A/N: I own nothing pertaining to Harry Potter and the wizarding world and earn nothing from writing this bit of fiction.

Thanks for reading!

"You should know better than to sneak up on someone sleeping," she snapped.

"You were the one saying my name, Granger. You were making some funny noises, too. Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Mind your own damned business," she sulked and pulled the book back into her lap as she pretended to read.

Draco moved away and she assumed that he'd left. That was, until his voice whispered in her ear.

"That's alright, Granger. I don't mind you dreaming about me like that."

...

Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts for a special Eighth Year, offered to the previous Seventh Years who wanted to return to study for N.E.W.T.s and recover some of what was lost in the war.

Eighth Year Dramione trope but now with more Snape! Slow burn.

Chapter 1: The Future is Uncertain

Severus is saved from certain death and Hermione is trying to put her best foot forward in the aftermath of war.

Our story begins during the Battle of Hogwarts….

2 May 1998

Hermione had followed Harry into the Shrieking Shack, determined to keep him from whatever was lurking in there. But she heard the giant snake departing and found in its place a dying Severus Snape. He was whispering something to Harry and blood was everywhere. Neither of them noticed her presence. The metallic stench made her stomach turn, but she felt like she had to do something. If it wasn't already too late. Harry blindly pushed past as she rushed to the man, knowing she'd have to act quickly. She grabbed a bezoar from her beaded bag and shoved it into the back of his mouth before performing a quick spell that would to cause the blood to clot. Sure that at least he was no longer bleeding out, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and apparated them to the Hogs Head before sending out a patronus to Madam Pomfrey, specifying the need for anti-venom, the best she had. Aberforth blanched at the sight of the two of them covered in blood.

"Aberforth, he needs help. Nagini..."

"I'll look after him."

"Tell... tell Madame Pomfrey that it was Nagini and I don't have an anti-venom.."

"Go, girl. Don't worry about us."

With a grimace, she cast a quick Tergeo on herself and apparated herself back to the school gates.

Poppy Pomfrey arrived moments later, took one look at Snape, and got to work.

"The Granger girl, she said it was 'is snake what did it."

The matron cursed and poured an anti-venom down the prone man's throat, noticing the bezoar already there. He could be already dead as far she she knew, but she knew that every second counted and thus didn't bother to check first. The clever young witch had at least stanched the flow of blood before she'd arrived apparently, but he would need blood replenishing potion which she had thankfully brought along and others still to stabilise his system while she attempted to draw the remaining poison out of him. She administered the potions as she pulled them from her bag, one after another until the floor next to her was littered with empty vials.

Satisfied of her initial rapid treatment, she cleaned his wound and carefully bandaged his neck to prevent infection. She requested Aberforth prepare a room as she slowly levitated the fallen professor to the provided bed. She ran a few diagnostic charms, but they were inconclusive at best.

"He might make it, but it's hard to know. I have others to tend to, but l'll come back later."

He gave the witch a nod and she disapparated.

When the battle was finally over, an exhausted Hermione sought out an equally tired Madam Pomfrey.

"Was he.. is he..?"

"I don't know, child. We've both done our best. I had to leave him with Aberforth for the time, but I'll see what I can do once the others have been seen to," the matron kindly replied.

"Just... just if he wakes up, please don't tell him that it was me. You can tell Professor McGonagall, but, please. Promise me."

"Why would you worry?"

"I'd just rather he not know. That's all." Hermione smiled nervously.

"Very well. I'll call Minerva and we can tell her together. Agreed?"

"Yes, thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

About an hour later, the three witches found themselves in a classroom that had somehow remained untouched.

"Minerva, the girl has something important to say."

"Yes, thank you both." Hermione paused and swallowed. "I.. um.. I called Madam Pomfrey earlier today to help save Professor Snape."

McGonagall's eyes grew large as she looked from one witch to the other.

"Where is he? Is he alive?"

"I'm not sure, Minerva. He was in terrible shape," Poppy explained. "That overlarge snake nearly ripped out his throat. If it weren't for the quick action of Miss Granger here, it's sure that he would have immediately died. He's currently in Aberforth's care as I couldn't move him during the fighting and, while I've treated him the best that I could at the moment, I'm not sure if he's going to make it. At best, he's likely in a coma."

"You did a brave thing, Miss Granger. I can't say he'll be grateful, but you may have saved his life."

"Please, professor, I don't want anyone to know. Especially not Professor Snape when he wakes. If he wakes." That little word "if" made her tremble with anxiety.

"Why is that, dear?"

"Because I don't want him to think that I did it to be smart or brave. Professor, it was just so awful, he was covered in blood and.. and you heard what Harry said later. I knew Snape wasn't as terrible as he wanted us to think. And if he.. if he makes it, I don't want him to think he's beholden to yet someone else."

"Miss Granger, you know about life debts do you not? It's a very serious thing."

"I don't want him to owe me anything. I did it freely and without desire for repayment. In fact, I saw it as repaying him for saving us time and again."

"Very well. Poppy, would you consent to an Unbreakable Vow? We can all three do it."

She gave a curt nod and the two older witches promised to Hermione to never tell anyone who saved Severus Snape in the Shrieking Shack, not even Snape himself.

Severus drifted. He was no longer bleeding out, but he no longer felt much of anything. Well, he felt a distant twinge, but it hardly registered as important. He couldn't tell where he was, but at least that damned snake wasn't nearby. No one was, really. He had a vague memory of Potter's green eyes. The boy was… frightened? He couldn't remember why that might have been.

He felt comfortable. Serene. Had he ever felt this way before? He didn't think so. There was a bed in the dimly lit room. (He was in a room? He couldn't even remember getting there.) He felt so tired from all those years of stress and anxiety. He laid down in the soft bedding without even asking himself where it had all come from. He quickly fell asleep and felt himself drift into a dream.

In the dream, all was silent. The air was warm, but not unpleasantly so. A small light drew near to him. There was someone coming, but they were eclipsed by the lamplight before them.

"Severus," came the whisper.

He knew the voice, but couldn't place it.

"Severus, my boy." The voice was slightly louder, clearer. The lamp was lowered, revealing the face and impressive beard of… Albus Dumbledore.

"Leave me alone, Albus. I'm tired," he groused.

"I came to tell you that it's over now. We won."

"What's over?"

"The war. I was wrong, though. Harry didn't die."

Severus sat up and blinked, staring at the old wizard.

"You're dead, you bloody meddler. All I want is a moment's peace and here you are interrupting my sleep."

"Am I? How careless of me. I find no need for sleep here."

"Here? Where am I?"

There was a familiar twinkle in the ancient wizard's eyes and then he disappeared.

Severus rubbed his forehead, sure that either he was going mad or worse. With a groan he laid back down and fell back asleep.

He had no idea how long he was there in the dark, but there were voices that awakened him. Voices that belonged to faces that he couldn't see, that spoke about him as if something had happened. Had something happened? Impossible. He was in bed. He groped about in the dark for his wand, but couldn't seem to locate it. Funny, he never was without one just next to the bed. Well, he could sometimes, in a pinch, do things wandlessly just as well.

"Lumos," he whispered.

The room was instantly flooded with light and he was forced to shut his eyes to protect them from the sudden brightness. When he slowly reopened them, he saw that everything in the room was white. The walls, the bed, the quilt, the wooden floor. He was still robed in deepest black, which was the only comforting thing, because as he cast his eyes about, he could see neither door nor window in the room. Not even the tiniest crack in the façade.

He slowly put one foot down to the floor. It seemed solid. He stood and walked to the wall opposite the bed. The place which the light had come from before in his dream. The wall was solid, as if it were made of stone. What the — ? He tried the other walls, but they were all the same. He tried several spells, hoping to reveal a hidden doorway, but to no avail. He could hear the voices again as they echoed against the walls, but there was no one. He cried out, but no one answered.

"Just let him rest," said one voice. "It will be the first lie in he's had in years."

He scoffed, but then conceded whoever it was had a point. He hadn't really rested since Voldemort decided that the Potters…

That's right. James and Lily had died. What had Dumbledore said? Harry didn't? Well, of course he didn't. That was why he had to teach the little -

He paused again in his thoughts. No, Harry wasn't a small child anymore. In fact, Harry was out hunting Horcruxes. Dumbledore had sent him out to finish what he himself had failed doing. He tried desperately to remember what else the old codger had said. They'd won? Does that mean the war is over? If so, why was he here? Why wasn't he being rounded up and sent to the Ministry?

What had Dumbledore said about "here"? He didn't feel the need to sleep. Dumbledore was dead. He'd been dead for nearly two years. So did that mean he was as well? Shouldn't he be experiencing a bit more than a white room from which there is no escape? Or was this his punishment for becoming a Death Eater in the first place?

The voices faded and he felt tired again. Perhaps just a little rest was all he needed.

22 May 1998

The past weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster. There were parties and executions, funerals and sighs of relief. Hermione felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice. The war was over, but the consequences were disastrous. Many precious lives were lost. She still hadn't time to go find her parents and see if their memories could be restored. And she had no idea if her efforts to help save Snape were in vain. Harry went to check on him now and again and he offered to take Hermione along with, but she politely declined each time. Hermione would simply smile and ask polite questions when he returned. When Harry came back from a visit the day before, he reported that the wizard was still stable, but unresponsive. He was hopeful he'd come around any day now. In some ways it was almost comical the turnaround Harry was showing regarding Snape. The man he'd spent the last several years ranting about was suddenly his favorite hero of the day.

In another odd turn of events, she and Harry had come forward and said they would testify on behalf of the Malfoys and were working together with their lawyer. The trials would begin the following week. It seemed a bit strange, defending the people who had seemed bent on making her life as miserable as possible until their own safety was called into question. But it also felt right.

She'd been staying at Grimmauld Place with Harry, helping him slowly clean things out of the house, seeking a sort of catharsis that might come of getting rid of anything that screamed of the maniacs who once dominated the house. Sometimes literally, including Walburga Black's portrait which they had an artist who dealt with difficult portraits paint over, putting Sirius in her place. It made for a more welcome, friendlier greeting.

Hermione was cleaning up from breakfast when Ron popped out of the floo, another perk of no longer being at war. Unfortunately for her, Ron had just heard the news about the Malfoy trials, which the she and Harry had been keeping from him.

"Oi, 'Mione," he started as he walked into the kitchen, "I just don't get why you're standing up for that bloody awful family," Ron started for what felt like the tenth time that week.

"Good morning yourself, Ron."

"Right, good morning," he replied tersely.

"Harry is, too, you know. Testifying."

"Yeh, but Narcissa saved him. Of course he's going to feel like he should."

"They didn't even fight in the end."

"Because they're filthy cowards who can't pick a side and stick to it. And don't forget about what happened in the Room of Requirement."

"You know I haven't, Ron. Look, I know you can't stand them. And I was tortured in their house, for Godric's sake. But they weren't the ones at fault. In fact… it felt like they were being punished, too. I mean, their house was infested with the most evil wizards in the country, maybe the whole world. If you'd have seen Malfoy's face…" Her voice drifted off, strained.

"I've seen his pointy ferret face enough in my lifetime. I hope I never have to again."

"Ronald!"

"Well, it's true. And you don't owe them a bloody thing."

"I don't. But I want to do this."

"Don't expect any good to come of it. Dark wizards don't change, Hermione."

Ron stormed away, irritated. She heard the sound of the floo roaring to life and then growing quiet again. With a sigh, she put the tin of tea back in the cupboard and decided that she needed to go down the hall to the library to think and do some research.

30 May 1998

Severus Snape woke up that afternoon in a lonely room, unable to move anything but his eyes as he took in a makeshift hospital judging from both the bed he was in and the various potion bottles and medical instruments next to him. A moment later, Minerva McGonagall breezed through the door, gasped, and rushed off once more. Not a minute later, a worried Poppy Pomfrey bustled in, Minerva just behind her.

"You're awake!" she squawked.

In an excruciating effort, Severus slowly opened his mouth and tried to say something, but his tongue felt like it was made of wool. The most he got out was a strange grating sort of noise.

"Don't try to talk," the overexcited matron said as she busied herself about, casting diagnostic charms and a rather uncomfortable (for Severus) examination of his neck. "Well the good news is that it's all healing up quite well and it seems that the poison has completely left your system. The bad news is that you've been in a coma for four weeks and your vocal chords are still healing. It may be a few weeks yet before you'll be able to talk and eat normally. Not to worry, I expect you'll make a full recovery in time for fall term."

He must have made a confused look, though he wasn't sure that his eyebrows were even working correctly.

"Someone got to you in time. We had to pump you full of anti-venom, blood replenisher, and some potions to stabilise you because your systems were already beginning to shut down one by one."

He still looked at her strangely and cast a glance over to Minerva who had been wringing her hands in a nearby chair. The older witch spoke up.

"It's all over, you know. He's gone for good. We'll talk about employment once you're feeling better, but in the meantime I'm just glad that you're… finally on the mend. It was rather touch-and-go the first week."

She looked overwrought, he thought. Tired.

"Get some rest, my boy, and if you need anything, just press the little button on the side of your bed and someone will come right away." She rose from her chair and stepped toward him, a small smile on her face as she patted his arm. "Take all the time you need to heal. If anyone deserves some rest and quiet, it's you, Severus." She smiled again and walked away with Poppy who was talking with her frantically in a low voice.

He'd been out for four weeks. Some do-gooder evidently pulled him from the Shack and saved his worthless hide. He was surprised to be alive at all and was trying to sift through the strange emotions that tugged at him. If Voldemort was actually gone, that would mean that he was finally free. Free to live his life without anyone peering over his shoulder. Free to simply.. live. What an odd notion after all this time. He thought he'd never see the day. He glanced down at his left arm and saw that the cursed stain on his skin remained but it was certainly a lighter shade of grey than it had ever been.