Everything comes to a head at Hogwarts. They find themselves in the Shrieking Shack, of all places, hidden from view when Voldemort talks to the Headmaster.
"No!"
Pain lances through her as if she is the one to be attacked by a giant snake. It is horrific, to see him reduced to this.
She barely notices Ron and Harry scamper off. "Go! I'll find you. Look at the memories, Harry!"
Professor Snape's head lolls to the side. A crazy amount of blood spurts from the wound. She casts her strongest Stasis charm on him to give herself time to think.
"No no no no no," she keeps chanting, like a mantra, while digging through her beaded bag for the few potions she has left from Shell Cottage. "Hang on, please Professor."
She pours Dittany on his torn neck while he's still in stasis, but it won't start working until she removes the spell. There was one Blood-Replenishing potion in the bag and a general Healing potion, but she isn't sure it will be enough. There was a bezoar too. After some deliberation she crushes it with a very carefully directed Bombarda Minima and pours it in the Healing potion, thinking there would be no way to get a solid one down his slashed throat.
Taking a deep breath she cancels the stasis and pours even more Dittany over his throat. The spurts of blood slow to a trickle, but he's still lost considerable amounts.
His eyes roll up and with a shuddering heave his chest stops moving.
"No no no no no!"
She can't accept it, won't accept it. Her Muggle upbringing takes over, via some half-remembered lessons through her parents. They had brought her to the clinic a few times when they had their annual CPR re-certification, saying it couldn't hurt for her to know as well.
Thirty compressions, then the breaths. She pinches his nose and covers his mouth with hers, blowing into his lungs, trying to will him alive with her breaths. After three rounds of compressions and breaths he finally coughs and draws a shuddering breath of his own.
She barely notices herself crying, tears dripping all over his face, but she manages to pour the Healing potion down his throat followed by the Blood-Replenisher. He coughs and sputters but a little bit of colour is returning to his sallow face. She doesn't know enough about Healing to figure out if she should try to put him in some kind of stasis, so there isn't much she can do other than the potions.
"I have to go, Professor." She doesn't want to, but if she doesn't help Harry there is no way any of them will have a life to discover afterwards.
Reluctantly she rises to leave, casting a couple of strong wards on the Shack and surrounding area to hopefully keep him out of danger.
~ x ~ xx ~ oo ~ xx ~ x ~
Against all odds, quite literally in Harry's case, they live. Once the dust starts settling on Voldemort's body she fetches the Professor's, with the help of Luna who volunteers for the job. He's alive, thankfully. Unconscious, but alive.
"The strands between you are so pretty," the ethereal younger witch says as they're Levitating the Headmaster out of the shabby Shack, matter-of-fact as if she was commenting on the weather. "I see you've strengthened them."
After delivering him to the Infirmary and having Harry confirm his innocence to Madam Pomfrey, she is caught by a wave of exhaustion. It is impossible to stay awake. She's hungry and filthy and sad but considering that she hasn't slept properly since Shell Cottage, before heading to Gringotts, it is no wonder she's nearly hallucinating. All beds are occupied, people moaning or crying, Madam Pomfrey shouting at whoever she can find, asking them to fetch potions and other things.
The wall of the Castle shimmers slightly and an alcove becomes visible. She's quite certain it hasn't been there before. Cautiously she steps closer, only to be startled by an elf who pops in with what appears to be a nest of blankets.
"For the Headmaster's mate," it squeaks and disappears with a pop.
Whatever the elf means can wait. With a murmured thanks she sinks down into the fluffy blankets and pillows, sleep catching her before she even remembers to ward the area. The Castle hums and the wall shimmers back into view, hiding her resting place.
She wakes with a start in the middle of the night. Something is wrong, a discordant tone humming in the back of her mind. What has she noticed? Her steps take her back to the Infirmary.
It is late, or possibly early. The Castle is mostly quiet apart from a few hushed conversations and someone sobbing on a bed by the window. Most of the curtains are drawn and all beds appear to be occupied. She doesn't want to look, to see who is injured or worse. So many of them are affected, so many students, and teachers too.
The Professor is not looking well. He's sweating and looks almost as pale as when she thought he'd bleed to death on the dirty floor of the Shack. He's clearly in pain, too, his whole face tense with it. She takes his clenched hand between hers.
"Are you dying on me again, Professor?"
She can't let it happen, not to this wizard. They've lost so many already.
It is reckless, she knows it is, but perhaps it might just work. They are compatible, after all. "Accio intravenous needles!"
A kit comes flying from Madam Pomfrey's stores. Another muttered spell creates a tube and with a bit of fiddling she gets all pieces connected. "Here goes, Professor. I hope you can forgive me." She puts the needle in his arm first, hoping she's doing it right. Wincing a lot she pierces a vein in her arm and fastens the kit with a sticking charm. She's not squeamish, per se, but there is more than one reason why she's never entertained becoming either a Healer or a Muggle doctor. Her parents brought her to the clinic occasionally so she knows the theory, but still.
Her blood flows into his veins, hopefully strengthening his magical reserves although her own energy and magic levels were hardly good to begin with. She has to hold on to the bed posts by the head of the bed, trying hard to stay upright and let gravity do the work while also trying very hard not to think about the alien feel of a needle in her arm.
As if on cue, an elf pops in with a sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice. She gratefully accepts although it is a bit difficult to juggle with one hand when she's unable to move from his bedside. They had a sandwich at the Hog's Head but otherwise she hasn't really eaten anything since Shell Cottage, two lifetimes ago. When she's feeling way too lightheaded she disengages the syringes and sits on the edge of his bed. He seems a little healthier already, some colour back on his cheeks and he appears to be breathing easier. She Summons another vial of pain potion from Madam Pomfrey's stores and pours it down his throat, just in case.
A couple of hours later she wakes up, pressed against his side. He's warm, his arm haphazardly slung around her back while her head is on his shoulder and partly on his pillow. She cannot explain it, the feeling of contentment. It's as if she is finally warm again after freezing for a year.
Her eyes drift shut again. She can feel his heartbeat through his chest, strong and steady.
Later in the morning she wakes abruptly when he shifts, throwing her off the bed. She lands with a disoriented thud, hitting her arm on the bed railings.
"Whh…"
She scrambles up from the floor and takes his hand. "Do you need some water? Pain potion?"
Before he can answer, Madam Pomfrey appears as if summoned. She eyes Hermione with a frown before turning to her patient. "Harry said you were on our side all along, Severus. Do you need some water? Pain potion? You look a lot better than yesterday, thank Merlin."
He shakes his head minutely, wincing as the motion disturbs his bandaged wound. Madam Pomfrey notices anyway.
"I'll fetch a potion for you and then change the dressings. Hermione dear, could you find someone to brew more potions or get some from St Mungo's? We are out of nearly everything." The last is said in passing as she turns to leave.
He looks at her, dark eyes boring into hers.
"What did you do?" His voice is raspy, barely above a whisper.
She shrugs. He won't like it. Obviously. "The same as you did for me. You were dying."
He groans. "Silly witch, you should have let me."
Although the transfer went from her to him this time, she can still feel his emotions from their original bond. He really means it. "No, sir. Never." She means it as well, and hopes he can feel that. She wants to hold his hand, to hug him and never let go, to bury her face in his shoulder and burrow under the blankets with him, shutting out the world.
Madam Pomfrey returns, shooing her off. An elf suddenly appears and thrusts a mug of tea and a toast in her hands. Taking the hint she leaves to make herself useful.
He's gone the next morning. She can feel his presence still, but faded, like an image viewed through frosted glass.