Introductory Notes: Welcome, readers! Just a few notes before we get started:

1.) I've been writing HP fanfic for years, though this is my first Severus/Hermione story. I'll be exploring what might've happened if he'd survived the Battle of Hogwarts, including a fair amount of mystery and an unlikely romance.

2.) I've never seen Ron/Hermione as a compatible couple, which will be reflected here. I don't intend on making Ron a villain, but there are times when he'll be portrayed in a less than flattering light. The same is true for other Weasleys, as I do think they'd take his side in certain situations (especially him wanting to get married/start a family).

3.) My stories contain profanity, sexual content, and other adult themes. Please read at your own discretion.

4.) Future updates will be posted every other weekend (unless life interferes).

Non Omnis Moriar: (Latin) I Shall Not Wholly Die

Chapter 1: Survival

Hermione had forgotten what silence was like.

She couldn't have imagined it being quiet a few hours ago, with screams and shouts and curses flying in every direction. The centaurs had made her ears ring as they'd stampeded through the courtyard, though that was nothing compared to the rumble of stone and mortar as the castle walls had been blasted apart.

Even when Voldemort had fallen, the noise hadn't stopped. Fearful cries had been replaced by yells of triumph, explosions of fireworks peppering the morning sky.

Silence had settled over the castle by slow degrees, such a subtle change that she hadn't even noticed it at first. Ragged sobs had given way to soundless tears, moans of pain soothed away by a healer's touch. Soon enough, even those who'd celebrated had lowered their voices, surrendering to the exhaustion that haunted them all.

Hermione sighed, shooting a glance at Harry. He'd fallen asleep as soon as they'd reached the common room, his peaceful expression strangely at odds with his battered appearance. She wished she could join him, but it was simply too quiet, too serene, nothing left to distract her from her anxious thoughts. She'd never felt so restless, her nerves thrumming as she got up to pace the room.

What was wrong with her? Now that Voldemort was dead, she had nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, no reason to believe that the darkness would ever come again. She'd survived, along with most of her friends, and the others certainly hadn't died in vain. Of course, she was sad for them. Terribly so. But deep down, she knew that wasn't what troubled her now.

"What was it?" Ron had asked as Harry scooped the memories out of the Pensieve. "What did he show you?"

"Didn't you hear what I told Voldemort? Snape wasn't a traitor. He switched sides when Voldemort targeted my mother. All those years, he was protecting me from…"

"Protecting you?" Ron interrupted. "He hated you!"

"Yeah, well, there were reasons for that. I'm not saying all of them were fair, but…"

"What reasons?"

Harry hesitated, shoving the memories in his pocket. "It doesn't matter. Look, I'd rather not talk about this, okay?"

For once, Hermione had kept her mouth shut, realizing that Harry was deeply upset by what he'd seen. Who could blame him? To spend all that time thinking that Professor Snape was his mortal enemy, only to find out that he'd been one of their greatest allies? She didn't know what Snape had given him through those memories, but it was obviously something significant, the one thing that had helped him defeat Voldemort for good.

"Look… at… me…"

Hermione shivered, remembering Snape's tortured expression. It was as if he'd been trying to rid himself of every emotion he'd ever felt, projecting his feelings outward like he'd done with his memories. And then just as suddenly, the intensity in his eyes had faded, his features forever frozen in a mask of pain.

No, she didn't blame Harry for feeling the way he did. Snape's death was awful, one she wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy. To see someone suffer so much, only to realize they'd been trying to help you?

"Yes, Dumbledore's dead," Harry had told Voldemort, "but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

That meant Snape had acted as a spy until the very end, allowing everyone to believe he was a traitor. Why had he agreed to such a thing? He must've known that the entire Wizarding world would despise him. And what about Dumbledore? Why would he have chosen to die? How could he put Snape in such an awful position, especially when it was clear now that he'd been loyal all along? Was it a ploy to make Voldemort believe that Snape was in control of the Elder Wand?

If so, he must've known that Snape would be killed. Had he shared that part of the plan? Or had Snape stumbled into it blindly, unaware of what was happening until it was too late?

Hermione shook her head. Could Dumbledore really have been that cruel? She didn't want to think so, yet she'd seen what had happened in the Shrieking Shack. She'd heard the confusion in Snape's voice give way to panic, followed by his last, desperate attempt to communicate with Harry before he died.

"Take… it. Take… it."

No, that couldn't have been planned. She knew it, her heart aching as she imagined how Snape must've felt when he'd recognized the truth. He'd had nothing to give him comfort, only the bleak reminder that no one, not even Dumbledore, had cared whether he lived or died.

Really, it was no wonder that Snape's was the death that haunted her. Unlike the others, he'd died alone, with no reason to believe that a single soul would mourn his passing. He hadn't been surrounded by friends and loved ones, nor would anyone bother to care for his body. Some of them hadn't even heard what Harry said. Others would almost certainly be reluctant to believe it. They'd probably just toss him into an unmarked grave, which was what they planned to do with the real Death Eaters.

Hermione didn't even realize what she was doing until she was halfway down the stairs, though by the time she made it to the front entrance, her resolve was firm. She ignored the voices that called out to her, nearly slipping on the damp grass as she raced across the grounds. Only when she'd made it past the Whomping Willow did she hesitate, bracing herself for what would no doubt be a grisly job.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath as she entered the tunnel. "Let's get this over with."

The first thing she saw was the blood, a wide, dark stain that covered the floor like an overly large rug. But there was no body lying in the middle of it, only a crumpled black cloak.

"Bloody hell," she whispered as she spotted the markings. Bloody handprints led away from the larger stain, followed by an indistinguishable smear where Snape had struggled out of his robes. He'd managed to drag himself across the room, discarding the heavy clothing that must've hindered his movements.

Hermione moved forward, nearly tripping over his coat as she did so. It was only when she glanced over her shoulder that she saw him, his body lying facedown just a couple feet from the tunnel.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her vision blurring as her eyes filled with tears. "God, I'm so sorry."

He hadn't been dead when they'd left him. That much was clear. He'd tried to escape, to get help, to… keep fighting? Whatever he'd been trying to do, he'd obviously failed.

Wiping her eyes, she used her wand to ease him onto his back. His face was pale and gaunt, his features so unnaturally still that she couldn't help but shiver. He wore nothing but boots and trousers, his shirt wadded up and pressed against the wound in his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "Sorry we left you this way."

Yet even as she said it, she had a strange thought. What if he'd done it on purpose? What if he'd wanted them to think he was dead, afraid they might linger here too long? It seemed absurd, yet he'd obviously been trying to help them. If he'd believed that they'd been running out of time, wouldn't he have done whatever it took to get them to leave?

Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, she chose to believe it, finding comfort in the idea that he'd had some choice in the matter.

"Right," she said quietly, "I guess we'd better get you cleaned up."

She hesitated, surprised by how reluctant she was to touch him. She might not like dead bodies, but she'd had no problem kissing Fred's forehead, nor giving Remus and Tonks a quick hug. But of course, Snape was different. She couldn't imagine he would've wanted her to touch him, even if he wasn't alive to feel it.

"You're being absurd," she muttered, lifting her wand to cast a cleansing charm. It removed the blood and dirt from his chest, drawing attention to how thin he'd been beneath his voluminous robes. His body was nothing but muscle and sinew, his pale flesh covered by the lightest dusting of fine black hair. Strange, but she'd never imagined him having a bellybutton, nor small, round nipples that were as pink as her own. It made him seem so vulnerable, so human… in that moment, she found it hard to believe that she'd ever been frightened of him.

Feeling more confident, she moved closer, plucking several bits of debris from his hair. She pulled the wadded fabric away from his neck, relieved that the wound was no longer bleeding as she probed at it with her fingers.

He hissed.

At first, she thought she was hearing things. But then there was a strange noise, caught somewhere between a gurgle and a groan. She scrutinized his features, her eyes widening as his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Professor Snape?!"

He didn't open his eyes. Maybe he didn't have the strength. But as she looked more closely, she could see that he was breathing, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as she placed her hand over his heart. If he was offended by the touch, he didn't show it. Instead, his features relaxed, only to contort again as she moved to clean the blood from his neck.

Finally, he cracked an eye open, giving his head an infinitesimal shake.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know it hurts. If we can just get you up to the castle…"

Another shake, followed by a groan.

"Stop that." She hesitated, sinking back on her heels. "Look, just… blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?"

He fluttered his eyelashes.

"Good. Do you know where you are? Who I am?"

Yes.

"Do you want me to send for help?"

No.

These were rapid blinks, surprising in their vehemence.

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"

He opened and closed his mouth, giving her a helpless look. The gesture drew her attention to his lips, which were cracked and bleeding.

"Would you like some water?"

Yes.

She nodded, bringing her wand to his mouth. Careful not to choke him, she dribbled a few drops onto his tongue, hearing him groan in relief as he managed to swallow. She repeated the process once, twice, and then a third time, only stopping when he seemed satisfied.

"Better?"

Yes.

"Good," she said, "though I don't know what else I can do for you. I should really send my Patron…"

No.

She caught a flash of fear in his eyes, which helped her understand his reluctance. He had no way of knowing how the battle had ended, nor what might happen if he was forced to deal with people from either side. He wouldn't want to face anyone who might see him as an enemy, especially when he was helpless to raise a wand in his own defense.

"Do you want to know what happened with the battle? I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner."

Clearly, this was what he'd been waiting for. He blinked once, his expression almost eager.

"Well," she said, "I don't know what you shared with Harry, but it must've done the trick. Voldemort is dead."

Snape grunted, closing his eyes in apparent relief.

"Shall I tell you the rest?"

Yes.

She told him everything she could think of, describing Harry's supposed death along with Neville's moment of heroism, followed by the fall of Bellatrix and several other Death Eaters. His eyes widened as she explained Harry's return, relating every detail of the final showdown.

"Voldemort knew the truth," she said. "There at the end, Harry told him. Do you want to know what he said?"

Yes.

"He said, 'Severus Snape wasn't yours. Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?'"

Snape's mouth twisted, his chest heaving with silent sobs. He lost consciousness, though only briefly, tears leaking from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. She knew then that this was why he'd struggled to stay alive, desperate to discover whether he'd succeeded or failed. Now that he knew, she could feel him slipping away, his pulse already fainter beneath her fingertips.

"It's not too late," she said hastily. "Stay with me just a little longer, all right? I'll get you some help."

"Nnnnno."

The word was barely distinguishable, more of a moan than anything else.

"So what do you expect me to do? Just leave you here to die?"

He opened his eyes, responding with one slow, deliberate blink.

"What?! I can't just…"

But it was too late to argue. He couldn't hear her now, his face going slack as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Only then did she notice the empty vial next to his hand, along with a couple others that had been discarded nearby. Potions? That explained how he'd been able to prolong his life for the past few hours, though whatever he'd taken was obviously wearing off now. Without further treatment, he'd soon be dead.

Should she let him go? Clearly, that was what he wanted, but he also believed he had nothing left to live for now that Voldemort was gone. What kind of future could he have possibly envisioned for himself? One full of pain and isolation, no doubt, perhaps even a permanent residence in Azkaban.

Of course, he couldn't have known that she'd already decided to stand up for him. He didn't know that there was one person in this world who cared enough to fight for his survival, even if he no longer had enough hope to fight for himself. She hadn't had a chance to tell him these things, hadn't even known she'd felt them until now. But they seemed right somehow, giving her the strength she needed to push herself to her feet.

"You might live to hate me for this," she told him as she conjured a stretcher, "but at least you'll be alive."

Getting him up to the castle wasn't easy. The trip back up the tunnel was painstakingly slow, his breathing erratic as she made her way across the grounds. But she still felt his pulse beneath her fingers, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as she guided the stretcher through the front entrance.

"Hermione! What on earth…"

Molly's eyes widened as she came to stand beside Professor McGonagall, both of them staring at Hermione as if she'd lost her mind.

"Is that Snape? Why would you…"

"Not now. Please."

Ignoring their stunned expressions, she took him straight to the Hospital Wing, meeting Poppy's narrowed eyes with a steely gaze of her own.

"He needs a bed. Blood Replenisher, Antivenin, whatever else you think will help."

"You want me to treat… I admire your compassion, dear, but after everything he's done…"

"You have no idea what he's done," Hermione shot back. "Nor do I have time to tell you. Please, help him."

Maybe it was something in Hermione's voice. Maybe it was the look on her face. Whatever it was, Poppy seemed to deflate, shaking her head as she leaned over to inspect the wound.

"Well?"

"The venom has already been neutralized, though it still doesn't look good. He's lost a lot of blood."

"I know," Hermione said, remembering the impossibly large stain he'd left behind. "I think he took some Blood Replenisher? I found a couple of empty vials."

"Looks that way, yes, though it was nowhere near enough. He'd need to be dosed every hour for at least the next couple days. Even then, I'm not sure…"

"Then dose him. We'll never know until we try."

Poppy hesitated. "That potion is already in short supply. I can't allow others to go untreated for the sake of a…"

"He's not a Death Eater. I know it seemed that way, but… look, I don't have time to explain just now. What matters is that he needs treatment. I'm not leaving until he gets it."

"It isn't that simp…"

Poppy trailed off, returning her attention to Snape as he let out a rasping noise. Suddenly, he couldn't seem to catch his breath, his eyes flying open as he gasped for air. Hermione opened her own mouth, ready to beg for help, but Poppy had already lifted her wand. She touched it to the wound at his neck, murmuring several charms in rapid succession.

"What was that?" Hermione said, sighing in relief as Snape started to breathe more easily. "What did you do?"

"He's got two holes in his throat that aren't supposed to be there. Makes it much harder to draw in enough air, especially in his weakened condition."

"You sealed them off?"

Poppy nodded. "I don't know how long it will hold, but it should be good enough for now."

Snape's eyes were still open, but he wasn't looking at them. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression bewildered.

"Professor Snape?"

"I doubt he can hear you," Poppy said, withdrawing a vial from her pocket. "The blood loss is hitting him hard now, not helped by lingering shock and a great deal of pain. He's delirious – would probably be ranting and raving if he was capable of speech."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Hold his mouth open, will you? I need to get these potions in him."

Hesitantly, Hermione brought her hand to Snape's face, sliding a thumb between his lips.

"A little wider. Yes, that's good." Poppy leaned forward, dribbling a bit of Blood Replenisher onto his tongue. She waited for his reflexive swallow and then repeated the process, emptying the vial before she reached for a different potion.

"What's that?"

"Pain reliever. Strongest one I have. It'll put him out for a day or two, though that's probably for the best. If he's going to recover, his body will need plenty of time to rest and heal."

"What are his chances?"

"Truthfully?" Poppy sighed. "I don't know. I've never seen a wound like this, nor anyone who managed to survive after losing so much blood."

"But he's made it this far," Hermione pointed out. "Isn't that a good sign?"

"Maybe, though it won't matter if I don't have enough potion to go around. I'm hoping for a delivery from St. Mungo's, but I'm not sure when…"

"Blood Replenisher," Hermione interrupted. "Is that all he needs?"

"That's the most urgent one, yes, especially since he'll need a great deal of it. I'm a little low on pain reliever, but we should have enough to get by."

Hermione glanced at Snape, relieved to see that he was unconscious again, his face no longer contorted with pain.

"I need to go take care of something," she said. "Will he be all right here?"

Poppy shrugged. "There are plenty who won't be happy about it, but I'll not have anyone causing trouble in my ward. I'll put him down at the end where he's less likely to be disturbed."

"If anything happens…"

"You'll be the first to know."

"Thank you," Hermione said as she turned to leave. "I'll be back a little later."

She hadn't realized how tired she was, her eyes bleary as she trudged down the hall. Nonetheless, she headed straight for the dungeons, not stopping until she'd reached Professor Slughorn's office. She knocked several times, on the verge of giving up when he finally opened the door.

"Ah," he said, smoothing a hand over his striped pajamas. "One third of the famous Golden Trio! What can I do for you, my dear?"

"I need bat wings," she said, "salamander blood and toadstool caps. Do you have them?"

"I do, though I can't imagine wanting to brew at a time like this. Shouldn't you be off celebrating?"

"The last thing I want to do right now is celebrate. Please, I just need to make a couple potions."

"Right," he said. "Come with me."

At first, she was afraid that he'd stick around to supervise her. Instead, he unlocked the storeroom, telling her to help herself to whatever she needed.

"Now if you'll excuse me, dear, I really must be getting back to bed."

"Of course. Thank you, Professor Slughorn."

Hermione didn't know how long she stayed in the Potions classroom, barely able to keep her eyes open as she set half a dozen cauldrons to simmer. She produced one batch and then another, refusing to stop until every bit of the ingredients had been used.

At half past midnight, she finally made her way back to the Hospital Wing, her arms laden down with several trays of potions. She set them on the floor next to Snape's bed, taking a moment to check on his condition. He looked slightly better, his neck now bandaged with strips of clean white linen.

"Good gracious! How did you…" Poppy trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Will it be enough?"

"Yes, I'd say so. In fact, I'd be surprised if I didn't have plenty left over."

Hermione nodded, reaching up to stifle a yawn. "All right then. I'll see you tomorrow."

She didn't know how she made it up to Gryffindor tower, nor did she have the energy to speak to Harry or Ron. She didn't even have it in her to wonder what the morning would bring, what the future might hold for Snape or how he'd feel about what she'd done. All she could do was collapse on the closest couch, feeling strangely satisfied as she drifted off to sleep.