When Hermione woke up her body felt like dead weight. The agony of the smallest little movement, even blinking, felt like a terrible struggle. She immediately nestled back down into the soft bed and prayed for release.
From a quick glance, she recognized she was not in her own room. There were books and things in her room, clothes she had been given, her toiletries. Her room and been a soft pale green with dark mahogany highlights. This room was barren. There were no personal touches that she could see. It was as if no one lived in here at all. It had the defining things for a bedroom, but nothing much else.
Where…
With an excruciating little turn to the left, she could see Professor Snape's back. He was staring out on to a magical window. His hands were clasped behind his back as he watched the dark night. There seemed to be a terrible snowstorm.
For now, he must not know she was awake. She felt no pull towards him except for that of her own making.
Her hands were rested beside her but she could barely lift them. Her body screamed in agony. She smelt like disinfectant and those healing potions she often associated with the Hospital Wing. She tried her best not to whimper as she started moving different parts of her body. Her neck was stiff. She had a headache that had slowly turned in to a pounding throb upon awakening and it made her eyes water.
She wriggled her toes. Those seemed intact. But her legs were a different matter and so were her ribs. As she tried to engage her core, she involuntarily cried out.
"You're awake." He said. The tone of his voice was not one she'd heard before, except when she'd spied on him in his office whilst he took care of the wounded child. It was broken, intensely relieved and full of care. He was by her side in a second, casting charms to make her more comfortable and assess her progress.
"I'm so sorry." He said over and over. If she could have gotten up, she would have. It shook her to her core to see him like this, so obviously unraveled.
"I'm ok-"
"Don't Hermione." He said sternly.
He continued to work, his hands shaking slightly as he brandished his wand over her and checked all of the different bandages and dressings that adorned her.
"How do you really feel?" he finally asked.
"Terrible."
He pursed his lips so hard they turned whitish.
"Oh!" suddenly it rushed back to her. Carrow, Voldemort, the urn. The cigarette smoke.
"It's alright, it's alright." He said quickly, as if he was preparing for this.
She was suddenly inconsolable. Her heart felt like it might burst from her chest and she could hardly breath.
"It's going to be ok." He spoke. Before she even realized, he was on the bed, holding her head in his hands.
"We can face this." He whispered. "We can face this Hermione."
She could say nothing. Her throat was closing around a hot stream of sorrow.
"She- "
"I know. I'm so sorry."
She cried until her injuries could take it no more. She cried until her throat was hoarse and her eyes burned.
"Ron…" she wailed. "Ron."
He held her closer. Before she realized, he had her in his arms and despite her injuries she burrowed herself in his comfort. How good it felt to be in his arms, feel his strong, sure hold on her. He rocked her gently until all that was left were the after tremors of uncalculated sorrow. He whispered to her, and when he told her it would be alright, she believed him.
As the temporary calm that often comes after intense sorrow, washed through her body, she nestled her heavy head, despite the pain, in to his chest and he held her tighter.
"Everything will be alright. I promise."
As he caressed her hair, his fingertips felt unsure, as if he'd never done such a thing before. The pressure was soft and slow. As he cooed softly to her, she fell into a deep sleep and her heavy eyelids were given a reprieve for a few more hours.
She was awake again. As soon as she opened her eyes, she wished she was dead. Her healing wounds throbbed, telling her to remain still. But she lifted her head to crane her neck. He was gone and she was alone.
Panic swelled in her chest and she tried to calm herself.
The events of the past few days came back to her again and she relived everything she could remember. Carrow had beat her. Not with magic, with her own two hands. It had been personal. That much she knew. It had been beyond hatred. And Severus could do nothing, or they would both have been killed. Voldemort had placed a silencing harm on her before leaving Carrow to her own devices. So, if though she screamed for relief, she was not heard.
In the other room, she could see the two wizards chatting casually. The smell of constant cigarette smoke choking her. She could smell it now as if she was right back there.
"You little cunt." Carrow whispered as she yanked Hermione's hair to pull their faces closer. "You're just his little slut. He could never want you."
Carrow smashed her face in to the hard, cold floor and she could feel the agonizing crunch of her nose breaking.
"Do you really think someone as great as Severus Snape could want a mudblood?"
"No." she whispered through gurgled blood. But Carrow could not hear.
She got two swift kicks to the ribs. Hermione lurched upward and choked on the vomit rising in to her throat and into her hair.
"No…"
"You're alone now. Your stupid friend is dead and Potter is next. You're lucky you don't belong to me or I would have killed you a long time ago." Her breath was abhorrent and it made Hermione want to gag again.
"Why are you still alive?"
There was only accusation in her voice.
She felt the silencing charm lifted and she groaned out loud.
"I asked you a question." She hissed. "Why are you still alive?"
"I don't know." She sobbed. "Please, I don't know."
The silencing charm resettled upon her and Carrow proceeded to crush two of her fingers underfoot. She screamed in agony but no sound came forth.
"I will make sure your death is a welcoming sight to you, mudblood bitch!" she growled. There was a moment where she thought she might actually die here, on the floor in Professor Snape's foyer.
She thought about Professor Snape first. He could not come to her rescue without undoing all the past 17 years of work he had done. He couldn't and she understood. She would not want him to. But if she could just see him one more time, she would have thanked him. Told him he did his best, and she saw it. If she could just see the face of someone she cared about before she died…
She thought about Harry, alone. She loved Harry, and she knew his heart was good but she was unsure he'd make it alone. In this moment, everything was falling apart.
And Ron… her fire. Her Ron. Dead.
A swift kick to the head and all her sorrows and worries became dark.
"Why are you still alive?" she whispered to herself, and the tears tickled her face as they slowly rolled down her cheek.
There was a small candle, lighting the room in an ebbing warm glow but it felt sinister and lonely. She desperately wanted Professor Snape to come back for her.
As if he read her mind, he was in the doorway, assessing her.
"You're awake."
She sobbed quietly in response.
"Miss Granger… Hermione."
He came over to her and helped her sit up to drink some water. It was agonizing but doable. As she sat up and took a look at her surroundings, she realized she knew exactly where she was. This was his room, his bed.
He used his handkerchief to softly wipe the remaining tears off her face.
"Can-" she choked on her words, her voice hoarse and unused.
He gently brushed the hair out of her face that had stuck to her tears.
"Come."
He opened his arms and she fell into them.
He laid down with her as if on command, as if he knew exactly what she needed without her ever saying a word. He cradled her in his arms and her body rocked with grief. He held her long into the night, neither saying a word except for the occasional comfort. He held her close when she needed it and loosened his grip when she needed space. But he stayed. He let her cry.
"Everything will be okay Hermione, I promise you."
It felt as natural as breathing air, to be here with him. And although she could not revel in it or think too much about it, the opportunity to be here with him had opened something in her heart. Had opened something in his own heart.
His Greatest Desire.