Hermione had never run so fast – not even the year before last, pursued by the Death Eaters in the Ministerial Department of Mysteries. Then only her life had depended on her speed, but now… Snatching her wand from the gargoyle's bony paws, the girl barely refrained from kissing the polished wood.
The notebook and a wand. Two of her destinations were located in almost opposite parts of the castle (from a vertical point of view) – the wand was on the seventh floor, and the notebook in the dungeons. The thought of waking her friends was pushed aside: the most obvious option was hidden by Dumbledore's Army in the Room of Requirement. The damn gargoyle wouldn't dare take the headmaster's wand! Besides, Hermione preferred to treat the consequences of Sectumsempra with the wand that was already familiar with the contra-spell. This would give her confidence… Though, what confidence could she talk about after everything that she'd experienced throughout this evening…
Having chosen the Room of Requirement as her first target, Hermione sprinted along the corridors, periodically switching to racewalking from fatigue and lack of oxygen. The main thing was not to allow herself to think of Severus. As soon as the memories appeared in front of her eyes, her hand, holding her wand at the ready for repelling any attacks of the night guards, began trembling inexorably. If in the next twenty minutes her soul was sucked out of her, her professor wouldn't even have time to mourn her as he'd die from blood loss! Don't think about him! Don't think! Hermione cast a fleeting glance to the left, where in deep niches stood shiny suits of armour, and noticed in the reflection how dirty her clothes, face and hands were. Merlin, so much blood… He'd lost so much blood…
"Scourgify," a short spell cast on the move didn't make her sterile clean but got rid of the most crimson spots.
It seemed unbelievable that only a few hours ago she had been sitting on these very stairs, realising the revelation that had fallen on her… If she could ever assume that someone's (his!) life would depend on the speed of her running, she'd probably train for more muscles and less brains. The latter were clearly not in favour today.
The stairs this time seemed especially crazy, and the corridors – especially long. The girl's thoughts involuntarily turned again and again to the man left in Hagrid's hut – was there anything else that she could have done for him before leaving? Something that would allow the life in him to hold on for an extra few minutes?... If there were, Hermione couldn't imagine 'what'. Realising the correctness of her actions, however, didn't give her any comfort. The fact remained the same: while she was bumping against the corners, gasping for air with her dry mouth in the hope of cooling down the fire tearing her lungs, Severus was dying. All alone.
There it was – the desired blind wall of the seventh floor… She needed the room with the wand. Their headquarters… Hermione hastily pictured the outlines of the DA's gathering place. Wasn't it vivid enough?
Hermione stared dumbfoundedly at the unchanged wall. What the hell was wrong with the castle tonight? Or with her? Hissing something unworthy of the former prefect, she marched down the corridor back and forth three more times, resembling the required room… the wand was in the chest of drawers by the entrance – she knew that for sure…
Nothing.
The girl quickly looked around – did she get the wrong floor? Nope, Barnabas the Barmy squinted at her futile attempts to extract the damn door out of the damn wall. Though, his squinting was easily explained by his swollen black eye and, judging by the trolls' clubs raised above him, his other eye was about to face the same fate.
Godric's striped socks, WHERE'S THE DAMN DOOR? If Hermione wasn't so terribly scared, she'd definitely fly into a rage. Did the school decide to hound Severus to death? To avenge the murder of the former headmaster?
No, that sounded like paranoia. Hogwarts, of course, was the centre of ancient magic, but no one had yet noticed in it the presence of a vengeful and malicious mind. Why didn't the door appear then? As far as Hermione knew, the Room of Requirement would always open to one in need, would always transform itself into whatever one required except…
Why, of course! Except when it was already occupied! So, while she was eagerly trying to get into the DA's headquarters, someone was calmly rummaging through, for example, the Room of Hidden Things, in which Harry and Ron had hidden the Pensieve not so long ago! Perhaps, it was them? Maybe her friends had decided to look through Bellatrix's memories again or to find the Half-Blood Prince's book for tomorrow's Potions?
'I need the place where everything is hidden,' Hermione mentally repeated three times.
She jerked the materialised door wide open, ready to throw herself at her friends and beg them for help – they run faster and they were not exhausted, unlike her. This would save at least a few minutes… Yet, instead of seeing her dear Gryffindorians, she was flooded with vivid images that looked so real that she could almost smell the sickening scent of blood…
…Wounds on his body – how can one survive with them?
'Be gone!'
She had killed him. She had sent him to his death…
'Be gone, Hermione.'
His lips pursed with pain… A short, agonising groan…
His blood everywhere – on the floor where he lies, on the wall onto which he was leaning, on her clothes, her face. It dries up, tightening his skin with a thin crust…
"Exp-pecto patronum," her lips trembled as if electrocuted, struggling to mutter the incantation. She had never met such aggressive Dementors before. They were supposed to scare, not to kill! What were they doing in the Room of Requirement in the first place?! Fragments of conversation with Harry and Ron stirred in the girl's memory. Yes, somewhere in between her realisations that she loved Severus and that he might not live to hear her confession… No wonder she remembered her friends' story only vaguely… They had been chased… They had grabbed the diadem, ran out and slammed the door shut… Right! If Dementors were locked inside, that explained why the Room refused to transform!
However, why were they behaving so strangely? Four hours of fasting could hardly bring them to such an extreme state. They were always unpleasant, but had never tried to attack a student with their terrible mouths before… The headmaster would turn them into dust if he found out about it. This time the thought of Snape gave Hermione strength, although he was hardly in any condition to help her right now. Yet, a single tiny memory – his hand caressing her cheek wet with tears – was enough for her silvery otter to dash towards the Dementors with a fury worthy of a much larger animal.
The black-clothed creatures flew back as though blown away by a blast. Great! Now, close the door, wait till it merges with the wall, swallowing the mountains of hidden things. Walk past three times, picturing the outlines of the headquarters… Hurry up, damn you!
Hermione pulled the door open so impatiently that she almost tore off the handle – it was saved only by the numerous protective charms cast onto the Room. The chest of drawers stood by the door and the wand, thank Merlin, was still in place. She squeezed the familiar, carved with thin ornate lettering, wand and it responded with subtle warmth as though acknowledging her. Or did she simply imagine it, thinking of its Master?
'Hold on, I'll be back soon…'
To the dungeons!
Suddenly Hermione's gaze fell on a broom leaning against a sofa – a DA member must have brought and left it here. The girl's brain began feverishly calculating options… She hated brooms, H-A-T-E-D them! To watch how reckless Gryffindorians, led by Harry, zoomed around the Quidditch field – not a problem, but to fly one herself? No, thanks. To sit on a hard broom, twisting knees like a grasshopper, was hardly her way of fun. Yet, imagining her descent down the damn stairs…
Having decided, Hermione thrust both wands into the sleeve of her jacket and, grabbing the broom, ran out of the Room of Requirement…
Her flight was temerarious and impetuous – the paintings yelled, cursing her up hill and down dale, the suits of armour clanked threatening to fall apart. She dived into a flight of stairs upside down, squeaking with fear. Harry would be proud of her, but Severus would most certainly fly into a rage. To be fair, this was definitely closer to idiocy rather than Gryffindor courage… Well, she'd have to make sure that Snape never found out!
Nevertheless, after she had managed to pacify the rebellious broom, it turned out that to fly, diving under the stairs, from the seventh floor to the dungeons was a matter of three minutes, although Hermione bit her lips into a bloody mess. Besides, it wasn't easy to force herself to keep her eyes open. As the result, she missed a turn not far from the headmaster's office and smashed into the wall with her right side. A wave of sharp pain as something cracked in her sleeve. Hopefully not Snape's wand! No, thank Merlin, it was only her wrist…
Well, that didn't matter. Hermione thought that she wouldn't stop even if she broke something more serious…
"Solanum nigrum!"
The lab was in the same state that Hermione had left it, although the abandoned tritons' tails had really begun to stink. The door to his office remained open since her last visit – this saved the girl another half a minute.
"Accio a Skele-Gro!"
Salazar and his meemaw! Who knew that the professor had hidden the Skele-Gro deep in the rack, barricading it with numerous jars and bottles! The entire shelf fell onto the floor, ringing and scattering around it, as the desired vial rushed towards Hermione. He'd definitely kill her now! Taking a sip of the disgusting mixture, she grimaced, lulling her broken wrist. Well, she had no one to blame but herself.
The notebook was found without difficulty, its leather cover was worn and scratched in places. It remained only to grab some Blood-Replenishing Potion and run. Yet, as soon as she had crossed the threshold of his office, all her insides seemed to twist into a horn of an Erumpent, burning with pain. Hermione bent in half, clutching her traumatised arm to her chest. What the hell?
Well, of course – smashing into the wall must have injured not only her wrist, but also her head! The professor had warned her that she wouldn't be able to take his notebook out because of the protective charms! Idiot girl! Hermione tried to hold the notebook with her right hand, but this was impossible – the pain from the fracture, still in the process of healing, was striking tears out of her eyes like a piece of steel stroke the sparks out of a flint. Finally, Hermione threw the notebook onto the desk, pressed it down with her elbow and tore the last page out with her healthy hand. Precious time, however, was lost – she'd better summon the Blood-Replenishing Potion rather than search for it among the shelves. He'd definitely kill her…
"Accio a Blood-Replenishing Potion," another crash informed her that the required phial wasn't in the front row either. Worse than a Tonks in a china shop!
At the very threshold, Hermione scanned the laboratory with a doomed look – it resembled a battlefield…
"Accio a Calming Drops," these were definitely in plain sight.
Yep – a dark glass vial dived into her hand without new casualties. Hermione drained it in one gulp and rushed out. Behind the lab's door, however, the Dementors and Mrs Norris were already waiting for her, but even the Hogwarts Express whooshing full steam ahead wouldn't stop Hermione Granger equipped with the wand, the torn-out page and the potion. The Dementors received an Expecto Patronum of such unprecedented power that they were practically imprinted into the cold wall of the dungeons, and the skinny cat was rewarded with an aimed, although light, kick.
The broom! Why hadn't she, foolish girl, saved the broom?! With almost no hope for a positive result, Hermione uttered 'Reparo' over the unfortunate wreckage, but of course the Cleansweep had been stuffed with far more supreme magic and the simple repairing spell didn't work. Hermione sprinted down the corridor, ignoring Filch's raspy cries 'Who dared touch Mrs Norris?! I'll call the headmaster! He'll hang you from a chain!'
Yeah, right, call the headmaster, you old Squib!
Though, ten minutes later, Hermione called him herself, quietly and with fear:
"Severus?"
XXX
She had been gone for less than half an hour – the blizzard had barely had time to powder the traces of blood.
The girl's heart thrashed around in her throat like a captive bird. With a short 'Incendio' she lit the fireplace and, looking at the totally still man stretched on the floor, repeated:
"Severus?"
There was no answer and Hermione became even more scared. What had happened to the legendary Gryffindor courage, if for a whole second, she could not force herself to take a step towards the motionless figure? Was she late or was he still breathing?
From her fast running, it seemed to her that the heat in the room was stifling, but a light vapour escaping her lips along with his name indicated the opposite. Suddenly something stirred near Snape's left arm and, out from beneath the bloody duvet, Crookshanks' ginger squashed muzzle stuck out.
"Shanks, darling," said Hermione, dropping to her knees, "tell me: is he alive?"
The half-Kneazle widened his eyes, as if horrified at her suggestion that he could ever try warming up a corpse. At least, the girl really wanted to think that the expression of contemptuous amazement appeared on his muzzle precisely due to this reason, although an outside observer would probably not see any difference from his normal state – the eyes of her pet always resembled tea saucers. Perhaps a sane person would wonder how Crookshanks ended up near the wounded professor, but Hermione didn't care – after all, her pet was a half-Kneazle who had proved his ability to protect his Mistress and dear-to-her people before. And the fact that this black-clothed man, smelling of snow and danger, was one of those people was unquestionable – Shanks could see it in her trembling hands when she touched the man's pale neck trying to take his pulse. For the second time this evening, Hermione failed such an attempt due to her tremor. Waving the wand, she removed the blood-soaked strips of sheets that had played the role of bandages from Snape's body.
"Scourgify."
The cleansing spell wiped away the thickened, dried-in-places blood from his chest, exposing wounds that seemed completely fresh, as though a sharp blade had created them no more than a minute ago. Hermione bit her lip as she watched the blood continuing to ooze from the cuts, trickling down his sides. She would never have thought that such a sight could cause unrestrained joy in her. Yet, she smiled quite happily, which, in addition to her tear-filled eyes and bitten lip, created a rather frightening image. The oozing blood meant that his heart was still pumping it through his arteries – she wasn't too late!
Pulling the crumpled page out of her pocket, Hermione studied carefully the inscription made in the clear, angular handwriting that she knew so well from the scathing notes on her Potions essays. Perhaps it would be better to bring the professor to consciousness and ask him to explain the incomprehensible abbreviation under the drawing of the wand's pattern, but the girl feared that this would take too much of his strength. She'd figure it out herself, this was not Scythian runes, thank Merlin... Yet, how could he have come up with such a pattern in the first place?! To draw an eight pierced through from top to bottom! One could wrench one's wrist performing this… And what did he mean by 'drg hl inc-on w/o st-ing'? Total gibberish… Not to mention the text of the spell itself… The girl uttered it several times, trying to feel the rhythm, waved the wand following the pattern, and winced from the pain in her wrist. Good thing that the professor's Skele-Gro was fresh and fast-healing…
"Viscera viscera versus, sanguis sanguis versus, spiritus spiritus versus, sanguinem supprimere ad imperatum meus!"
Nothing happened. Either her Latin was lame or…
Well, of course! Professor, if after such a brilliant guess you won't award any points to Gryffindor, this would be the height of injustice! The incomprehensible 'drg hl inc-on w/o st-ing', most likely, meant 'during the whole incantation without stopping'. So, she was supposed to draw the damn pierced eight incessantly, while her lips muttered, or rather hissed, the required words. Had he deliberately put so many 'S's' into the incantation? Had it been an author's s-s-signature or jus-s-st a fluke, modes-s-st S-s-slytherin profes-s-sor S-s-severus-s-s S-s-snape?
"Viscera viscera versus, sanguis sanguis versus, spiritus spiritus versus, sanguinem supprimere ad imperatum meus!"
Now it was clear why no one, except the headmaster, could heal the consequences of Sectumsempra – her wrist was practically tying into knots. Wincing with pain, Hermione repeated the incantation twice more, trying to make her voice sound confident. The edges of the terrible wounds, which she could not look at without attacks of stupefying horror, pulled towards each other, as if drawn by a magnet, and connected, leaving clear red scars on Snape's body. A cut on his leg was still oozing blood, and Hermione repeated the words of the spell by heart. Crookshanks, looking at her with a keen interest worthy of a Ravenclawian, rubbed his contented muzzle against the girl's knee with such an air as though the effectiveness of the magic formula was his personal merit. Though, it should be noted, that, to his feline credit, he didn't show any signs of discontent or jealousy when his Mistress, bending over the motionless man, didn't pay him any attention.
"Scourgify. Evanesco."
The traces of blood and the shreds of sheets soaked in it disappeared. Hermione fell silent, looking at her professor as though she had seen him for the first time. She still didn't let go of the fear that there was no longer life under his pale skin – his features were too static. She took his hand in her palms and brought it to her lips, touching his knuckles lightly. She was already preparing to whisper 'Rennervate', but it wasn't necessary as Snape opened his eyes. Flushing with embarrassment, as if it hadn't been her who had kissed him less than an hour ago, Hermione dropped his hand and grabbed the rattling vials.
Blood-Replenishing.
Painkiller.
Restoration Potion.
The last two were obtained from her finally enlarged bag.
Despite the colour gradually returning to Severus' face, the degree of his weakness was fully indicated by the fact that he didn't even inquire what exactly she had given him to drink. Unforgivable behaviour for a Potions Master and a spy. Though, perhaps it meant something else… Hermione felt the warmth flowing over her as though she had drunk some hot tea with honey.
"I was so scared," she said, although it was not at all what she intended to say. She didn't risk looking him in the eye, frightened that now, no longer balancing on the brink of life and death, he would remember about the runes. Or about the Pensieve. Or about his wand, which was, by the way, lying just a foot away from him.
Yet, his quiet, slightly hoarse voice didn't justify her fears, forcing the girl to raise an amazed look at her interlocutor:
"'Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
As infancy and grace.'"
And then Hermione began to cry – for the countless time during this long night. Yet, now it was from fatigue rather than despair and terror. She was shedding the past few hours like a snake sheds its skin. Feeling defenceless and weak, she was barely able to sob into her palms pressed to her lips.
"Don't cry," her professor took her by her shoulder and pulled her down to him. The girl obediently lay down next to him, burying her face in his neck and continuing to sob. "Don't you like 'The Winter's Tale'? Let's try this one: 'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red…' Why are you crying, silly girl? So what if the skeletons of a coral polyps' colony are redder? Not a big deal… Hermione?"
His fingers gently caressed her wet cheek, tracing the paths of her tears. The girl snorted something inarticulate – this was the lexical maximum she was capable of. If one day she was going to beg the gods for something, let them remind her of this moment… He was alive – that was all that mattered. Besides, he didn't push her away and didn't start going through her past wrongdoings – this was also on the list of reasons for being happy.
However, Snape wouldn't be Snape if he didn't ask her, a minute later, a question that, despite its harmless façade contained the charge for a new wave of her unrestrained sobbing:
"Hermione, have you, by any chance, brought an Essence of Dittany? Scars look impressive only on Gryffindorian men…"
Idiot, foolish girl! Could she do anything right? Of course she had forgotten about Dittany, which could heal even such serious scarring if taken immediately! Hermione's fingers slid along one of the red stripes left by the curse on his chest. She burst into tears even more bitterly.
"Hermione?"
"S-s-sorry…"
"Smart as Ravenclaw, brave as Gryffindor, crying like a Hufflepuff, shedding tears onto a Slytherin… How didn't the Sorting Hat get ripped to shreds on top of your head?" then he added in a stricter tone: "Stop it, Miss Granger! I assure you, if I take Dittany within an hour, I'll be fine. Miss Granger? Who am I talking to?!"
Hermione, however, only buried her nose deeper into the hollow above his collarbone, squeezing his hand with her wet-from-tears palm and intertwining their fingers together. Ignoring his speech, she was listening to his heartbeats…
So they lay for a while, silent, listening to each other's breathing and the crackling of logs in Hagrid's fireplace. The girl thought that she should put the kettle on, but she could hardly move. The pain in her freshly healed wrist became dull, the pain in her heart subsided altogether, and the warmth emanating from Severus blocked the draft from the loosely closed front door. She could spend an eternity like this, or even two…
"Hermione?" his voice burst into her consciousness as if from far away. Judging by his intonation, he was pronouncing her name not for the first time. Had she fallen asleep?
"Hermione, we should get going. Or the snow will cover the road and we'll stay here until the spring."
"I don't mind. No one will look for me," she replied without opening her eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous. The whole Weasley family will come here with search dogs and Potter, if you miss tomorrow's Transfiguration."
"Nope, they sent me to the Order of the Phoenix, deciding that it's safer for me there."
"Merlin, don't make me admit that Weasley actually has some brains…"
The girl's shoulders trembled soundlessly, this time with laughter.
"Hermione, help me to get up. We need to get going before we freeze to death."
The sly Slytherin chose the best way to appeal to her mind – what Gryffindorian wouldn't jump to their feet, hearing a request for help?
Being no exception, Hermione hurriedly rose to her feet, almost crushing Crookshanks, who, as it turned out, spent all this time at the headmaster's feet. The girl appreciated the tacit male agreement without comment. So, the professor and Shanks had acknowledged each other, now there was not much left to do… With Incarcerous and Calming Drops she could tell Harry and Ron how she had spent this evening. Then with Incarcerous, Calming Drops and Protego she could tell Severus how she and her friends had spent these past four months…
"Your wand, Professor," she helped the man to get up, and, putting his wand into his palm, carefully examined the most interesting frost flowers on the window.
"Hmm," Snape's voice was not much warmer than those frost flowers. "This looks familiar –"
"Severus!" she turned sharply to him with an indescribable mixture of horror, remorse and regret on her face. "It wasn't –"
"I'd rather not ask," the headmaster interrupted her in a little softer tone, and, in order to hide his face, pretended to be extremely busy mending his clothes. As if 'Reparo' were supreme magic… Hermione couldn't even imagine how much effort he had to put into swallowing the question.
Offering her hand to support Snape, she squeaked in the next second and freed herself:
"Sorry, not this one."
The professor narrowed his eyes suspiciously, forcing Hermione somehow to remember the destroyed laboratory. Oh, boy! He would not be happy! In the meantime, he only asked dryly:
"What's wrong with your hand?"
"Nothing."
"Hermione!"
"Just missed a turn…" she admitted honestly with a sigh. For some reason, it seemed that he'd be more furious about her broken wrist than about the smashed supplies of his potions. Therefore, Hermione chose to limit herself with simply indicating the circumstances without specifying a diagnosis. Albeit it was quite a Slytherin tactic…
Thank Merlin, the professor didn't start prying. Having extinguished the flames in the fireplace, he put his hand through Hermione's left arm, and they finally went out into the never-ending blizzard, followed in their footsteps by the faithful Crookshanks. The latter, however, within a minute decided that making his way through the fresh snow with his mistress nearby was the height of self-abasement and demanded to be picked up. Hermione had no choice but to unzip her jacket and put him in her bosom. The ten-pound fluffy load didn't make it any easier for her, but fortunately the professor held up pretty well and almost did not lean on her for support. Both blizzards – black and white – calmed down a little, but after the hut illuminated by fire, the surrounding world seemed almost pitch black, like the night depths of the Great Lake. Therefore, when Crookshanks suddenly dug all of his eighteen claws into her flesh, Hermione didn't immediately notice the reason for it.
"What's the matter?" the headmaster responded to her unexpected short cry.
The girl, however, didn't have time to answer. A swirl of black cloth materialised right in front of them and the familiar terror invaded her mind. Crookshanks hissed nervously, and Hermione staggered backwards, involuntarily slipping behind Severus. And she called herself a Gryffindorian! As if she had never seen a Dementor before! Yet, she was too exhausted from the previous encounters with the cursed creatures during the night, besides, she was overwhelmed by the disgusting feeling of helplessness thanks to the lack of her wand.
"What the hell?" Snape raised his wand, covering Hermione with himself. When their eyes gradually got used to the shades of black, it became clear that there were two Dementors. They were narrowing the distance, getting closer and closer, and the presence of the headmaster didn't bother them in the least.
"They've been like this all evening," said the girl, holding on to his cloak tightly. "Severus?"
She could barely hear her own voice in the roar of the wind. The bloody pictures flashed before her eyes again and, pronouncing his name, she was no longer sure that she hadn't imagined his miraculous resurrection, that he really was no longer lying on the cold floor, bleeding. The whole nightmare of the night rose before her again, only this time she had no strength left at all.
"Severus…"
Sensing her weakness, the Dementors glided closer, stretching out their bony hands towards her. Snape cast a worried look at Hermione – her fear was almost tangible. Alive, sharp, smelling of iron…
"Shhh," he hugged the girl close to him. A moment later his cool hand covered her eyes. "Expecto patronum!"
Through his fingers, she saw a flash of silvery radiance, and then her aching pain receded. Her strength, however, too. Hermione sank into the snow like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"Hermione," his warm breath slid over her lips, and only then the girl realised that her eyes were no longer covered. Blinking a couple of times, she saw that Severus was kneeling besides her, holding her by her shoulders. "How many times have you cast your Patronus today?"
"Don't know," she could hardly control her own tongue, but Snape patiently waited for an answer. "Five? Ehh, ten?"
She didn't even understand the meaning of the subsequent swearing – it must have been something from dark magic, because Merlin surely could not have such physiological disorders!
"Crazy girl!" the professor said angrily. "What, in the name of Salazar, is going on with the Dementors? And what were you thinking, running around without a wand? Isn't your life dear to you?!"
"They… they only attacked inside the castle before."
"And this is supposed to pacify me?!"
Hermione chose to remain silent – something told her that her professor would hardly be satisfied with her assurance of 'I'll rip out the throats of all Dementors for you!' Especially now, when she could barely stand on her feet. Oh yes, she wasn't even standing on them anymore!
"Ten times!" Snape continued to grumble meanwhile. "And then she wonders why her hand can't raise her wand…"
My hand can't raise my wand because it hurts and because I have no wand, the girl wanted to answer and then to ask why he had closed her eyes while casting his Patronus. Yet, her instinct of self-preservation hadn't left her completely, so she only whispered hopefully:
"I'll eat some chocolate and be just fine."
It sounded pretty pitiful, and Snape became angrier:
"WHAT?!"
"Professor Lupin said that chocolate helps after meeting Dementors," Hermione explained in confusion.
"Let him eat it himself then," the headmaster hissed, getting to his feet and pulling up his former guide burdened by a ten-pound ginger load, peering impudently from the collar of her jacket. "If by his forties Lupin hasn't learned to brew an elementary Restoration Potion, then, of course, his only option is to treat himself with chocolate!"
Hermione suppressed a chuckle – perhaps it would be completely insane to say to the professor at six in the morning: 'I love you! Say some more nasty things about Lupin.'
They walked the rest of the way in silence – it was absolutely impossible to understand who was leaning on whom. The Blood-Replenishing and Restoration Potions were clearly working as the professor's tread more and more resembled his usual spanking trot. As they entered the front door, Crookshanks lost interest in them and left, considering his mission to protect the mistress fulfilled. The Dementors bothered them only once, but quickly recoiled, fearing just the sight of the headmaster's wand.
"'Just missed a turn'?!" Snape suddenly muttered through his clenched teeth.
Following his gaze, Hermione cursed to herself – the damn wreckage of the broom was still lying on the floor. She looked at her companion; he was frowning and pursing his lips. Furious already and he hasn't seen the state of his lab yet! The Dementors were fluffy bunnies in comparison with that future prospect.
Snape, however, fell short of her expectation. Frozen on the threshold of his laboratory, he slid a tenacious glance over what had once been perfect order and, of course, instantly isolated from the several bottles and vials scattered around the floor the one that Hermione hoped to quietly roll under the rack with her foot – the Skele-Gro. Unlike the others, that phial was open and obviously not spilled, but drunk.
"Your hand," said the headmaster shortly and firmly. The girl obeyed.
Snape draw his wand over her hand, grimaced and glared daggers at Hermione as if she had committed an unthinkable crime. Stepping towards the rack, he ran his fingers over the labels, pulled out two bottles, one of which he handed to the girl – Restoration Potion. Splashing some black, mud smelling slop onto his palm, Snape pulled Hermione's sleeve up and began to rub the cure into the place of the injury.
"An essence of wild garlic and swallowtail caterpillar," he explained without looking up. "The fracture healed correctly, but this ointment will help cure soft tissue damage."
"It's bitter," Hermione complained, taking a sip of Restoration Potion. Her hand was still in the captivity of the professor's palm. The pain in her wrist was melting away rapidly and the night turned into a series of nightmares and happy dreams. At least that's what she thought when Severus, finishing with the ointment, brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles, following her earlier example. This looked like forgiveness – at least, for the hand and the laboratory. Though, perhaps even for the runes, his wand and the Pensieve, but Hermione chose not to elaborate.
"I need to take Dittany and apply its Essence to my scars. Wait for me and I'll walk you to your tower," he nodded towards his armchair, inviting her to sit down. Hermione frowned doubtfully – if she changed her upright position, she'd sleep until next week. Interpreting her doubts correctly, Snape promised: "I'll be quick."
"You need to rest," the girl objected. "I can walk myself."
"Hermione –"
"I'll be fine, I have my wand now."
"But –"
"And I'll be extremely careful. I promise."
"All right."
Having stroked the back of her hand, Snape kissed her forehead and disappeared in the direction where Hermione presumed his bathroom was. The girl froze thoughtfully at the threshold in a half-asleep stupor. Now that Severus' hand no longer touched hers, it was too easy to imagine that she had just run into his office to collect his notebook while her professor was still lying on the cold floor of Hagrid's hut, bleeding, and there was still a great chance that he would not be alive on her return. Hermione shuddered. She would never stop being afraid for him. She had come too close, too unacceptably close to losing him tonight…
She just needed to make sure that he was all right: that his wounds wouldn't open, that his damn Lord wouldn't call him to continue their interrupted 'conversation', that he wouldn't try to attend the morning classes – he needed rest; he wasn't made of iron, after all! These were Hermione's excuses when she, having removed the protection charms from the professor's bedroom, pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag, transfigured her jacket back into her school robes and climbed onto the chair to the right of the empty portrait, tucking her feet beneath her. She would stay for an hour or two, just to make sure that he was still breathing during his dreams. Hermione thought that she would always need such confirmation from now on…
Her professor entered the bedroom fifteen minutes later. He threw his Death Eater cloak onto the floor and waved his wand, lighting the candles, which instantly lit up the already-familiar-to-Hermione room: a bulky four-poster bed, an empty corner in which the Pensieve had recently stood (the girl's heart sank from shame and regret), a bedside table with several half-empty phials. A Potion for Dreamless Sleep? A painkiller? The girl couldn't help but think how many times over the past years the Dark Lord had punished his servant albeit not so cruelly. How many times her Severus had returned from Voldemort's Crucio and Legilimency sessions, had simply taken painkiller potions and went to teach boneheaded students, making sure that another Longbottom wouldn't blow up a desk neighbour. And this academic year all of that was against a background of the constant danger that the radical Gryffindorians could do something stupid, like stealing his wand or his Pensieve…
Snape, dressed in simple black robes, sat down on the edge of his bed, two feet away from his invisible guest. His face didn't express anything, but the girl suddenly realised that he was thinking about her. She had to force herself not to touch his tightly clasped fingers. After a moment, Snape flinched as though indeed from the touch and said, looking almost directly at her:
"Keep waiting."
Hermione shivered slightly, although she understood that he was obviously addressing Professor Dumbledore, who must have returned to his painting. Yet, the girl was frightened that Severus' voice sounded more tired than sarcastic. He'd better get some sleep rather than launch into a discussion.
"Severus, I'm very glad you came back. Frankly, I was worried – you have never been out until the morning before."
"I regret to inform the greatly respected Order of the Phoenix that they will have to postpone the celebration of my death. Tell them to keep waiting," the headmaster said mockingly; there was not a trace of his fatigue left.
However, over twenty years of communication with the Potions Master, Professor Dumbledore seemed to have acquired immunity to his sarcasm. At least, he didn't protest or try to reassure him.
"Did something hold you back? The Order is unaware of any attacks during the night."
"Yes," Snape agreed and clarified almost gently: "I was delayed by Sectumsempra."
The portrait gasped:
"Severus… what happened?"
"The funny thing is that I can't report to you exactly what happened as I don't know myself. As you recall, I wasn't able to use the Pensieve, but I believed that there was nothing in my memories to displease the Dark Lord. Apparently, I was wrong. I'd managed to hide Miss Granger's presence during the events of the evening, but my experiments with the Fiendfyre had clearly made the Lord furious, although I cannot fathom out why."
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and even bit her lip to prevent a yelp. She knew perfectly well the reason for Voldemort's sharp reaction: the creator of Horcruxes could surely recognise the death of one of his creations. Merlin and his entire wardrobe, he had only left Severus alive because he had understood his obvious ignorance – who in their right mind would have shown the Dark Lord the scene of the destruction of a part of his soul?! Dear Merlin, she felt so guilty for doing this to Snape!
"Severus –" Dumbledore certainly interpreted the Dark Lord's anger correctly as well, although he had no idea about the severity of the consequences.
"Oh, no, Headmaster," the professor grimaced, "I'm not asking for your explanation because I know it's pointless. I'm not in the mood to listen to another round of how much you trust me, but prefer not to put all of your secrets in one basket. Have mercy! It's six in the morning. I'm not even waiting for your sympathy or help. In fact, if it wasn't for a miracle, you would have never seen me again –"
Hermione blushed and felt an unbearable desire to take the Invisibility Cloak off and sit next to him, so she could touch his hand.
"– I simply wanted to tell you that if there were some deep sacred meaning, which you have chosen not to share with me, for me breaking into your tomb and taking your wand, then I'm afraid I have some bad news: I no longer have it."
Dumbledore gasped in shock. Hermione felt sorry that she couldn't see the old wizard's face – she would have never imagined that a wise and temperate man like him could be so deeply amazed at something. Severus looked at him with a keen interest, but the former headmaster quickly regained control of himself.
"Well… this is… unexpected, to put it mildly… May I ask what happened to it?"
"Why, of course! It was cut by Sectumsempra," Snape responded with some sadistic alacrity. "I held it in my hand at chest level, and, before hitting me, the curse sliced the wand. Into three parts."
"I'm so sorry, my boy –"
"I should think so," Snape's voice was full of poison, "I presume that if you chose to make me a grave robber, you must have seen some deep potential in it."
"Oh, no, I'm sorry that you got hurt," Dumbledore said as though they were talking not about his violated tomb but a new series of chocolate frogs. "As for the wand… Severus, have you heard of the Elder Wand?"
Hearing of the aforementioned wand for the first time, Hermione stretched her neck, peering into the puzzled expression on Severus' face.
"'The Elder Wand'? I remember 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'. Isn't it the wand that makes its owner invincible and gives him the ability to win any duel?"
"Well, not any," Dumbledore coughed shyly. "It hardly helped Grindelwald…"
"This isn't just a legend then? Does the wand exist?" never before had Hermione seen Snape even half as amazed as at the moment he put the links of the logical chain together: "You defeated Grindelwald in a duel and became the master of the Elder Wand, then I killed you and –"
"Well, perhaps it's for the best that the wand was destroyed. Such a powerful and dangerous artefact…"
"So, I really was the master of the Elder Wand? This is why you told me to retrieve it from your tomb?" Snape switched his surprise to his usual hostile sarcasm: "Perhaps if I had known this a little earlier, we could have found a better use for it than simply being turned into firewood. But you prefer not to put all of your secrets into a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of the Dark Lord, don't you? I wouldn't be surprised if your mentally insane plan to kill yourself by my hands had intended, among other things, to make me the master of the Elder Wand."
Plan? To kill himself? Hermione felt a strong desire to bang her head against a wall, following the example of the house-elves. And she was considered the smartest girl in the school? She was an idiot! A boneheaded Gryffindor dimwit surrounded by fools! Her self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the exhortations of the portrait:
"Severus, the Elder Wand was an extremely unpredictable item. I couldn't guarantee that it would have acknowledged you as its rightful master. After all, Draco had disarmed and intended to kill me before you did so. I couldn't be sure, although I can't hide it – I really had wished for you to have that wand. However, one thing can be said with complete certainty: we should be glad that Voldemort didn't get it."
Snape grimaced again – either from the mention of the hated name or from the memory thanks to what kind of pleasure he owed the destruction of the wand.
"Perhaps if you were a little more open with me, Headmaster –"
"Severus, let's not start this conversation again. I cannot tell you more than what I have already said. You provide invaluable help to the entire wizarding world, and I can only ask you –"
"Yes, yes, I remember," the Potions Master brushed him off irritably, "not to ask unnecessary questions and, when the time comes, to tell Potter –"
"You need to get some rest, my boy."
"I need five ounces of rat poison and a warm tomb like yours – only there I'll be able to have a good sleep."
"Severus –"
"Good night, Headmaster."
Snape obviously considered the conversation over and the former headmaster had no choice but to leave his portrait. Hermione understood it when the annoyance on the professor's face was swiftly replaced by tired thoughtfulness. Did the pain remain after his scars had gone? Had he taken a painkiller potion? Being under the Invisibility Cloak, the girl felt like she was watching someone's memories in the Pensieve: an observer without the possibility of interference. To find out that Severus was still on their side and not to throw her arms around his neck, begging for forgiveness. To see him stand up, exhaustedly holding onto the bedpost and not to support him by his elbow. To notice him frowning and not to… But why not? He hadn't minded her kissing him in the hut, had he? Even though it had been an eternity ago. Hermione's hot Gryffindor heart skipped a beat as she closed her eyes, mentally returning to Hagrid's hut. Those memories definitely needed to be refreshed, this time without the distraction of the bleeding wounds. However, when the decision had been made and the girl was about to snatch off the Invisibility Cloak, it turned out that, while her eyes had remained closed, the professor had taken off his robes and was sitting on the bed in his sleepwear. He'd kill her now for sure… He had forgiven her the runes, his wand, his destroyed laboratory (had he cleaned there or left it until morning?), but if he found out that she, yet again, had indulged in her favourite Gryffindor entertainment aka invasion of his privacy… Dear Merlin, Hermione, you'd fly out of his quarters faster than Harry Potter after a Snitch, and it would require another deathly curse to get everything back to normal!
The headmaster, instead of going to bed, although it would seem to be the most reasonable action at six a.m. after a sleepless night, took his wand from a bedside table and turned it over in his hands. 'That's it,' Hermione thought. He had figured it out, perhaps had heard her sniffling convulsively. Now he'd say 'Accio the Invisibility Cloak' and, in the best-case scenario, she'd be convincing him until eight that she had done this not out of malice, but out of the usual Gryffindor short-sightedness and stupidity.
"Expecto patronum!"
The girl almost screamed in surprise. And then…
A silvery otter slipped out of the professor's wand and darted towards the ceiling. Agile and nimble, just like the one that had huddled at Hermione's feet on the cold staircase surrounded by Dementors only a few hours ago.
Snape snorted.
"Well, let's get acquainted," he said in such a soft voice that Hermione's heart made a stop.
He thrust his hand out and the traitorous otter rushed towards him, nuzzling his fingers and rubbing against his leg.
"I'm glad, my boy, that you have finally said goodbye to your past," the voice of the former headmaster, who had unexpectedly returned to his portrait, was full of understanding and sadness. The Potions Master flinched, as though he had been caught doing something unacceptable. He pierced Dumbledore with a sharp look and his Patronus dissipated like fog in the morning.
"Is there anything else you wanted from me, Headmaster?" he asked in an annoyed tone.
"No, no, my boy, rest."
"Nox."
The room plunged into darkness.
In the impenetrable, inky-black silence that reigned, Hermione could swear that her heartbeat was heard even in the Gryffindor Tower.
The otter Patronus… Snape's.
No. Severus', her Severus'. Now she knew for sure that he was hers. Could there be a chance that the headmaster's Patronus had always been an otter?
Her memory (a torturer and an ally) readily recalled his voice: 'Such a strange kind of love that can feed Fiendfyre and change the shape of a Patronus at the same time.Do you still have questions, Miss Granger?'
Only one: what memories did he use to conjure his Patronus?