A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, it really means a lot!

The wondrous Gedia Kacela has graciously agreed to let me borrow a line from 'Torn Asunder', a fic I can't recommend enough.

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Seven – The Fire In Which We Burn

May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.

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As a child, Hermione had been told that Hell was the place where bad people were sent to burn in for all eternity. War, however, had taught her that Hell is a place on earth that even the safest of havens can be turned into. A place filled with flashes of sickening green light and the lifeless bodies of friends covering the ground.

Hell is knowing there is a fate worse than death, and that the man you love has been sentenced to it.

She had last seen Snape alone one week before the end. In the library, of all places. She had been researching ancient protective spells for Harry and turned around to find him standing at the door to the Restricted Section. One of the dusty volumes from the pile in her arms had fallen to the floor and slid over the polished marble up to his feet.

"I miss you," she had whispered when he had come closer to hand her the book.

And I you. His voice had resounded so clear and strong in her head that for a moment she had let herself believe he had really uttered those three words, even though her eyes had never left his face and she was sure his lips hadn't moved. Before she had time to say anything else, he had spun on his heel and left in a swirl of billowing black robes.

One week later, it was all over. Or so they said. Hermione, however, didn't feel the relief everyone seemed to have been engulfed by since the death of Voldemort. Or maybe she had, until she had known about Snape – who cared, she couldn't remember anyway.

For her, another war had begun one week ago, when Severus had been found at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, unconscious, hit with a curse not even Dumbledore could break. This time it was a war against the rage at her own powerlessness, a rage that threatened to corrode her from the inside like acid. All the knowledge she had so greedily accumulated over the years was suddenly rendered worthless, useless, a mockery.

But the worst of all was by far the fact that she hadn't been allowed to see him. Her few off-handed attempts to visit Severus had been rejected point blank by Madam Pomfrey, and she wasn't about to reveal the real reasons why she had to see him. Perhaps McGonagall would have let her, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to ask, partly for fear of having to explain herself and partly for fear the elderly witch, that surrogate mother of sorts, would already know - and Hermione didn't think she could take her pity, not now.

So she spent her days working tirelessly in the Hospital Wing, helping Madam Pomfrey assist the countless wounded. It both kept her too busy to think and helped ease the guilt she felt for wishing it had been any of those patients instead of him…

"Miss Granger." Hermione wheeled around to face a particularly sombre Dumbledore. He looked older than ever; the legendary twinkle in his eyes seemed to have vanished together with his students' innocence.

"Headmaster. How can I help you?"

"I wish to have a word with you, Miss Granger."

"Is there something wrong?" she suddenly realised the absurdity of the question, given the circumstances. "Other than the obvious," she added, gesturing at their surroundings.

"It's a matter concerning Professor Snape."

Hermione felt her heart stop beating altogether, then start again slowly, painfully, gaining force until its pounding grew so loud in her ears she was sure Dumbledore could hear it.

"Is he… is he…"

"Perhaps we should take this to my office."

With surprising strength for a man of his age, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the infirmary and along dark corridors Hermione had never seen until they found themselves in front of the familiar stone gargoyle ('Fawkes Night') and then inside his office.

"Please sit down."

Hermione obeyed, mostly because she didn't trust herself to stand without someone holding her.

"As you are aware of, Professor Snape has been hit with a curse we ignore the counter curse for. We are trying to determine the origin of his state, but so far we have been unsuccessful. And…"

"And?" she whispered.

"He's not fighting for his life, to tell you the truth," Dumbledore sighed dejectedly, then seemed to compose himself and continued in a much more pragmatic tone, "Therefore, I believe it would be wise to prepare ourselves for the worst."

"But he's still alive, he could…"

"There are certain… particulars about Professor Snape that we should discuss, Miss Granger."

"He's not dead." The unspoken 'yet' hung like an almost physical presence between them.

Dumbledore apparently thought better to ignore her protests. "Severus left something in my possession to be forwarded to you should he…"

"He's not dead," she repeated stubbornly.

Dumbledore remained silent and smiled benignly with the patient expression one would give a particularly obstinate toddler. He then raised and opened one of the wooden cabinets, retrieving a small silver box, which he handed to her. On its top, a pair of entwined serpents formed a double S.

Hermione held it in her hands for a minute, so absorbed in tracing the serpents with her forefinger that she didn't hear the Headmaster leave. She knew what she would find inside, which was why she was so terrified of opening it. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself. After a moment, she somehow found the courage and lifted the lid.

Inside the box was a necklace with an emerald pendant. And underneath the necklace, a neatly folded piece of parchment. She breathed deeply and took it with trembling hands.

Many words, perhaps too many, were left unsaid between us. It is my sincere hope that, despite how my actions may have suggested otherwise, you will realise how grateful I am to you. You gave me the happiest three months of my life, Hermione, and I am painfully aware of how poor a payment this necklace is in return. Once this war is over, a whole world of promise and possibility will be waiting for you and therefore my advice, my strong, strong advice, is to forget me. Do what you must to accomplish this, but know that my parting will not be painful, for you will be in my mind.

S.

The letter fluttered to the floor.

"Severus, you bastard…," she buried her face in her hands and began to sob hysterically. Bastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastard

He had loved her all along and yet he had done everything in his power to make Hermione hate him. And in a way she had, but merely for pushing her away out of his misguided sense of honour and generosity.

And then another thought made its way through the chaos in her mind: he still loved her. Wiping her eyes hastily, Hermione stood up and walked to the door. She needed to see him.

He wasn't in the Hospital Wing, a sign of the finality of his state. 'Because he's not ill, Hermione, he's dead,' a nasty voice said inside her head, 'There's nothing the mediwizards can do for him.' Hermione told the voice to shut up.

She wondered vaguely how Dumbledore had known that she was coming and whether he had announced her visit, because the nurse who opened the door to Severus' chambers hadn't looked even remotely surprised to see her, let alone made the slightest move to stop her.

Snape looked ghostlier than ever, his face even paler against the black curtains of hair fanning over the pillows. Hermione sat on the chair beside his bed and moved it until her head stood level with his.

"I got your letter. And the… the other thing. Thank you - again."

Her rational mind kept telling her that she shouldn't be disappointed at the absolute lack of reaction, that she had known what it would be like - but he was there, she knew he was still there, hidden inside that apparently empty shell.

"I know that you can hear me, wherever you are. You're a daft git, Severus. Did you really think you'd get rid of me that easily? That you could trick me into hating you? You probably were very pleased with yourself this past month, weren't you? Thinking you had done the noble thing," she let out a derisive snort. "You're such a bastard… making me wish I didn't… I didn't… love you as much as I do," she wiped her cheeks angrily. "Why is it so hard when I used to say it all the time? Not that you would remember, after twenty years. But I do… I remember everything."

She was leaning so close to him now that his hair moved with every one of her laboured breaths. "And I love you. And if you don't wake up I will go to that place you're hiding at and drag you back by that awful hair of yours, you hear me?"

She rested her head against his chest, needing the reassurance of his heartbeat, knowing it would be all the answer she would get. "I don't care how long it takes; I'm going to be here when you wake up. Tomorrow, next month or in thirty years," she finished, barely above a whisper.

Hermione awoke to the feeling of a weight pressing against the back of her head. Moving slightly, she realised that Snape's hand was entangled in the mass of her hair.

"Am I dead?"

TBC…

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Quote from 'Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day' by Delmore Schwatz. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I think that thing in the library was a bit of unintentional Legilimency, but you'll have to ask Snape.