"Ennervate," Severus cast. Ron tightened his grip on his wand, and so did Harry; Hermione was clutching a tiny white drawstring purse that Ron suspected held hers. Pansy finally stopped sobbing to wring her hands and hold her breath.
Malfoy's lashes fluttered, and he groaned. After a moment, he turned to the side and slowly levered himself up into a seated position, looking around. "W-what happened?" he said. "What's going on?"
Something in Severus seemed to relax a hair, if a garotte can be said to have relaxed. "You were poisoned, Mister Malfoy, by Miss Parkinson. Luckily for you, a pair of Gryffindor do-gooders were nearby to run and fetch help."
Draco's grey gaze darted nervously around the small crowd.
"Do you recall any of this at all, Mister Malfoy?" Severus inquired in as gentle a voice as he possessed.
"I," said Malfoy. "I was talking to Weasley and Granger? It's... the Yule Ball," he said. "What was the poison?"
"I find myself uncertain," said Severus, sounding unseated. "Miss Parkinson, do you have any leftovers to analyze?"
Tears spilt down each of Pansy's cheeks again. "Mister Malfoy told me to throw the bottle into the Lake," she confessed.
"It was a blood spell," Ron supplied, despite his vow not to interfere.
"But then – only," said Malfoy, and fell silent.
"Only... what?" Hermione blurted, also unable to stay silent after Pansy and Ron had both contributed information.
"Only a blood relative can brew it," Severus replied. "This one relied on shared memories and experiences –" he began.
But Draco had darted to his feet, swift as a snake, and aimed his wand at Harry while everyone's attention was on Snape. "Avada ked—"
"Silencio!" Ron cast, and "Stupefy!" shouted Severus.
The words died on Draco's lips and he slumped over, eyes rolling up into the back of his head.
"It wasn't his fault, it wasn't his fault!" Parkinson was wailing, a constant background to the group hurtling up to the Hospital Wing at the speed of sound.
"It doesn't matter if he meant to!" Harry shouted. "He's cursed, he's got to go to the Wing – Merlin's sake, Pansy, stop clawing at me!"
"They'll kill him!" she wailed. "They'll send him to Azkaban and they'll kill him!"
"Nobody is killing anybody save you, if you do not cease that infernal racket!" Snape shouted as he directed Draco's unconscious body with his wand.
"Come on, Pansy, hold it together," muttered Hermione, "it's not doing Malfoy any good just now, is it?"
"Everything's gone so wrong!" Pansy sobbed, and slumped to her knees, her face in her hands.
"We do not have the time for this –" Snape muttered.
"I've got her," Hermione said from the floor, where she settled in a pool of skirts to comfort the disconsolate Slytherin. Pansy shrieked and shook her off, but Hermione was persistent, and on the third try Pansy turned into Hermione's embrace and began to sob in earnest.
Ron turned to find that Severus was already striding down the hall again, but he caught a contemplative look on the older man's face: the beginnings of respect for Hermione Granger?
Maybe.
Then they reached the Wing and Severus was guiding Draco down to a bed and explaining the situation, insomuch as he could, to Madam Pomfrey, who began running her wand over Draco's still form. Harry and Ron hovered just inside the doorway to the Hospital Wing.
"Don't you two have a Ball to get back to?" Snape accused.
Ron merely raised a brow at him, and he turned back to look at Draco.
"Why doesn't he ever take points from you?" Harry muttered.
"Severus," said Madam Pomfrey, gesturing to a faint wisp of red hovering over Draco's prone body.
Ron staggered closer in shock. Now there was something he recognized: a sign of severe energy depletion, typically the result of numerous sleepless nights. A result like that meant that Draco hadn't been sleeping well for weeks, or hadn't slept at all several days running.
"Finite incantatem," Madam Pomfrey whispered, wand directly over Draco's face, and –
Dark, dark bags appeared underneath each eye, and a white pallor chased away all the flush from Draco's face, like an overexposed photograph. Probably if Ron saw Draco like this, he would have thought he'd had a few rough nights in a row, but the juxtaposition between the glamourie Draco had maintained – even while unconscious – and his actual well-being made it shocking.
"Okay," Harry said faintly. "I officially feel sorry for Malfoy."
Ron stared. "He... just tried to kill you, mate," he felt honour-bound to point out.
"Yeah, but something's clearly gone wrong," Harry said with a frown. "Just look at him. And – it was like last time, d'you remember how scared you said he was, after he cast Sectumsempra? I think – I think someone's trying to use Malfoy to kill me," he said. "I think they've been trying for awhile now, and – and I've got to admit he looks like maybe he's fighting it." His lips pressed together in classical Harry-determination. "Didn't you hear him say it? That he doesn't take orders from anybody?"
"'Someone'," Ron quoted, darting a glance to Malfoy's bedside just to make sure they weren't about to be overheard; Severus and Poppy were too absorbed in caring for Draco to pay them much mind, and they weren't close enough to overhear by accident. "You mean Lucius Malfoy."
Harry shook his head. "Look, it's got to be someone who hates the Malfoys just as much as they hate me, or near. Because each time Draco's attacked me, he's done it in full view of witnesses."
For all his experience, Ron hadn't put it together the way Harry was doing, now. "Someone who wants you dead and Draco Malfoy in Azkaban," he said, slowly. "Someone who'd be pretty happy either way? Or both ways: he kills you but he gets caught."
Harry nodded, grim-faced, and for a moment he looked to Ron just like the Harry he knew, so determined to do it all right, and Ron wanted to cradle him and insist it wasn't all up to him, that he had friends who could help him end Voldemort once and for all.
"D'you think it's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Ron whispered.
Harry shook his head. "I just don't think he'd care about Draco one way or the other," he replied.
Ron thought on this. Sure, he probably wouldn't have cared one way or another – up until Lucius Malfoy failed or defied him, and then, sure, Voldemort would think it was a laugh to pit two schoolboys against one another, and may the best man win. It was his style all over.
"Maybe we're looking for someone who'd like you to be a martyr," Ron mused. "Someone who is on the side of the Light but finds you inconvenient, and who'd love to frame an old, pureblooded family for the death of an innocent."
"Dark, Ron, dark," said Harry, but he didn't look unconvinced.
"Mister Malfoy will have to stay here until we determine what sort of suggestion has been planted and how we can best remove it," Severus announced. "He will be under Incarcerus meanwhile, Potter, so we need not fear for your precious life."
Harry fidgeted, then blurted, "who do you think did it, Professor?"
"Are you teaching him logical reasoning skills, Weasley?" Severus inquired. "More power to you; nothing has stuck in his skull since I first clapped eyes on him at the age of eleven."
"Is Ron teaching me logical reasoning?" Harry echoed, which Ron found more than a little insulting.
"You do not think it was Mister Malfoy who aimed the Killing Curse at your thick skull?" Severus spat.
"Merlin's sake, Professor," Ron groaned. "None of us think it was Draco's doing."
Severus stared for a moment, then sighed. "Perhaps not. All we know for certain is that a family member must have placed the curse."
Bellatrix Lestrange? Ron wondered. He didn't put it past her, setting up her own nephew for a lifetime of imprisonment and getting into Voldemort's good graces by offing Harry... but then he recalled that Bellatrix only escaped Azkaban in their sixth year. It was hard to believe she was well-organized enough to engineer such an event to come to pass from within the Wizarding prison. "We need Draco's family tree," said a voice.
Ron turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway, half-supporting Pansy.
"That's brilliant, Hermione," Ron said, encouragingly.
She tsked. "Always the tone of surprise."
Ron flinched, and tried to hide his flinching; but Hermione's clever gaze always spotted everything. She raised an eyebrow in his direction, challengingly.
"I'll leave the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew to determine that," Severus said, tiredly, and Ron wondered how well he'd been sleeping.
"I always preferred the 1920s version of Nancy," Hermione said.
Severus snorted, seemed to debate whether Hermione was worth answering, before finally lifting his head to meet her gaze. "No one," he said, "is ever giving you a handgun, Granger." Then, he swept out the door.
Ron trotted after him, leaving Harry and Hermione chatting in low voices at Malfoy's bedside. "Are you brewing him something? Can I help?"
Severus turned to face Ron, visibly struggling with himself, which meant he did, in fact, need assistance.
"I'll only follow you anyway," Ron said staunchly.
"Then come along," Severus ordered, and together they began to make their way down to the dungeons.
"What are you going to try? It's not mind-magic, or not exactly," Ron said. "We've got to be aiming for a neutralizer, right? Something that will undo the whole business, or – once you told me – tease everything apart, so that each aspect of the poison can be addressed one by one."
"Exactly how much did I tell you?" Severus muttered. "I must've been mad."
"I picked it all up, didn't I?" said Ron. He fell silent. "To be honest, we had to. Once, Harry was poisoned by someone we thought was a friend; you had us collecting twenty healthy trifold –"
"I don't want to know," Severus snapped, yanking his cloak close as he strode forward almost faster than Ron could follow.
"You just asked –"
"Well, I don't want to know," Severus said, then held up his hand.
Ron paused. "Should we call Neville in to help out -?"
"Hush!" Severus ordered, and in the pindrop silence of a dungeon where everyone was dancing merrily upstairs, Ron could hear it: a faint hum coming from the Potions classroom.
Severus wasn't foolish enough to try and send Ron away. Instead, the pair drew wands, eyeing each other, and strode swiftly for the classroom door.
Ron had an inkling of what he would see before he entered, but told himself he was imagining things – that the stress of the evening was playing tricks on his mind – that there was no way he was going to open the door and see what he thought he would see...
"My young love said to me," came a clear, sweet voice, " 'My mother won't mind..."
Severus thrust the door open but the voice continued on:
"...and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind...' "
It was, in fact, Hermione, though not the Hermione they'd left in the Hospital Wing.
"...And then she stepped away from me and this she did say..."
Snape brought his wand to bear, but then she noticed them, and turned. Ron's heart gave a stuttering spasm at the sight of her. He'd almost forgotten the way that Hermione's clothes hung off her more slender frame, the way her hair snarled, the wild emptiness of her eyes.
"There you are, Severus." She turned back to the table where she was working without meeting Severus's eye; Ron could make out a steaming cauldron and a pile of chopped potions ingredients. "I've been brewing that finicky one you like to have on hand, the healing salve with the – the dittany in gaseous form," she said. "I've tried something new, come see, come see."
"Miss... Granger," Severus said. He eyed the ingredients on the table around her, gaze flickering lightning-fast. Something he saw must have concerned him, because his brow furrowed and he glided towards her.
"You only call me Granger when you're flummoxed by me. What on earth have I done, now? Well, never mind it," she said, eyes still averted. "This potion needs my attention, now, so if you don't mind –"
And then her easy grace stuttered as Severus's hand darted forward to squeeze her upper arm – preventing her from dropping something into the potion, Ron realized... and Hermione gently placed the bottle again on the bench with a thick clunk... and for the first time lifted her gaze.
Ron watched her draw back, blinking. Saw Severus's face as he connected two-and-two. No one could ever accuse Severus Snape of being slow on the uptake. He dropped her arm as if scalded.
Hermione's eyes grew wilder. She reached out and palpated his face with both hands, ran one, tremoring hand down his hair, and landed with both hands pressed to the top of each of his shoulders; she squeezed the muscles, there, reflexively, before her right hand slid down to press over his heart. Severus's features were doing something unrecognizable, flashing between emotions too swiftly to see, settling on horror.
"You're," she said, and a bright light flared in her face, hope and love and wonder. "Here? You're here." She turned with her body, small, pointed chin lagging behind as though magnetized to Severus's face. "Ron, is he actually...?"
Ron nodded, mute.
"And Ron, you're so small," she observed, but her husband was too much of a pull; she turned back to him. "Severus," she whispered, as though a loud noise might banish him. "Are you really here?"
"I," said Severus. "I am."
"Are you sure?" she said, with a hint of her old, belligerent persistence – don't fudge your explanations on that essay, Ronald Weasley.
Ron could see Snape's throat work, from where he stood. "Ask me again, and I'll start to question it, myself."
"Oh, you're halfway there already," she said, slyly. "But if I'm really here, and you're really here... that means we're both really here, together." She grinned, and it was like the sunrise. "Isn't it marvellous?"
"But how are you?" Ron breathed. "You're your own self, Hermione – did you alter the spell after I'd gone?"
"Mister Weasley," said Snape, without taking his eyes off of Hermione's. "If you could explain."
Severus didn't need an explanation. Ron could tell. "I thought I wasn't to talk about the future, Professor."
"Weasley."
It wasn't Snape's demand, but the dazed good fortune on Hermione's features that made him relent: "You and Hermione were married in the year 2000. That's your wife."
"Ron," Hermione said, turning to face him, her features bright and open and her eyes still a little mad, and wet, and warm. Her hands never left their position on Severus, shoulder and heart. "Could you excuse us?"
He must've fallen asleep, because Severus had to shake him to get him to come back inside the Potions classroom.
Hermione's face was tear-stained. As Ron watched, her gaze darted to Severus and he went to stand beside her, unasked; she reached out to squeeze his robe between her fingers and then let him go, satisfied.
Ron looked up into Severus's face, but it was hard to read without its usual palimpsest of fury and disdain: so far as he could tell, the man was holding on to his composure by the thinnest of threads.
Finally, and through obvious effort, he moved to speak: "my wife has something for you," he said.
Hermione dug in her pocket and presented the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw with both hands. It shimmered and shone in the low light of the Potions classroom at night.
Ron's jaw dropped. "It... it was missing. How long have you...?"
She shrugged, dropping the Diadem to her skirts. "Quite some time."
"Hermione, seriously," said Ron, striding up to her and taking her hands in his to ground her. "Can – can you tell me when you arrived here?" A sudden thought sparked to life. "Long enough for a game of chess?"
Hermione looked up, eyes shimmering with delight. "I think I've finally got the knack!" she exclaimed, in an almost-normal-Hermione sort of voice. "It's all just thinking a few steps ahead of your opponent, isn't it?" Her features turned sombre, and she averted her eyes. "Just thinking ahead..."
"Games of chess?" Severus echoed. "Mister Weasley, you asked me about chess earlier..."
Ron sighed. "She's been here as long as I have, or near," he announced.
She shrugged. "I needed the time to work on a few things; I was so far behind!"
"Like changing the spell to be sure you were still yourself. Like… getting the Diadem?" Ron checked.
Hermione fumbled into her pocket a second time and withdrew the Cup.
"Hermione!" Ron growled.
She shrugged. "I was careful to be quiet," she whispered after a moment's thought. "No sirens or alarms, you know."
"Well, I've got the Locket, then," Ron admitted. "We couldn't have gotten so far without you..."
Hermione fumbled in her pocket again.
"Wait, Merlin's sake, are you –" said Ron, before she withdrew a small key.
"It's for the Sword of Gryffindor. I decided to wait to kill the snake," Hermione announced, meditatively. "For one thing," she said, looking up at Severus, "I was thinking about the rarity of the poison. All the experiments you'd like to do!"
"That's... thoughtful," Severus said, faintly.
"But also, we don't want to tip him off, do we?" Hermione went on, intent. "So we need to lure the snake and him, don't you see? And destroy all the things at once, at the same time. For it to work out well. Better."
"Yes," Ron said, "that was, uh, my plan."
"Was it?" Hermione looked up, surprised. "It doesn't seem like you've gotten much of it done. Have you been procrastinating again?"
Ron sighed. "I was looking for the Diadem; I couldn't have known you'd already taken it."
"Visits home. Balls and dances," Hermione said, in a sing-song sort of voice. "Trips to France."
"Hermione."
"Triwizard Tournament Tasks," Hermione added, a mean twist to her lip. "Forgotten all of us, hadn't you?"
"I hadn't forgotten you, or anyone," Ron returned, stung.
"Dumbledore destroyed a cursed ring last evening," Snape contributed unexpectedly.
"Ahead of schedule," Hermione said, thoughtful: successfully diverted. "He probably knows something. He usually does."
"So... we lure He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And his snake," Ron said, shuddering.
"That or we just wait," Hermione countered.
"Wait," Ron repeated. "Wait for what?"
"For Severus to be Summoned, of course!" Hermione said, in that isn't-it-clear-yet voice straight out of Ron's childhood. "Doesn't that sound less complicated than luring the Dark Lord someplace he doesn't want to go?"
Severus flinched at Hermione's appellation, but said nothing.
"But what about the Horcrux in Harry?" Ron demanded. "Was the exam right? Did we already destroy his Horcrux via the basilisk fang and phoenix tears?"
Snape stared. "Mister Potter has a...? Of course he does," he muttered, dragging his hand down his face.
Hermione reached out and petted him absently; he flinched. "We'll deal with that last of all," Hermione said, looking troubled as she peered into Severus's face. "After Voldemort's primary body is destroyed, he won't be able to make more Horcruxes, and we'll be free to destroy the rest."
"Destroying the rest should be simultaneous," Ron said levelly. "I'm not taking any chances, this time around."
"Fine," Hermione said. "Fill a vessel full of basilisk venom and dump them in." She raised her eyebrows in Severus's direction.
"Basilisk venom is a Class A Hazardous Substance," he said, inflectionless.
"I know you saved it," she said, clucking her tongue. "In a large tub marked 'bubotuber pus' – which, by the way, is incredibly foolish. Children brew here."
"Children do not go into my Potions stores," Severus snapped.
"Children steal from your Potions stores," she said, cutting her eyes to Ron.
"Hardly my fault, then, if they are poisoned for it."
Hermione snorted, and shoved his shoulder with hers.
Severus went white again, and averted his eyes.
Ron cleared his throat. "So," he said. "We'll need to be ready on a moment's notice. Neville would help, I'm sure. So would Draco, if he weren't in the Hospital Wing," he added, and told Hermione about the attempts on Harry's life.
She tilted her head to one side, thinking. "Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange or Narcissa Malfoy or Sirius Black or –"
"Sirius doesn't want to kill Harry," Ron protested.
"The problem is that nearly everyone in the Wizarding World is related," Hermione concluded. "Suppose someone peripherally related wanted to frame someone closely related."
"Merlin on a pogo stick, how related to you have to be to use a Potion like that?"
"Second cousins," Severus supplied.
Ron would find it in himself to be worried over how pliant Severus Snape was being, shortly. Meanwhile... "Second cousins is everybody," he hissed. "I am Malfoy's second cousin!"
Hermione shrugged. "It rules out the Muggleborn and most of the halfbloods."
"We're presuming that they knew they'd be caught," Ron interjected.
"Both of Mister Malfoy's attempts were in broad daylight," Severus offered. "Presumably, the perpetrator thought it likely he would be caught. Knowing that I would investigate, they must have presumed that someone would find out about the poison. Knowing my level of skill, they would have to guess that I would discover its nature."
"And knowing that everyone in the Wizarding World is related to some degree, they must have realized a family-spell would give us few clues," Ron realized, frustrated.
"Does it matter?" Hermione wondered, aloud. "You've stopped him."
"Of course it matters," Ron protested. "Whoever it is won't stop just because Malfoy's down for the count. They'll find some other way to get at Harry. Maybe Malfoy himself might give us some clues."
"Waking Mister Malfoy is inadvisable at this juncture," Severus said. "He is clearly unaware as to why he is behaving this way, and there is no telling what the Potion might do to him if he is unable to carry out his task."
Ron had to agree. Just before he'd cast the Killing Curse, Malfoy had seemed confused, and frightened: he'd had no clue what he'd been about to do, that much was clear.
"Only once we brew the antidote, then," Ron said. "So it's time to bring Neville in, reckon," he added.
Severus looked pale. "What? Why? He is a child," he said, gaze darting to Hermione and away.
"Someone is going to need to go with you when you're Summoned," Ron said. "You can't kill Him and Nagini in the same breath. Even if you do succeed, there's no way you'd make it out alive," he said, keeping a cautious eye on Hermione. "So we'll need someone back here, destroying the Horcruxes – don't see why it shouldn't be Neville."
"I won't let you die, again," Hermione said, fiercely. "I'm going with you."
"You do not understand," Severus said, voice so even that he could only be keeping it so through great effort. "He can only Call Death Eaters – through their Marks. No one without a Mark can be Called. No one even knows where they are, once they arrive, and the Dark Lord is careful to pick locations that are nondescript: a clearing in an unfamiliar wood –"
"So give me the Mark," Hermione announced, "I don't care."
Severus stared at her, hands trembling in his lap. "I," he said, then visibly shook himself. "As selfless and Gryffindor an impulse as that is, only the Dark Lord himself can confer a Mark."
"Well, it's temporary, isn't it? He'd be dead soon enough," she said absently, twirling her hair. "Fine. So you'll need something on you – a true love's token – to call me to you. Once you're there."
"A true love's token wouldn't work," Severus scoffed.
"And why not," said Hermione.
"Because we're not in love," Severus hissed. "Surely, mad as you are, you know I'm not your husband. You know you're not my wife!"
"That's temporary, too," she replied, unfazed. "We have ages between now and then."
Severus stared at her, wild-eyed. "You're completely insane," he announced.
"Yes," she replied, serenely. "I loved you very much and saw you killed before my eyes, unable to act in any way to save you. Come, now, Severus, you know just what that's like."
Ron saw Severus swallow.
"And it was very hard," she said in that same, faraway voice. "I know a hawk from a handsaw, you know, but it was very hard."
"You were mad when you married me," Severus muttered, and Ron was surprised into barking a laugh.
"Sorry. Sorry," Ron said at Severus's face, someplace between shock and a glare. "Hermione are you – are you sure you could make something like that work?"
Hermione's gaze darted to Severus's face; she examined him, swift as thought, before her gaze flickered back to Ron's. "Yes," she said.
"Okay," Ron replied, while Severus sputtered. "Hermione will help you, then, Severus. She might even be able to Apparate others to your location. So it's time to finalize our list of allies and align everything in its place, so that we can be ready."
"As few as possible," Severus opined, and Hermione nodded.
"Seriously?" Ron pressed. "Come on, we need the whole Order protecting you two!"
"The whole Order arrives, the Death Eaters will scatter," Severus protested. "The Dark Lord and Nagini will escape in the tumult. Worse, if there is a mole within the Order – and the likelihood is high – they'll get wind of our plans. One extra person can be hidden in a crowd, especially since it is likely that some of the Death Eaters have perished since the first War. A dozen extra people, and the day is lost."
Hermione bobbed a nod. "Do you want the snake, or the Dark Lord?" she inquired cheerfully.
Severus turned to stare.
Ron had the feeling Severus was going to spend the next several days wearing out his incredulity on Hermione Snape.
"Fine," Ron said. "I'm going to go talk to Neville."
"Tell him nothing about –" Severus began.
"I know," Ron said, holding one hand in the air. "Nothing on time travel or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, just... we've got some dangerous artefacts, is all, and they've got to be destroyed, only it's at a very particular time."
"Precisely."
Ron turned to go, but some impulse made him pause at the door. When he turned, Hermione was leaning into Severus like a flower to the sun. As Ron watched, she tucked her arm in the crook of his, and rested her frizzy head gently against his shoulder, as though she feared he might shatter, or disappear.
Severus's lip trembled again and, after a moment, brought one arm up to her shoulder. She sighed, and snuggled closer; he held himself stiff and unyielding as a stone wall.
"Don't forget the antidote," Ron said, and Severus glared at him until he closed the door.
A/N: We've crested the hill and have started to accelerate down the other side. We'll get just one more spate of breathing room before the end.
A promotion in chess is when a pawn crosses the entire board over the course of the game. On reaching the eighth rank (horizontal line of squares) she turns into a Queen powerful enough to protect the King. This is something that typically only happens very late in the game and often when it appears all hope is lost. Usually, she decisively changes the outcome of the game with her newfound range and flexibility.
Of course, if you haven't lost your Queen in the first place... now you have two.
That often means the end is in sight for player two.
Today's problematic trope is that Love Fixes Chronic Illness. I think Hermione will be steadier around Severus; and I think her affection for him will mean she'll let him look after her, provided he wants to try. That might manifest as a neater appearance and that might in and of itself improve her outlook a bit. But Hermione won't be cured by simply being around Severus again. She will still have good days and bad days.
I think this constant urge to overwrite illness with simple fixes is due to writer horror, pure and simple. The idea of brokenness horrifies us as a culture. As someone who's chronically ill myself, I find the presence of this trope understandable but nonetheless distasteful - and wrong.
A rich and beautiful life can be lived, even with problems; even if it's not the life you wanted or pictured. The more that basically healthy people accept that, the more ready and willing they will be able to be at peace with problems of their own.