A minute passed, and then another, as Hermione continued to stare at the sickly figure lying in the bed. For a moment she simply could not believe what it was her eyes were seeing, but as the doubt faded to the edges of her psyche she was left with only the truth laid out starkly before her shocked gaze.

In her years away from Hogwarts she had had absolutely no contact with anybody from the wizarding world, and had at first felt Harry's loss the greatest. They had been best friends, and more at one time, and she had missed him so much more than she would ever admit. Seeing him there, unconscious and sick, her heart thudded painfully in her chest as moved forward a few small steps in order to stand closer to the bed. Vaguely aware of Snape standing impassively on the other side of the bed, she stared down at her old friend, lifting her hands to cover her mouth.

"Oh Harry!" Her voice was muffled. "Harry!"

At a first glance perhaps it was possible to simply assume that he was only sleeping, but a closer look did not reinforce the initial diagnosis. Harry Potter's pallor was sickly; his skin slack and pale as though it had not been used to speak, to smile, to frown, in a long time. His overlong hair covered the tops of his ears and most of the scar on his forehead, giving him a slightly neglected air, although Hermione knew that that could not possibly be the case. His body, beneath the hospital wing bedding, was thin and unmoving. Hermione could not prevent the tears that sprang into her eyes from rolling soundlessly down her cheeks.

"Is this why I have been summoned back here? To witness this?" Her voice was broken. She wiped angrily at the tears and stared across at Snape. For his part, he looked oddly stricken and sorrow was lurking at the edge of his expression. His eyes met hers, he shook his head quickly.

"You were not meant to find out like this," he said quietly. "It may have spared you pain to have known the circumstances before you saw him . . . like this." His eyes dropped to the unconscious Harry. A bubble of white-hot anger formed in Hermione's chest and rose into her throat before she could control it.

"To hell with the 'circumstances'!" Her voice was shrill. "You knew! You knew all along! And I trusted you!"

The stricken expression faded, replaced by a calm assurance which only served to anger her further.

"And you still can trust me," he said.

Hermione stared at him stonily, it was an ugly moment.

"I should have known," she said viciously. "Do you take me for a complete fool? Do you all? Lies and deceit! If you had been honest from the beginning do you not think that I would have come willingly? He was one of my best friends!"

"Was, Hermione," Snape bit back sharply. "Isn't that the operative word?"

His jibe hit home immediately, and Hermione flushed a deep scarlet. Too late she realized that her wand was not in her pocket, but under her pillow where she had left it.

"How dare you? What the hell do you know about it?"

Striding around the bottom of the bed she pushed her face right into Snape's, leaning into him in anger. He grasped her upper arms and gave her an angry little shake.

"Where is the sense in asking you back here to only witness something that would only cause you more pain, more confusion than you are already suffering?" He spoke quickly and firmly. "Of course that is not the reason. It is only part of the reason. Why do you think that the Dark Lord's minions were looking for you in the village?"

"You . . . you told me that it was because I was muggle-born, because I was powerful . . ." a look of weary defeat passed across her face, dimming her fury. "Was that a lie as well?"

"Not entirely. They are perfectly valid reasons." The hands grasping her shoulders moved in small circles that calmed her further.

"What is the real reason, Severus?" Hermione looked up at him, feeling herself on a precipice. He looked from her to the bed, and back again, and sighed heavily.

"They know, of course, of your links to Harry."

"What does that have to do with anything? He is hardly a threat like that, is he?"

"That is the point!" Snape hissed. "They know, Hermione!"

"Know what?" Nerves began to unfurl in her tummy, fluttering like butterflies.

"That you are the one!"

"The one to do what?"

"The one . . ." His eyes slid away from hers, and his hands dropped to his sides.

"The one who has the power to wake him."

Dumbledore's voice was very close by, and Hermione turned to see him standing right next to her. Suppressing a little gasp of surprise she observed the headmaster's serious face, and then reached out a hand to find and then sink into the chair that Snape had previously been occupying.

"I don't understand." She said faintly. "What . . . what do you mean? He isn't dying?"

"No, Hermione, he is not dying. At least, not yet." Dumbledore glanced down at Harry. "He is experiencing a sleep of sorts, not unlike something that you would know in the muggle world as a coma. It does not harm him, quite the opposite in actual fact."

Hermione followed his gaze to Harry.

"He does not look well," she murmured hesitantly, which at least was true.

"Therein lies the problem," Dumbledore whispered. "It has been keeping him safe for several months now, but when Poppy came to revive him, the spell failed. Every attempt since has failed. He will not wake in the way in which he was intended to, and this prolonged sleep is slowly harming him."

"Wait." Hermione held up a hand. "There is something that I don't understand. Why is it keeping him safe, what from?"

"Voldemort, Hermione," Dumbledore's expression was grave. "You remember how he sought to use Harry, and Harry's mind through the link that they share as a tool for his own ends?"

"Yes," she said weakly. "But this seems a very extreme . . ."

"You have been away too long, Child. Voldemort's grip on Harry has been slowly increasing for a long time now, not all at once you understand, but gradually over the course of years. Harry was desperate, and eventually this plan was devised for him in order to give him a rest from the horror that he was experiencing. It was only a temporary measure, however, so you can understand the problems that this prolonged sleep is causing."

"Who did this, Headmaster? Who put Harry there?" Hermione felt a burning desire to know, as if it would somehow make a difference.

There was an extraordinarily long pause.

"I did."

The low voice which eventually spoke belonged to Snape, and Hermione looked up at him with horrified eyes. A few things became clearer to her, she at least knew now why he had been sent to retrieve her from her home, and why he had been so desperate for her to come willingly and quickly. His eyes met hers; they stared at each other wordlessly. Dumbledore looked from one to the other thoughtfully.

"It is not, of course, any fault of Severus's that this went wrong," he said. "There was no way of knowing that Harry would go so deeply into the magically wrought sleep that we could not retrieve him."

"I have tried." Snape's voice was an impassioned plea as he completely disregarded Dumbledore's statement. Hermione let herself believe him, and gave a small nod.

"What is it that you need me to do, Headmaster?" She asked, at last tearing her gaze away from Snape's.

For the first time, Dumbledore hesitated. A long hand tugged thoughtfully at his beard.

"You are not yet ready for what I will ask of you." He said thoughtfully. Hermione shook her head determinedly, and he smiled. "You are not, and I know that you think you are. There are still things that you must come to terms with before I will allow you to try to wake Harry, Hermione."

"What things?" The angry burning had begun again, but this time she managed to force it away. Dumbledore gave her a meaningful look.

"If you do not know what they are already, then you will know soon." He promised her. "It is not easy to remember, but in your case it is necessary."

"I see." Glancing one last time at her sleeping friend, Hermione rose to her feet and dropped a small kiss on his clammy forehead. "I'll come back soon, Harry. I promise." Straightening up, she looked from Dumbledore to Snape. Both were looking at her expectantly.

"I think I'll go back to my rooms," She muttered. Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"I trust that I'll be seeing you for Christmas lunch, in the Great Hall?"

"I hope so," Hermione's voice was small as she had no intention of laying herself bare before assorted spectators in the Great Hall. "Until then, Headmaster, Professor Snape."

She walked from the room at a quick pace, holding her spinning head high. She was nearly halfway back to her rooms and beginning to cry freely when Snape caught up with her.

"Hermione, wait!" He called sharply, and broke into a half run along the corridor as she kept her back to him and kept walking. His longer legs allowed him to keep silent pace with her, and she stalked into her rooms without a backward glance to throw herself onto the bed. Burying her face in the pillows she laid still and gave several angry sobs as her tears ceased, finally lifting her head to see Snape kneeling at the side of the bed and looking at her intently.

"None of this is your fault," he said softly. "You must not blame yourself."

"I don't blame myself." Hermione was surprised to find her voice calm and steady. The urge to hurt, to cause pain similar to that which she felt, was strong. "The only person that I blame, and I blame them completely for all of this, is you."

TBC . . .

A/N: Err, still not mine. Obviously. Keep those reviews coming! I would like to point out that I wrote this entire chapter without the use of one very sore cut finger! I'm dedicated, you see. More coming very soon!