heels was barely audible over Fawkes' rebuke. There was a whooshing sound and the door slammed shut. A dead silence filled the air, making Hermione feel colder than ever.

I'm here, I'm here! she thought desperately with all her strength, but her thoughts seemed to echo in her head.

Warm fingers brushed across her face and lifted her eyelids at last, the magic tingling sharply against her cold flesh. Snape stood above her, with Fawkes perched precariously on his shoulder. Strangely, his hair was pulled back, and a few limp strands lay against his face.

"I can hear you," he said quietly, his eyes finding hers. "Your thoughts are weak. What happened?"

Immense relief washed over Hermione. She did not know what she would have done if he had not been able to hear her.

I got very cold, she said. I'm not sure when it started, since I hardly noticed at first. I think I may have stopped breathing at one point. But now . . .

Hermione could still feel the rise and fall of her chest, though it was still slow and faint. Snape's eyes flicked down to verify the fact.

I fell asleep, she thought. I dreamed about the battle. I was able to remember – a little more.

Hermione did not want to tell him what she had dreamed. She did not want to tell him that she had not meant to save him, and that her sacrifice was nothing but sheer accident.

"What else do you remember?" he prompted, sounding distracted.

I remember Neville tripping over Luna and screaming. I remember that one of the three Death Eaters was a woman, and I remember that I thought you and I were dead.

Fawkes trilled softly above her and shifted on Snape's shoulder, causing him to flinch.

Where did you find Fawkes?

"Fawkes found me, Miss Granger, much to the dismay of the Ministry. He arrived at a most – opportune – moment."

"Did he really? Well done, Fawkes," said Dumbledore's portrait with pride.

What happened? Are you free?

Hermione thought she detected the tiniest hint of smugness in his eyes.

"I am."

He did not seem ready to volunteer any more information about the trial. Hermione was just glad that he had returned so quickly. Listening to Healers argue about how long she would be living had been the worst way to spend her day.

What's happening to me?

Snape's eyes became guarded again.

"I do not know."

Hermione could not think of anything else to say, but her head no longer felt quite so cold and empty with Snape talking to her and she did not want him to leave.

Do I really look dead? she asked. The Healers said I did.

Snape blinked and studied her for a moment.

"Except for your shallow breathing . . . yes," he seemed to say almost to himself.

I'm dying?

Hermione just wanted the truth, and if anyone would give it to her, it was Snape. He continued to study her thoughtfully.

"I think not," he said.

Hermione felt some of the coldness leave her chest and her breathing became freer. Snape sat down next to the bed, and Fawkes moved to perch on the back of the chair.

Just as before, he pulled out the little book from his robes and began to read so that only she could hear. By the time he finished the next section, only Hermione's feet were still cold, and when he returned to check on her the next morning, she had long been fully returned to her state of healthy paralysis.

Snape's hair was back to it normal curtains, and he was grave and said little to her that morning, though he did tell her that Fawkes was currently residing in his office when she asked about him.

Hermione was counting on Ginny to keep her promise to tell her about the trial, and she was not disappointed. Sometime before lunch Ginny came and resumed her usual cross-legged position on Hermione's bed.

"Hermione, you won't believe it!" said Ginny as she climbed onto the bed. "Watching the trial yesterday was better than Quidditch! Even Ron was glad he came!"

Ginny suddenly looked over her shoulder, then grabbed her wand and shut the door to the room. She turned back to Hermione with a smile.

"Where should I begin? We all got there early and we just sat around forever before they brought Snape in. When they finally did you should have seen the jaws drop! He had his hair in a ponytail, and it looked like he had actually washed it for once! Cameras were flashing all over the place, until the Minister made them stop."

Ginny giggled.

"Snape looked like he was sucking on a lemon for about thirty seconds, then he stopped scowling and actually smiled at a reporter! It was really creepy. So they started the trial, and they said all these ridiculous things about him and a Healer got up on the stand to support them. Snape didn't even look angry, he just waited for them to finish. Then it was the defense's turn and we had tons of witnesses, and the Minister kept getting annoyed when they'd call another one."

Ginny took a breath. Hermione found it amusing that Ginny sounded like a Quidditch announcer recounting a match. Even more amusing was that she saw herself as part of Snape's team.

"Then we had a break, and then it was time for the Pensieve evidence, and they had some sort of projection screen for the Pensieve that was amazing – it was like we were all with Snape in the final battle. Actually, it wasn't perfectly clear from the memories that Voldemort was the one to cast the curse, because he was so far away and you jumped right in the way. In the end the prosecution kept saying how there was no proof that the spell was cast by Voldemort, and McGonagall's face was turning all shades of red, because she had just testified that she saw Voldemort cast the curse. So then they started going on about how Snape is a spy, untrustworthy, and that he was a master of deception to have played both sides and that even Albus Dumbledore could have played right into his hands when they planned his death, and that we had to trust the evidence and that the Dark Mark on his arm was put there before he became a spy."

Ginny's eyes sparkled with excitement as she told the next part of the story.

"Then all of sudden there was a burst of fire and Fawkes appeared out of nowhere and flew around the room making a terrible racket. Everyone went crazy, cameras flashing, people screaming, the guards tried to stun him, but he was too fast. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that it was a phoenix, and the guards settled down after that. He landed on the floor right in front of Snape and just stared at him for a while. Then, he touched his beak to the floor, and it reminded me of a hippogriff when it bows, and he flew right up to sit on Snape's shoulder! All the cameras were still going off, and the Minister was just gaping. We knew it was all over then, but the defense still got up and made their case, though all they really had to do was point to Fawkes and say, 'There's your proof'!"

Ginny rocked back and took another breath.

"Everyone mobbed Snape when he left, with Fawkes still on his shoulder, but apparently someone told Madam Pomfrey just before the trial ended that you were in bad shape, and then she told Snape, and he was gone before anybody knew what had happened. We could hardly get away ourselves because the press kept asking us questions about Snape and if we had seen Fawkes with Snape before and whether it really was Dumbledore's phoenix…"

Ginny took another breath and the door opened.

"Ginny?"

Padma poked her head in.

"Hello, Hermione, I'm glad you're better today," she said brightly. "Ginny – Ron, Harry and I are ready…but don't rush if you're not finished."

She smiled apologetically and shut the door with a soft click. Ginny sat in silence for a moment then slid off the bed.

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione, but she's really not that bad, and Mum keeps telling me I should 'help her through this difficult time'. I'm not fooled though. She's only hoping I'll start doing more 'girl' things instead of playing Quidditch all the time."

Ginny laughed, but she sounded nervous.

Like you're hiding something, Ginny, fumed Hermione. Ginny had yet to mention the fact that Ron seemed to like Padma as much as his mother did.

Ginny left and Hermione made herself stop thinking about Ron. She wished that she could have been at the trial to see Fawkes make his entrance. It was unbelievable that the phoenix had returned to Hogwarts, and that he had come to Snape. Everyone had assumed that he had gone forever when Dumbledore died.

Phoenixes were the subject of much folklore and represented the purest good in the magical world. A phoenix would never choose an evil master, and never a master who was disloyal to a former master. In fact, it was extremely rare that a phoenix would choose a master at all and the fact that Fawkes had already been with Dumbledore for so long must be the reason he had returned now. From what she knew of Fawkes, he was an extraordinary phoenix. Phoenixes were peaceful, gentle creatures, and it was a mark of his loyalty to Dumbledore that he fought in battles and aided Harry against the basilisk. From his timely appearance at the trial, it seemed that he always knew when he was needed. Snape was very lucky to have the loyalty of such a creature. Hermione imagined the beautiful red and gold bird sitting in Snape's gloomy office and felt a little sad. Perhaps Fawkes would brighten up the place.