A/N: Firstly, hello to a couple new followers/readers! I hope you're enjoying the ride so far.
Secondly, I just happened to realise that I've been posting this story for a whole flippin' year now(!). Unbelievable! :-O
Again, this chapter didn't come together as quickly as I would've liked, but, if you've been keeping an eye on my Profile at all or have me on your Author Alerts, you'll know that I posted a lot last month, including a number of new SSHG tales you may be interested in checking out.
Lastly, I've admittedly been struggling to stay afloat lately, and juggling a number of writing projects hasn't been easy for me. Not sure when/if this struggle will ever break, but hopefully chapters like these, as well as any that come in the future, will be worth waiting for.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters. No money, just fun.
Chapter 21: Crossroads
"Please ensure that these do not go astray, Bromley," Narcissa demanded softly but firmly to Rennie Bromley, one of supposedly several "runners" for the underground movement Hermione had merely glimpsed at upon his arrival. She had been introduced to the eccentric-looking wizard on the fly, for he had scarcely entered Malfoy Manor before satchels full of Muggle-borns' wands were thrust into his hands. Narcissa didn't rattle off the various locations or names of those to whom they needed to be taken to, but Bromley, quiet and attentive as he appeared, looked well attuned with wherever they needed to be dispersed, and didn't require further instructions.
Hermione watched in silence as Narcissa reconfigured the satchels into smaller, lightweight shoulder bags, casting a number of Invisibility and Concealment Charms to safeguard the contents from any of the Dark Lord's minions who might stop Bromley on his journey out of the country. Neither Narcissa nor Bromley appeared nervous or on edge.
Must be a Slytherin thing, Hermione pondered dismissively.
Bromley, a lanky fellow in his mid-thirties, with unkempt blond tresses (as well as a few messy, blue-streaked hairs) that fell in uneven patches around his rugged face, which also happened to be covered in piercings, simply nodded to Hermione and Narcissa before twirling on the spot and exiting from whence he had entered.
"He's a good lad," Narcissa explained in a reassuring tone once the wizard was out of earshot; Hermione must have been wearing a puzzled look about him as she watched him exit. "The soft, sensitive type, but he's exceptional at what he does. As unobtrusive a Death Eater as they come."
"Death Eater?" Hermione blinked in surprise. "You mean...?"
"Oh, yes. Bromley's never captured the Dark Lord's attention, really. Too quiet and withdrawn, but, as you can see, that's served him well. He gets left alone, for the most part."
"I see..."
Hermione stared on peculiarly at the empty spot where Rennie Bromley had just been. She had long assumed most of the Death Eaters were well off individuals, much like the Malfoys, or, at least, stemmed from well-established pureblood families. Bromley didn't quite match the prominent figureheads of which the Death Eaters mostly boasted, though, Severus, too, had stomped some of that presumption out of Hermione fairly quickly after she was brought to his home and discovered otherwise how some Death Eaters lived. She knew nothing of his background, of course, but Spinner's End was no grand affair, that much was clear. It didn't boast of wealth or prestige—and neither did Severus, for that matter—so Hermione surmised that either Severus Snape wasn't a well off individual, or he smartly hid his fortunes. Most likely, his high ranking status amongst the Death Eaters came via other avenues: ambition, smarts, cleverness...
That sounded more like her Severus.
Just how many Death Eaters were there like Severus, and possibly this Bromley fellow, within their ranks, regularly straddling both sides of the fence? Knowing Severus and the Malfoys were a part of this extremely dangerous game of double-crossers was something Hermione wasn't comfortable with but fairly accepting of by now; the notion that there were more Death Eaters amongst them such as Bromley, whom Hermione didn't know enough about to judge whether or not he was trustworthy, made her inexplicably nervous.
"His family disowned him," Narcissa suddenly cut into Hermione's private contemplations, her expression hard and arresting, "when he chose to become a Death Eater. He watched his mother, father, and younger brother perish when they twice refused to join the Dark Lord. He's never lived that down. I believe it's why he's become something akin to a mute. He rarely speaks...to anyone."
Hermione swallowed hard. Well, that was unexpected. She decided quickly then and there that she had had enough of trying to properly analyse people she didn't know. The truth was normally much more disheartening to the opinions formed in her head, and she wound up regretting ever inquiring in the first place.
Such was that particular moment.
Hermione diverted her eyes to the now empty oak desk in front of her, where she and Narcissa had poured over the Muggle-born wands for nearly an hour, casting Naming Charms to determine what "division"—or, in this case, satchel—the wands should be dispersed. Now, one of their runners held every Muggle-born wand in his sole possession, carrying the outcome of their perilous efforts in his hands.
Perhaps that's why you're so edgy, Hermione.
Hermione tried to focus more intently on the good of their endeavour today: how the Muggle-borns would feel once they experienced the emotional reunion with their wands as she had. Having it held securely between her trembling fingers once again made Hermione feel suddenly whole, like having a missing limb reallocated to her body.
She closed her eyes and forced a deep, even breath, for something else had been nettling at the back of her mind and setting every hair at the back of her neck on end.
"Are you all right, dear?"
Hermione's eyes fluttered to a freshly concerned-looking Narcissa. "Yes," she found herself lying; her mouth had gone parched, though, in a matter of seconds.
No word had come in yet from Severus. His appointment with the Dark Lord was near two hours ago and still...nothing.
Where is he?
All of a sudden, something pulled Hermione's eyes away from the empty desk to to the closed off doors of the Malfoy's sitting room, and, as it turned out, her instincts were well founded. Seconds later, two figures unexpectedly came barging into the room, swinging the doors open with a large bang, their hurried footsteps rushing in Hermione's and Narcissa's direction. The two witches jumped and instinctively raised their wands in defence, though it was unnecessary.
Hermione's arm froze in place as soon as her eyes zoned in on the one of the two figures coming towards her, severely hunched over with dangling damp, long hair in front to disguise most of his pinched face. It took a second or two for Hermione to rationalise, with horror, that the man she loved was literally being held up off the ground and dragged forward, his slim body positioned at a rather awkward angle. He looked crippled and not at all himself. Worse still, he was covered in blood.
"Severus!" she blurted out, shocked to her core.
Hermione had no idea who the other wizard was accompanying him and keeping him from collapsing, but she ignored him and ran straight for Severus. Hastily, he was placed on the closest leather couch within reach and made to lie down. Slumping over, he merely fell backward, wet hairs clinging to his eyes.
Hermione helped ease Severus into a more comfortable supine position and cradled the back of his head. A low groan escaped his lips that spoke to what the rest of them could only take in with their own paralysed eyes: a horribly mangled fixture of torn robes stained with blood and shattered bones.
Narcissa wordlessly summoned a blanket to be wedged between Severus's battered form and the undoubtedly pricey sofa cushions, whilst Hermione knelt down and cradled Severus's face in her hands. "What the hell happened?" she vaguely heard Narcissa demanding from behind her as she and Severus locked eyes on each other, he fighting to stay conscious.
"It was much worse than I expected, Narcissa," came the peculiar voice of the unknown man, which sounded surprisingly female rather than male.
"Meaning?"
"He was already in quite bad shape when the Dark Lord called me in. He knows about Snape and... Oh! You're the infamous Hermione Granger, aren't you?"
Startled at being addressed, Hermione whipped her head around, half out of it, and stared up into the face of the gruff-looking wizard at her back, whose hair was changing form before her eyes.
Polyjuice. Who was this person?
"I..." She glanced from Narcissa to the stranger, uncertain. "Yes, I am."
"Ahhh," the wizard—Or witch?—determined with a slow, inscrutable nod of recognition. "Merlin, well... I can see how Snape might have the eyes for..."
Hermione shot the stranger a befuddled frown, as did Narcissa, until the individual with what looked like spiky red hair and vibrant, engaging eyes, which had turned from their previous dull grey to a luminous auburn, spoke again, and Hermione's throat nearly catapulted into the pit of her stomach.
"Erm, sorry," the witch apologised and awkwardly scratched her head. "Suffice it to say the Dark Lord knows all about the two of you. He was in a rage; hissed about Severus's betrayal with a Mudblo—oh, sorry, with you, the Muggle-born. He knows officially that Severus can't be trusted, so he... He broke him," she finished her explanation in a fragmented whisper that resonated around the quiet room.
Everyone's attention reverted back to the man wheezing distraughtly on the couch. He was clearly in tremendous pain, helpless and unable to speak. The visual made Hermione physically sick with dread.
"He was about to perform the Killing Curse when I got the opportunity to strike," the witch continued, turning to Narcissa; she nearly lost her composure as she choked out, "I... I'm sorry; I dove in and grabbed him as quickly as I could. There was no time..."
"Don't be sorry, my dear," Narcissa softly consoled the younger woman; she had now fully turned from an ugly, middle-aged wizard to a lively, spunky-looking redhead.
Hermione could hear fluttering going on behind her—Narcissa and this unknown individual conversing excitedly and summoning various items from different places—but she'd turned back to Severus, her attention intensely focused on him alone.
Staring down at his badly mangled body, Hermione's throat constricted and her heart pounded furiously—relentlessly—in her ears like an urgent calling. It frightened her what she was looking at; this was what Severus had been reduced to? How long had he been suffering?
Not now. Think, Hermione. Quickly.
Although numbed with fear, Hermione swallowed her growing panic and forced herself to remain calm. Right now, she needed to help Severus; that was most vital. Severus's once lean but powerful figure had been reduced to smashed fragments of his former self, hardly recognisable, but Hermione simply had to force the awful reality of the situation from her mind and aid him as swiftly as she could.
Raven irises that were still fighting to look up at her, or to black out the pain, Hermione couldn't tell, spoke only of one plea: relief.
"You got him out of there, Romilda. You're both safe," Narcissa was expressing with unusual sympathy, though Hermione wasn't really listening to either of them anymore. "That's what's important. Here, Hermione."
A warm, wet cloth was shoved into her quivering hands. Hermione took it without turning away from Severus and mechanically began wiping the streaks of blood from his face. Severus moaned and sighed at the warmth that penetrated his skin, soaking his facial wounds, but his brief bout of relief turned into winces of sheer agony.
The white cloth was soon covered in his blood—its potent smell wafting the air and contaminating much of Hermione's hand as well—but she wasn't even aware of it nor of being given a second cloth. She continued to attentively—robotically—wash at Severus's face before moving onto the rest of him.
Carefully, Hermione untied Severus's cravat and slipped it off from around his neck. He shuddered in pain before briefly going still. New skin had patched up Nagini's bites after the attack at the Shrieking Shack, but they were still as harrowing a visual as ever. Hermione quickly moved on, though—You can reminisce about those nasty bites later, she told herself—whilst Narcissa busied herself with getting the stranger named Romilda to take a seat. She then hurried from the room, leaving Hermione and the witch momentarily alone with Severus.
"Hang on," Hermione kept whispering to him, though her voice shook every time she spoke.
Severus breathed hard and strenuously as she worked. Hermione had started opening his coat, unsteady fingers working frantically to unfasten each meticulous button, when he jolted and cried out in pain as she had never heard before.
"I'll attend to his hands," came Romilda's soft instruction from beside her; she had been sitting mutely across from Hermione and Severus, watching them both in a daze, and Hermione had nearly forgotten she was there when Severus's flinching and flexing forced her company off the couch to assist.
Hermione started and stared up at Romilda, suspicion heavily marring her face. "Do you know how?"
Romilda's eyes widened a fraction or two. "I know enough." Sensing Hermione wasn't about to comply so easily, she added hurriedly, "Look, he's in an awful lot of pain. Let's at least give him a tonic that will knock him out for a couple hours so that we can treat him properly. Most of his body's broken."
At that nauseating reminder—not that she needed it—Hermione looked about the elaborately decorated room, suddenly noting Narcissa's absence. "Where's Narcissa gone?" she asked, her heart beating a mile a minute by this point.
"Informing the others of what's happened, I'd wager."
"Do you know where she keeps potions stored in this house?"
"No, but I'd gather a few Accio's should—"
"Oh! Right," Hermione conceded, feeling abysmally simpleminded for not thinking of that herself; she had been so distressed with seeing Severus in such a horrific condition, and with only recently having been reacquainted with her magic, to think faster on her feet.
You've lost your touch, Hermione, she, at once, berated herself before immediately turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
She peered down at Severus, surveying his head that was lolling back and forth in a sluggish motion, his overworked lungs gasping for breath and the rest of him convulsing in pain. He muttered a few incoherent words but could no longer keep his eyes open. Hermione reached down to stroke his cheek and raised her wand in haste to summon whatever healing potions might be on hand when an unexpected voice, this time a male, startled her from her intentions.
"That won't be necessary, Miss Granger."
Hermione shot to her full height and was met by a pair of steel grey eyes she instantly recognised, and not with a warm regard. At one time, they had been so hostile and prejudiced towards her. Now, they appeared oddly gentle in greeting and studied her person without malice, prompting Hermione to swallow thickly and catch her breath.
A rather beaten-looking Lucius Malfoy, no longer graceful or elegant but, sadly, weathered and decrepit, received her stare with a slight bow of his long blond hair; a few white streaks were now woven through, signifying how rapidly the man had aged in only a couple short years. He turned to Romilda and offered the same respectful bow.
"Snow."
"Lucius," Romilda replied in kind; Hermione was taken aback by the esteem the Malfoy patriarch was given and cautiously followed her example.
"These should hopefully do the trick." Two phials were grasped in one of Lucius's hands. He swept over to the couch and tossed them down at Severus's feet before inching closer, ignoring Hermione's angst-ridden stare. "What's his prognosis?"
"Looks like a lot of broken bones—"
"Mmm. Several broken ribs, too, I see," Lucius interrupted Romilda Snow; his voice still carried that same smooth drawl Hermione remembered from just a few years back, if not slightly more worn. He extracted his wand from his emerald, silk-skin robes and cast a diagnostic spell. "Broken hands, fractured pelvis, punctured lungs..." He turned briskly to Hermione and Romilda, one of whom was still distractedly ogling him. "We'd best get him comfortable. He's in for a rough recovery. We'll start with that Sleeping Draught and pain reliever I brought down."
Romilda snatched the requested flasks up before Hermione could and handed them to Lucius, who was already gingerly tilting Severus's head back to pour the liquid down his throat. Hermione took a seat at his side to help cradle the back of Severus's head.
"Severus," Lucius spoke with, to Hermione, shocking consideration; Severus's eyes fluttered halfway open, "it's Lucius. I have some tonics for you. This will take away the pain for a little while."
"L - Luc-ius..." Severus rasped, barely able to formulate the man's name.
"It's all right, my friend. We're going to look after you. Hang on."
Although struck by his compassion, Hermione couldn't focus as much on that as Severus's terrible suffering. She stroked his cheek to let him know she was there. Could he hear her? Did he sense her at all?
"He - He - He knows..." Severus wheezed, sounding desperate. "The - The D - Dark L - L - Lord... He'll come f - for Herm—"
"Don't worry, Severus," Lucius insisted with a small turn of his head. "We'll get that sorted. You relax. You're safe now."
"But, Her - Her-mione..."
"I'm here, Severus!" Hermione shot forward to answer; tenderly, she brushed a thumb against one of his bruised cheek bones.
Fleetingly, frantic dark eyes met hers. "You m - must go!"
A crippled hand reached out to push her away, though unsuccessfully. It only caused him to wince in agony.
"I'm not leaving you, Severus!"
"You...must!"
"Quiet now. Take the potions Lucius has for you. We'll talk later."
Lucius proceeded to trickle the two potions down Severus's throat. He gagged violently and hacked a couple times in order to clear his airway.
Once Hermione was certain he wasn't about to choke on his own saliva, she resumed removing his clothes, working ever so cautiously to prevent his body any further distress. Within seconds, Severus entered an unsteady but much needed sleep, and Hermione was able to work more efficiently.
"He won't be out long," Lucius informed the pair of them; Romilda had taken the liberty of aiding Hermione's painstaking efforts by removing Severus's boots and clearing the coffee table so that a bowl of hot water and several fresh cloths could be utilised. "Not with the amount of pain he's in. We should move him to a bed whilst he's still out."
Hermione nodded in agreement and, using her wand, swaddled Severus with the blanket that had been wedged underneath him. He moaned gruffly in his sleep but, thankfully, didn't wake.
"Come with me." Lucius waved his hand at Hermione and Romilda, who levitated Severus off the couch with her own wand, which allowed Hermione to simply walk—hurriedly—beside him.
Lucius led them down a long, dimly lit corridor towards a grand staircase, blond hair swishing dramatically off his shoulders. He didn't so much as whip his head around as he hiked up the stairs two at a time. His gait was a bit unsteady, however, and he was forced to grab hold of the banister to keep his balance in check, something that didn't go unnoticed by either of the two women following him.
"Are you all right, Luc—" Romilda started to inquire before she was curtly cut off.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Lucius paused to flip loose strands of hair over his shoulder. "C'mon. Nearly there."
"Have the others been informed?"
"Cissy and Draco are working on it."
"Where's Wyman?"
"Right where he should be," came Lucius's cryptic reply.
The utterance of that particular name caught Hermione off her guard. She faulted on one of the last steps in front of her and toppled backwards into Romilda, who reached out just in time to prevent Hermione from tumbling down the stairs. Romilda eyed her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a few additional limbs.
"Oi, you all right, Hermione? You could've broken your neck!"
"Erm, yes, I - I'm fine, thank you. Did you say...Wyman?" she asked once she'd recovered her footing.
Romilda nodded as they reached the second floor, and the pair of them rushed off with Severus in tow down another series of corridors; neither Lucius nor Romilda paid Hermione's interest in Wyman further mind or offered up an explanation.
Why's he here? What's going on?
An aching moan from Severus brought Hermione out of her reeling thoughts. She focused on their destination instead, finding the once grand Malfoy estate, a former labyrinth of ornate tapestries and fine furnishings, mostly barren and gloomy. She quickened her pace, along with Romilda, both keeping their attentive eyes on a levitated, passed out Severus as they trailed Lucius around winding, darkened corners.
"What did he mean that Wyman is 'right where he should be'?" Hermione chanced asking a moment later.
Romilda turned to her as they reached a closed door that Lucius was in the midst of unlocking, permitting them to pass through with Severus's levitated body. "He's here. On one of the lower levels."
"Here?"
Hermione's mouth dropped open. What was Severus's traitor—the entire movement's no-good deceiver—doing at Malfoy Manor?
"Cissy drugged him and he's now in our charge," Romilda explained in haste as they entered the room, "until we can figure out a better use for him, if any."
Hermione went silent as the grave as Lucius motioned them to bring Severus to the bed. "Place him here," he requested plainly, waving his arm about to brighten a few lamps in the room. "We should work on healing his ribs first."
"Won't that wake him up?" Hermione ventured to ask once Severus was properly settled on top of the duvet, with several pillows cradling his upper body. To add to her growing alarm, the fabric beneath him was soon saturated with his blood. If it bothered Lucius, he didn't showcase his concerns.
"It may."
It was then that Hermione noticed a large stack of healing potions which had suddenly materialised on the bedside table. Her eyes traced the handsome cursive, recognising most of the contents: Blood Replenishing, Wound-Cleaning, Strengthening Solution, Bruise-Healing paste, Sleeping Draughts...
"Let's start with some Blood Replenishing, and you can cleanse him so that I can get a better look at his injuries."
"All - All right."
Hermione took a precarious seat on the bed and leaned over Severus, heart-stricken by the sheer abuse the Dark Lord had rendered to his most trusted follower, leaving him crumpled, though astonishingly alive—and only just. She unwrapped the blanket previously placed around him, now sopping with blood, and finished unbuttoning his coat. When she pulled the coat off, albeit delicately, the white shirt Severus always wore underneath his impressive ensemble was, too, discovered to be stained in red.
Hermione gulped down the fears clawing at her stomach and continued removing his clothing. She wasn't mindful of what Lucius or Romilda were doing anymore, only her own task.
Severus was disrobed of everything, including his underwear, which Hermione noted had, too, been soiled through; but she was much more petrified by the mangled skin and bones that lay beneath so many tattered layers of clothing. She couldn't make herself look away, and yet, was too distraught by what she couldn't unsee. Seeing Severus's hands, once so beautiful and elegant, contorted and disfigured was gut-wrenching; surveying the rest of his crushed, bruised, and bloodied form was on another level entirely.
Before Hermione was aware, a new bowl of hot water, along with fresh linens, had been transfigured and placed into her lap. She began the meticulous process of removing all the wet and dried blood that was visible on every part of Severus's naked flesh, her hands working shakingly but meticulously.
Meanwhile, Lucius began the rigorous process of administering tonics and healing spells to regenerate Severus's lung tissue as well as to mend his broken ribs. Hermione could hear bones cracking and shifting back into place as she worked, and the sounds were nauseating to hear, though she willed herself to keep going.
Hang on, Severus. You must hang on.
It wasn't until Hermione paused to wipe at her brow nearly an hour later that she was able to appreciate Lucius's delicate healing practices. The one-time pureblood racist—perhaps he still was, for all she knew—was also a...healer on some level. Well, for all intents and purposes, that was the noble role he was playing at present. Hermione was both relieved to have the wizard's expertise on hand but also slightly agitated, for, whilst she trusted his wife, she wasn't entirely convinced yet of Lucius's good intentions, whatever they may be.
Currently, he held Severus's life in the palm of his hands, but his thoughtful attention and careful approach was admirable. Hermione was reminded of his referring to Severus as a 'friend,' and that provided her overwrought conscience some comfort.
Perhaps Lucius Malfoy wasn't just a hapless drunk or an unsavoury fellow after all...
Then again, Hermione lamented to herself as she reached out to brush damp hairs away from Severus's sweat-laden brow, who really is what they've been thought to be anymore? You're no exception, Hermione.
While Hermione was preoccupied with cleansing Severus's body free of blood, Romilda had started on mending his hands, though she didn't get far with the few healing spells she cast, for the shifting of the many bones being put back together left the normally high-spirited witch trembling and not in control of her emotions. Soon, she lost her composure and concentration and was forced to stop, hands freely clasping at her face as the frazzled nerves Romilda Snow had been suppressing since the daring rescue at the Shacklebolt estate finally caught up with her.
By then, Narcissa had reappeared to inform them all that the rest of the resistance was being made aware of the success of their mission, as well as being kept abreast of Severus's condition and Romilda's "secret return" to London.
Narcissa had just been about to quietly escort a teary Romilda from the room to calm her down when, without warning, Severus unexpectedly gasped and wrestled out of sleep, thrashing his head back and howling at the top of his lungs, though his voice was cracked and hoarse. Hermione jolted back, frightened out of her rather numbed state of being, and pressed him to the bed, but he struggled against her, throwing his head back and forth and crying out in pain.
It was only after a minute or so that Hermione noticed Lucius, too, was wincing and had stepped away from the bed. Narcissa was at her husband's side, and Hermione noticed that he was clutching his left arm.
The Dark Mark...
Alarmed, Hermione gazed down at Severus's left arm, and, to her horror, the Dark Mark was active. Every vein running up or down Severus's left arm was throbbing and raised on account of whatever unspeakable torture the Dark Lord was inflicting.
"He knows," Lucius stammered, speaking through his own bout of agony. "He must know about the break-in..."
"Is he summoning?" Narcissa questioned her husband, and, for the first time, Hermione detected a twinge of fear in the woman's normally cool, collected tone.
"No... He's just..." Lucius halted to inhale sharply. "He's just angry."
Angry was putting it mildly, however. The Dark Lord was infuriated beyond measure, and it appeared that Severus was paying the hefty brunt for their treason, and for getting away before the Dark Lord could finish him off.
Please stop! Please stop! Please! Hermione whimpered on the bed, feeling utterly helpless as she watched Severus struggle against whatever torment the Dark Lord was casting. Leave him alone!
Eventually, after several agonising minutes of nonstop whipping about, Severus finally went still. Hermione couldn't tell if he had passed out from the pain or worn himself out from so much violent tossing, flinching and howling, but, either way, she was relieved—grateful that he was no longer conscious, though the experience had left her rattled.
Lucius came back to the bed as soon as Severus went quiet, his breathing somewhat exacerbated and his face flushed; but he shortly resumed casting healing spells, much to Hermione's amazement. Narcissa and Romilda had quietly left without a word, and Hermione wasn't much invested in anyone else's comings and goings. Only Severus's.
Practically paralysed with anguish, and concerned about the outcome of his condition, Hermione steadfastly refused to leave Severus's side. She glanced at Lucius often out of the corner of her eye, a series of confused emotions rippling across her face over the next several hours: touched, suspicious, surprised, appreciative.
"The effects of the Dark Mark don't affect me as much anymore," Lucius explained offhandedly at one point, disturbing what had otherwise been a silent team effort. "I'm not as susceptible to the pain it causes as, say, Severus is."
"Why's that?" Hermione started and stopped as the realisation abruptly hit her.
Hers and the Malfoy patriarch's eyes met—briefly, sharply—and Hermione knew: booze was the cause of Lucius's inability to feel much of anything anymore, curtailing some of the physical suffering that came with being a follower of the Dark Lord.
Lucius didn't need to answer Hermione's question and she didn't dare press him to. In haste, she diverted her gaze back to Severus, intent on sticking out whatever unpleasant events may follow. She could only pray with all her being that the Dark Lord wouldn't try to make matters worse for Severus in the coming minutes, hours, or even days ahead. He'd barely managed to escape the maniac's clutches—Escaped the Killing Curse, Hermione soberly reminded herself with a hard swallow—and therefore, he was considered a wanted wizard by now. The Dark Mark still connected him to his old master, and it was more than likely Lord Voldemort would use that bind to torture Severus in whatever conceivable way he could.
No. He can't. Something has to be done.
Evidently, Lucius was already on it; or thinking along the same lines as Hermione, for he cast a series of dark spells on Severus's left arm that had Hermione's eyebrows raised in question. Whatever the blond wizard was casting on Severus's behalf, he apparently had practice and experience in the department of protecting oneself from dark curses, for the protective spells he issued weren't any Hermione was familiar with. She didn't care anymore, though; simply put, she wanted Severus to be as comfortable and unaffected by the Dark Mark as possible.
This isn't over...
During the next few gruelling hours, Severus awoke off and on, always gasping and writhing in pain. Hermione or Lucius would administer another Sleeping Draught to knock him out, and, eventually, Lucius insisted on a few shots of whisky that Hermione, at first, argued against. Ultimately, the older, more experienced wizard won out.
"Trust me, it will help."
Severus's sleep remained unrestful the remainder of the day; he'd twitch awake often as Lucius mended his broken ribs and hands, which he'd taken over for Romilda some time ago, and Hermione stayed near to keep him calm. The treatment was painstaking and intense, but Lucius was seemingly undaunted by any of it. Although it was excruciating for Hermione to watch, she couldn't bear the thought of being anywhere else but here, and found herself increasingly grateful for Lucius's help.
"Hold on," she'd whisper to Severus each time he woke, attempting to be a voice of reassurance. "I'm right here, Severus. I'm right here."
"You...must...leave!" he'd hiss at her, unnerving Hermione, but her resolve wouldn't be shaken.
"I'm not leaving you."
"You...have to..."
Severus would then pass out again, and nothing was said on the matter until he came to once more.
Once Lucius was through tending to the worst of Severus's injuries, Hermione applied Bruise-Healing paste everywhere she spotted a purple blotch of skin, and there were many—along his battered ribs, chest, arms and legs, and, most especially, his hands. His ribs and hands were in the worst shape of all and required additional bandaging that, again, stirred the spy out of sleep. He'd wheeze and writhe on the bed but, with yet another dose of a Sleeping Draught, and a bit of Firewhisky to lessen the symptoms, he nodded off.
"You should rest, Miss Granger," Lucius spoke later that evening, his voice muffled and on the edge of her conscience.
Hermione's tired eyelids fluttered up to him. Lucius was wiping his brow with a towel and, though he appeared worse for the wear, much depleted and not at all like the prominent man he'd once been, the peculiar compassion in those steel grey eyes was consoling, and just what Hermione discovered she needed at that moment.
"No, I'll... I'll stay with him."
"Mmm." Lucius bowed understandingly and didn't try to coax her twice. He left the bottle of Firewhisky on the table in plain view. "Give him some more of that if he wakes. Trust me, it will numb the pain."
Hermione frowned at the bottle but had no desire or energy to quarrel. "Thank you...for your help, sir," she found herself expressing, and she meant it.
Lucius simply shrugged and swayed his way to the door. "Miss Granger?" he called over his shoulder, meeting her curious eyes that had trailed after him. "Whatever possessions you may still have at Spinner's End, they'll need to be retrieved as soon as possible."
"Oh...!"
"The Dark Lord's lackeys will ransack Severus's house for certain, if they haven't already. We'll need to get yours and Severus's valuables out of that house, and fast."
Immediately, Hermione's thoughts turned to a certain furry, helpless creature held up in Severus's house and her heart began beating faster against her chest. "My kitten, Moo. He's really all I've got. And, perhaps, a few items of clothing..."
Lucius bowed in acknowledgement. Without a parting word, he swept out of the bedroom, dimming the lights as he exited.
Although fretful and disoriented, Hermione scooted onto her side, facing Severus, and scrunched an extra pillow beneath her head, the need for sleep forcing her eyelids shut. She'd intended to stay awake, but her mind and body were depleted. It took little to no time at all before Hermione nodded off, her face burrowed snug into Severus's bare shoulder.
Hermione would awaken an hour or two later when Severus's arm began burning again. As she startled awake, her sense of responsibility and safekeeping for Severus flew into high gear. She stayed by his side through it all, uncertain if he was so much as aware that she was present, but consoled him nevertheless, all the while attempting a series of healing spells she'd remembered to stop the Dark Lord's abominable hold on Severus's mind and body. Whatever protection spells Lucius had cast earlier, they held and lessened some of the Dark Lord's influence, but not entirely.
Narcissa, too, had returned, apparently to take over nursing duties from her husband who was nowhere to be found. Hermione was grateful for the extra company. Narcissa had a few healing tricks of her own up her sleeve and assisted in looking after Severus without so much as asking to do so, even allowing Hermione a few hours of uninterrupted rest.
Severus remained in a heinous state into much of the following day, the harsh reality of his injuries made evermore brutally forthright later in the evening once the bandages attached to his hands and ribs were discarded—the cloth now seeped in dried blood—to be rebandaged. Hermione became nearly physically ill surveying Severus's still gnarled-looking hands, once so refined. The deep-seated bruising along every visible portion of skin only added to the sickening churning in the pit of her stomach.
Eventually, by the time night fell, overcome with emotion, Hermione allowed herself to quietly weep, the unexpected presence of a consoling Narcissa at her side. Narcissa had insisted that she get some rest and Hermione promised she would, but, mostly, she refused to leave Severus's bedside. Thankfully, her hostess wasn't keen on fussing much on that score and would quietly leave the room periodically, always reassuring Hermione that either she or Lucius would be back to check on their friend's progress.
Two hours later, Hermione's eyelids were finally growing too heavy to stay awake, and she scooted into bed next to Severus, disrobing herself down to nothing. She secretly wished she had fresh clothes to slip into; there was still the question of collecting hers and Severus's things from Spinner's End, a crucial topic that had yet to resurface.
Tomorrow, Hermione... Sleep... Must sleep...
It was at the tail end of that important consideration that Severus suddenly awoke. The dark circles around his eyes, his pasty complexion, and the perspiration trickling from his forehead were all prominent, even in darkness. Hermione shot up at once and hovered over him, unsure of what level of pain she was about to encounter.
"Severus?" she whispered and reached out a hand to touch his face. "What is it? What's the matter?"
"Herm...ione," he rasped, his deep voice coarse and unnatural-sounding.
"Yes? I'm here, Severus. What is it?"
"Y - You..."
Hermione bent closer, straining to hear him speak. He took several laboured breaths and licked his dry lips. He then cautiously reached out to touch Hermione's cheek but halted at the visual of bandages wrapped around his battered hand. Hermione cradled it most delicately against her chest.
"Lucius," she uttered with difficulty, "put you back together... He - He said that we need to retrieve items from - from your home; he thinks the Dark Lord might have some of the Death Eaters ransack your house..."
Hermione knew she should probably wait to tell Severus any of this, but time felt strangely limited somehow, so the words tumbled out of her without much reconsideration.
Severus peered up at her, his onyx irises inscrutable to ascertain in such low lighting. Hermione gently stroked his hand, making sure to barely touch it.
"Do - Do you think they will?" she questioned when he didn't speak up after several seconds.
Severus inhaled sharply. "Hard...to say..."
"Does he know where you live, Severus?"
"No... Not...precisely. He knows...I reside...in Cokeworth, but...not...my exact...address. I have...enough...concealment charms...and wards...in place...that hopefully..."
Hermione softly shushed him, inwardly pained by how trying it was for him to try to talk; Severus immediately quieted down.
"It's all right, Severus. I'm sure everything will be just fine."
Hermione found herself lying with considerable ease, whether to soothe whatever worries Severus may be harbouring about his beloved home or to comfort herself, she didn't know. There was also the matter of a certain familiar who had yet to be accounted for.
Don't think about it, Hermione. Everything will be fine. It has to.
Slowly, Hermione forced a small smile, unaware that, even in his suffering, Severus could unravel that tortured expression of hers that lay just underneath her seemingly transparent veil. He summoned a deep breath and coughed.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?
"Will you...do something...for me?"
"Anything," she returned without hesitation; her swift response was astounding to him to hear, so much so that he paused to reflect. 'Anything'? It was so genuine and unexpected.
"When Snow returns...will you...have her...come to me?"
Snow? Hermione's eyes conveyed a mixture of slight and surprise, but she emitted a calm demeanour, though her curiosity was piqued by the request.
"Of course, Severus." Cautiously, she placed his injured hand back over his chest. "You should rest now. Do you need something? Perhaps a tonic to help ease the pain?"
"No," he answered with difficulty, giving a slight toss of his head; but, then he seemed to think better of it. "Actually..."
"Yes?"
"I'll take...a sip...of that whisky."
Internally, Hermione griped about the alcohol Lucius Malfoy had insisted on adding to Severus's recovery steps, but, outwardly, she consented to the poor man's appeal and scooped up the bottle from the bedside table, leaning over him carefully. She offered him a shot glass-amount and Severus threw it back with an intense scowl, flinching as it surged down his throat.
"I could...really...use a fag...right now," he croaked as he settled beneath the covers.
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Hermione snorted, and nearly bust up laughing. "I'm afraid I don't have any of those for you." Severus, whose eyes were already closed, grumbled disagreeably under his breath. "Not that I would offer you any even if I did have some handy," Hermione added in good humour. Tenderly, she pecked his cheek.
Within seconds, Severus had fallen back asleep. Hermione, on the other hand, lay awake at his side for some time, no longer the want for sleep tugging at her eyelids.
Who was this Romilda Snow she'd briefly encountered yesterday? Evidently, the woman meant something to Severus, and vice versa, for she'd saved his life under the guise of a Polyjuice Potion. There wasn't necessarily any reason for the sudden bane of dislike that washed over Hermione as she contemplated who the unfamiliar witch was, but, still, whatever ill feelings she harboured, they stung greatly.
What exactly was Snow's connection to Severus? He wanted to see her, so, naturally, Hermione couldn't refuse his request. He certainly had every right to converse with the person responsible for saving him from the dreaded Killing Curse; but, whatever their unknown relations were, Hermione inwardly didn't approve of them.
Not one bit.
Narcissa was the first to enter Severus's guest quarters the following morning, bringing more than one surprise in tow with her: selections from Hermione's wardrobe, evidently retrieved from Spinner's End during the night, and a miniature-sized fur ball who arrived nestled on top of the wardrobe items Narcissa had uncharacteristically carried in herself.
"I believe this is yours?" she gently intoned, taking a moment to admire the creature that was Moo; apparently, the two were already on agreeable terms.
Hermione let out a small cry of relief and scrambled out of bed to retrieve her familiar, momentarily forgetting to keep quiet for Severus's sake. She snatched a robe that had been draped across the edge of the bed for her and scooped Moo up into her arms, snuggling her face affectionately to his. Bristle whiskers flicked at her nose and cheeks, and he meowed warmly at receiving his mistress once again, sending Hermione into a short, tearful fit. The kitten wasn't seemingly affected by her outburst, however, for he pawed at Hermione's wet-soaked face and became distracted by some curls that were dangling too conveniently within reach. He proceeded to gnaw at a strand or two, perfectly content.
"He's a feisty little bugger, I'll give him that," Narcissa interjected, amused. "Apparently he scratched Snow as she tried to retrieve him in all the smoke and fire."
Hermione's wet eyes abruptly met Narcissa's, the emotion of their reunion suddenly forgotten. "Smoke?" Her face paled and floundered. "Oh, no... You - You mean...?"
Narcissa's response was as grave as Hermione feared. "I'm afraid so," she confessed with a heavy sigh. "The Dark Lord ordered an attack on the town. The Muggles are, understandably, horrified and confused; apparently, nothing will be done to cover up the mess the Death Eaters left behind."
"Nothing was left to chance," she continued quietly, sensing the immensity of it hitting Hermione like a physical blow to the chest. "It took some time, but they discovered Severus's address and... Well, they found a way to break down his wards; we still don't quite know how they managed it, as we employ the same level of security here. Snow was just leaving the house when it fell under attack and was set aflame."
Hermione stepped backward. Slowly, she collapsed onto the edge of the bed across from where Severus slept, blissfully unaware of this profound news. He'd already been through so much, as had Hermione the past two days—waking up to the sounds and sights of the man in dire pain. Although she'd been able to dull his suffering somewhat, each occurrence served to weaken Severus's physical state. Now, he was virtually unrecognisable—white as a ghost, severely bruised and bandaged, with purple rims around his eyes.
Learning that his house, and likely everything he owned, had been plundered and pillaged, Hermione couldn't be sure how such devastating news might cripple Severus's progress further. If she had the heart to tell him at all, that was.
You have to, Hermione. You must.
Silently, Hermione glanced over at Severus. His sleep patterns were still rather restless, his body twitching every so often whilst his face pinched and contorted in quiet agony. She turned back to Narcissa with her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"Was anything retrieved? Anything saved?" she asked quietly.
Narcissa sighed as she placed the few items of Hermione's clothing aside and stepped closer. "Snow salvaged what she could, but there wasn't much time. I daresay if she'd hesitated a few moments longer she'd have ended up captured...or worse."
Hermione gulped down the lump that was forming in her throat. "What...was Snow able to recover?"
"Clothes, a few books, some scraps of whatever she could get her hands on from his laboratory..."
His library. Hermione drew Moo closer to her chest, finding herself overcome by loss. All those precious books... Years of research... His potions and supplies and...
Sensing an understanding of the immensity of Severus's loss, too, Narcissa drew nearer still, until she could reach out and touch Hermione's shoulder, bright eyes peering down at her forlornly. "Perhaps it might be best if we not speak on this again until Severus is well; until he's further along in his recovery. I'm not sure it's wise to bring him such news when he's—"
"I... I can't lie to him." Hermione shook her frizzy head and frowned deeply. "No... I couldn't keep this from him, Narcissa. He has a right to know what's happened."
"You'll both stay here now."
Hermione blinked up at her hostess, deeply affected by the Malfoy matriarch's steadfast solution, not to mention her unfailing kindness. She wanted to smile—to express her immense gratitude—but Hermione simply couldn't force away the misery of the situation so soon.
"Thank you...Narcissa. You're kind," she managed to get out without losing much of her composure.
"We're friends, my dear." Narcissa's hand cradled Hermione's chin, gently forcing the young witch's sad face to meet hers. "You'll stay here today, and then you'll be off at nightfall."
Hermione jolted back from Narcissa's touch like a crackling whip. "Off?" she repeated, utterly bewildered by that assertion. "But, Severus isn't capable of going anywhere yet—"
"Don't be silly," Narcissa chided without malevolence. "I'm not speaking of Severus, my dear; he won't be going anywhere. I mean you."
"Me?"
Narcissa nodded. Shocked, Hermione stammered to make sense of how drastically the room seemed to have sloped onto its side in a matter of seconds.
"But, I— How—? Where am I to go?" For a moment, she thought her legs might sliver off the bed and seep directly into the floor. What the hell was going on? Why on earth was she being sent away?
"That I dare not say aloud," came Narcissa's obscure answer. "My family may not be a target of the Dark Lord—for the moment—but, even in the safety of my own home, I won't leave such things to chance. You'll be informed soon enough, Hermione; I promise."
"But..."
"Severus is right," Narcissa's words were barely registering, and came down on Hermione hard. "You must leave. You aren't safe here. Neither is Severus, but especially you. The sooner you're off, the better."
"But, I... I don't understand."
Narcissa's thin lips parted into an auspicious smile that made Hermione nervous. "Yes, you do, Hermione. It's time; time for you to begin what you've long intended to do for the good of our cause."
Dear gods... Hermione breathed unevenly. Her eyes fluttered and darted across the bed again to an unconscious Severus. The room was spinning entirely too fast. It's finally happening...
"This isn't right!"
"Calm down, Herm—"
"No! Why must I be sent away?"
"No one's 'sending you away.'" Prickly dark irises met hers, and Hermione understood the solution in their depths well before the harsh words dropped from that bating tongue of his. "And you know why you must go."
"But... But, I..."
Grim wrinkles at the corners of those eyes stretched, smiling gently at her. "I made you a promise, didn't I?"
Hermione ceased pacing and stared long and hard into that hawklike, concave countenance that had been her companion these past many months. Although his face was still prone to semblances of secrecy, not to mention an assortment of riddles yet to be fully decoded, she trusted him wholeheartedly.
Her knees felt unsteady as she staggered over to his side of the bed and perched herself on the edge, bracing with trepidation and anxiety as she carefully took one of his badly contorted hands into her own, safeguarding it in her lap.
"Yes..." she murmured, staring thoughtfully down at its misshapen form that was steadily returning to normal. "You did promise me."
"And I kept that promise, didn't I?"
"Barely," Hermione corrected him, unable to disguise a pout as, gradually, her gaze met his.
Severus was propped up in bed, though any which way he'd positioned himself in the past hour that he'd been awake was followed by bouts of flinching or hissing in agony. At Hermione's considerate observance now, he had the imprudence to snort at her pouty lips. He couldn't squeeze her hand, but, as a form of reassurance, he offered a small, upward curve to the crook of his mouth.
"Barely is still better than dead," he reminded her softly.
Hermione's pout only lengthened at that brutal remark, and Severus somewhat regretted his words. "That's cruel," she whispered and cast her shimmering brown irises towards the larger hand she still cradled.
"I'm trying to offer you perspective, Hermione."
"Perspective?" In an instant, their gazes were fiercely locked on each other, the silent friction between them intensifying. "You purposely went alone when one of us—when I—could've came with you!"
"Don't start that again," Severus growled, sighed deeply, and shifted back against his pillows.
"Severus—"
"There's nothing you could've done, Hermione," he shut her down, this time piercing Hermione with a strong-willed glare. "It was foolhardy of Snow and Narcissa to go behind my back—"
"Ahhh, discussing our successful attempt to protect your stubborn arse, are we?" came the mockingly amused voice of Romilda Snow, who'd sauntered into the room alongside a resiliently silent Narcissa. Romilda wasted little time making her stance known; she stalked over to the foot of Severus's bed, crossed her arms over her chest as if prepared to go to battle, and raised her eyebrows in challenge. "Heard through the grapevine that you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I did." Severus's harsh tone wasn't at all promising, and he paused to eye Hermione over in a manner that both she and Romilda understood.
"She can stay, surely?" Romilda piped up, surprising Hermione before she could protest herself. "I trust there's nothing you have to say in front of me that I wouldn't tell her later anyhow."
Severus rolled his eyes, thoroughly displeased by such an assumption, but Hermione was privately grateful. She still didn't know this Snow character all that well, and a part of her was unexplainably jealous at the supposed bond the woman shared with Severus, but, for the moment, she let it pass.
She saved more than one individual you love, Hermione.
"What you both did, Snow, was stark raving mad!" Severus began laying into Romilda, disrupting Hermione's private thoughts. "Have you any idea what could have happened to you?"
"Yes, I'm aware, Snape."
"And you don't even fucking care, do you?" Severus growled between clenched teeth, his shoulders tensing against his pillows.
"Now, just a minute—"
"I gave you no authorisation to put yourself at risk!"
"You're right; you didn't." Romilda paused to raise her chin in defiance and kept her cool. "Narcissa gave me permission."
Severus turned on his fellow conspirator in a heartbeat, glaring her down heatedly from the bed. "You..."
"Oh, come, Severus," Narcissa contested, poised and cool by comparison. "Did you really expect that none of us might come to your aid in this matter?"
"I had it sorted!"
"Oh, right you did!" Romilda barked back, bright eyes ablaze; in that moment, she reminded Hermione fondly of a fiercely levelheaded Tonks. "For Merlin's sake, Snape, the Dark Lord was about to perform the Killing Curse on you—"
"I was fully prepared for that to be a very likely probability, Snow; don't you get it?"
"We know you were! That's why we wanted to help!"
"You shouldn't have put yourselves at risk!"
"Severus, please!" Hermione intervened; she lightly grasped his shoulder, hoping he'd calm down and see reason before making himself worse. "She saved your life!"
"And she wasn't supposed to!"
Hermione reared back, unsettled once more to hear such harsh words. They'd made her emotional the first time around, and led to her confessing her feelings for the deeply troubled wizard who seemed to hold no regard for himself or his life. Now, she was forced to swallow down her emotions to keep from losing it on Severus a second time. The upsetting frown she wore spoke volumes, though Severus was the only one to glimpse it.
"Romilda volunteered herself, Severus." Narcissa stepped up to the foot of the man's bed, too, and patted said witch on the back. "What's done is done, and now the Dark Lord believes Wyman has betrayed him, too. It's a win-win for us; we have you back and we have Wyman at our mercy."
In the midst of everything that had conspired in the past some forty-eight hours, Hermione had forgotten all about Wyman. She turned around to face the two women staring back at her, curiosity written across her eyes.
"What's to be done with him?"
"That has yet to be determined," Narcissa's answered, this time with that familiar air of indifference that left Hermione shuddering; she was quite happy not to be in Wyman's place. "I'm sure once Severus here is feeling more like himself again, he can help us come up with a plan of attack."
Severus grumbled as he turned away from them all. His hand, however, remained securely enveloped in Hermione's lap, and the room was silent for a long moment before Romilda resolved to break it by walking around the foot of the bed to Severus's side. This caused Hermione to jerk at their close proximity, and she watched them both closely, unable to prevent herself from being suspicious.
"You can be upset with me all you like, Snape," Romilda told him in a much gentler but frank tone of voice, "but I wasn't about to just let you die. Neither was Narcissa or anyone else who cares about you. The group collectively decided to try to save your life, if we could. I pray one day you'll see it as an act of love rather than a disservice."
Wait. Love?
Hermione's ears shot up and she issued a peculiar glare that Romilda didn't catch. Instead, she whirled around and stomped out of the room before anyone, including Severus, could get another word in.
The headstrong wizard kept a blasé gaze on the wall across from him, evidently refusing to look at anyone. Hermione wished he'd at the very least look at her. There was so much to discuss and, evidently, very little time left to do so.
"Hermione?" Narcissa spoke up after a drawn out pause; Hermione hesitantly turned around on the bed, though she refused to let go of Severus's hand. "Snow will be waiting for you downstairs. Time to say your goodbyes...for now."
Narcissa looked her younger fellow conspirator over, a glint of sympathy gliding across her graceful features. Then, she took her leave as silently as she'd entered, and the heaviness of the next few precious moments—far too brief as they'd surely be—felt suddenly like a ten ton weight coming down on Hermione's shoulders. When she turned around to face Severus, he was finally regarding her, those rich eyes of his restrained and, sadly, closed off.
"Please..." she murmured in desperation, inching closer to him. "Please don't send me away. Not yet."
"Hermione, this was always the plan."
"I know, but..."
"You've been preparing for this for a long time." She detested how unfaltering his tone of voice and words sounded. "You're ready, Hermione. There's nothing to fear."
"I... I'm not afraid of what I have to do, Severus. I just... I don't want to leave you."
As Hermione's heart began to break, the man she'd only recently confessed her love to met her anguish with a strained, small smile. "You aren't leaving, and I'm not going anywhere."
"How can you say that?" Hermione fought back, tearing up in front of him.
"Because I know we'll see each other again. That's why."
Hermione hastily wiped at her tears. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'm not..." Severus's gauzed hand slipped out of hers and tried to brush away the tear drops that were trickling down her cheek. "Perhaps... I suppose it's a matter of faith; of belief."
It was a rarity to hear Severus speak so candidly of hope in any capacity, so much so that Hermione's heart leapt into her throat at those subdued, yet resolute, choice of words. She leaned forward to press a kiss to Severus's lips, and, quickly, her quivering mouth broke apart, the conveyance of her sorrow coming in several uneven breaths as Severus gently took over, kissing her like a lover, not a one-time whim.
"When?" Hermione moaned despondently once the kiss ended; wet, sorrowfully brown eyes met unyielding ebony, and she obtained her answer.
"Hopefully in a much better place than here and now."
And, then, Severus returned Hermione's initial kiss just as direfully. It lasted for all of a moment, but it was a lasting gesture of conviction and devotion Hermione would hold onto for quite some time.
When their lips parted, Severus's hand dropped from Hermione's tear-stroked cheek, and their intimate proximity was severed.
In what felt like a series of auto-pilot check offs that would mark the grim reality of her departure, Severus promised Hermione that he'd look after Moo in her absence, and that they would be in touch 'before long.' He didn't relay when that might be or what his plans were following his recovery, nor where she, herself, was headed in the interim; but, had they had more time on their side, Hermione sensed she wouldn't have weaselled anymore details out of him anyhow.
The future was terribly uncertain, and yet, Severus Snape conveyed the belief that they would see each other again. Hermione wilfully chose to believe it as well.
Neither one actually said 'goodbye' as Hermione left Severus's quarters in the dead of night. Instead, they exchanged a passionate kiss, silent, hopeful stares—muted vows that this wasn't the end—and Hermione clung to that resilience with all her heart as she reluctantly followed Snow out of the back gates of Malfoy Manor a few minutes later, with a powerfully casted Glamour in place.
They walked nearly a mile in darkness, never conversing or making small talk along the way, before taking hands. Hermione Side-Along Disapparated to what was, for her, an as of yet undisclosed location.
A/N #2: Happy anniversary to Unto Their Own! It's been hell at times for me to execute this story, but I'm determined to see it through to its conclusion. I hope you all are, too...