A/N: Okay, I usually don't do this. The whole addendum to the story type deal but I felt it necessary at this point. A few things:

1. Thank so much for all the reviews and support. It is outrageously true that feedback keeps an author writing. I started this story on the back of my bank statement envelope and never thought it would go anywhere and now look! 60+ reviews and tons of support.

2. I've not received any flames but the minor complaint I've gotten is this: OCC. Snape is out of character. Here's the thing: I don't disagree. This isn't quite canon Snape. But. This is FAN FICTION. If I wanted canon, I would read canon. Fan fiction is wonderful because things that would never happen in the real story get to happen abundantly! Snape gets to love Hermione here. If there is any place to be a little OOC, it's here.

3. I wish I could respond to everyone individually but I have neither the time nor the patience to do so. I'm in college and next week is mid-terms. I do note everyone who reviews me, however, and go to their site and read a little of what they wrote and see what they have listed as favorites. I don't ignore you, I'm checking you out, I promise.

4. Sorry for the cliffhanger. That was mean.
People die in wars and Hermione – from the second she'd learned about Lord Voldemort and the always precarious struggle between light and dark magic, between good and evil – knew she would be willing to do anything to protect the world that had given her hope; the world that she loved so much. She would die to save magic and to save muggle borns like herself. She had the right to magic by her birth and why should anyone be able to take that away?

Still, when the moment came, she was unprepared. The second she felt that tearing pain through her spine she felt like a failure. She was willing to die, yes, but would much rather have won without death. She was willing to die but preferred to live happily ever after, Severus at her side. Yet, if Severus were already dead then what was there to live for? If Voldemort won, would life still be worth living?

She could feel herself clawing toward consciousness. It was like walking from a tunnel of darkness toward the light. Was this heaven? If so, then that whole diatribe about eternal life without pain was rubbish because she felt like hell. The closer she got to the light, the more pain there was and she so backtracked into the warmth, the darkness, once more.

She heard her name, and paused. The voice again. More urgently this time. God sounded a bit like Madame Pomfrey.

It was then Hermione knew that she wasn't dead. She had a choice to make then. Stay in the darkness and assume the worst (no Harry, no Severus, no Hogwarts) or go towards the light no matter the pain and face whatever consequences awaited her. She was still deliberating when the choice was made for her and her body was flung without mercy in to consciousness.

She coughed; the bitter taste of a pepper-up potion still in the back of her throat. Her eyes felt like they had sand in them when she forced them open. She closed them again quickly against the bright light and tried again more slowly. Everything was too blurry. She could barely make out movement around her and everything had that distant echoing of head trauma. She tried to sit up but nixed that idea as a wave of pain and then nausea rolled over her. She felt a hand push her shoulder down, her head against the pillow.

"She's out of the worst of it now." she heard a disembodied voice say and then everything went dark once more.

This happened a few times. A few fleeting moments of the real world but then the pain overtook her and she sunk back down. She had no concept of time or where she was or who was there with her. She had nightmares – swirling imagines of color and sound that didn't mean anything to her but frightened her all the same. When she was more conscious than not, she dreamt of Italy. Of the still blue skies and green leaves on the grape vines. Though summer was ending now, wasn't it? Surely the vines would start to turn all sorts of reds and golds (Gryffindor!) and the grapes would need to be harvested. She was waking up again.

It hurt less this time and she opened her eyes to see snow falling outside. In front of her bed were the large, arched windows of the infirmary at Hogwarts. The window ledge was gathering snow and the window panes were covered with spider webs of frost. It didn't snow in July, did it? Wasn't it July when this had all happened? She'd been looking forward to Harry's birthday, to seeing… Severus. She tried to speak but it came out a moan and a cough. It was night and there were a few soft candles lit but everything was mostly dark and she was alone.

What had she expected? Him to be holding vigil at her bedside? That was never his style anyway and he was most likely dead so she'd just have to get used to being alone again. She felt bitter and alone and without hope. Her head hurt in that omnipresent way she'd gotten used to. She felt like someone had wrung her out. She couldn't really move and felt the embarrassing presence of a bed pan beneath her. Her skin felt dry and sore and she didn't even want to know about her hair.

She tried again to sit up and it was a little easier with full concentration. She propped her elbows underneath her and looked around. She could see other beds with the curtains partially drawn like hers. So she probably wasn't alone, completely. There were other patients. She saw a small boy asleep with a bandaged arm and a few get well cards on the table beside him. If it was snowing, then school had probably begun. So much for her teaching job. Then again, if there was a student, then perhaps not all had been lost. Did she dare to hope for Voldemort's defeat? She needed answers now, there was so much left unsaid. The war, her friends, her lover. She pushed back the bedclothes and gritted her teeth against the pain. She would just go slowly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to upset the bedpan (it looked empty and was probably charmed to empty as soon as it was filled) and put her bare feet on the icy floor. As soon as she did that, the doors opened and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in all upset.

"What do you think you're doing?" she whispered shrilly, as to not wake any other patients.

"I…" she said, but her voice was dry and refused to come out.

"While I'm glad to see you up, you are in no position to go anywhere, Miss Granger." she admonished, pushing her back into the narrow cot. Hermione bit back a frustrated sigh. She hated not knowing what was happening. "It's the middle of the night. I'll give you a sleeping draught and we'll talk in the morning." She was saying now, moving away from Hermione and toward the row of shelves that held her various potions.

"No!" Hermione rasped. "Now." Madame Pomfrey paused and considered the girl.

"It's 3:00am, Miss Granger." she said, but Hermione didn't care.

"Water." she ordered and the mediwitch nodded and conjured a glass of water with a wave her wand and handed it to Hermione who sipped at it tentatively. It was soothing to her cotton mouth and she drank the whole glass slowly while Pomfrey fretted and waited. "Severus?" she asked, finally, unable to hold her curiosity at bay, even if it meant receiving the worst news of her life.

"I'll get Headmaster Dumbledore." she said, noncommittally and fled the infirmary. Tears sprang to her eyes immediately for the mediwitch's actions were more than enough proof of her worst fears.

Dumbledore appeared in the fireplace rather promptly, with a warm smile. She was relieved to see him more or less the same as the last time she'd laid eyes on him. Maybe a few more wrinkles and a little less hair but that was expected of someone a century and a half old, wasn't it?

"Hermione, how relieved I am to see you." he said, sitting in the straight back wooden chair that was next to her bed. "You have some questions?"

"Is he dead?" she asked. "Is Severus dead?" He looked at her with a sort of softness in her eyes that made her tears start anew.

"No." he said, surprising her into a fit of particularly bad hiccups that were so heavy she thought she could hear her ribs rattling. Madame Pomfrey rushed to get her a purple potion to take – nasty tasting thing for Severus never worried about taste when he brewed her potions – and the hiccups were gone. "He was hurt very badly, you both were." he said. "Do you remember what happened?" She thought about her dreams, about the images and colors that had been haunting her.

"I remember… I came back early and then Dobby said something about… he has risen at Hogwarts." she said, closing her eyes. Remembering hard. "I could hear the fighting and… no one knew I was there and then I saw the death eaters and the bodies and something hit me in the back, it felt like… like shrapnel." she said, opening her eyes. "What spell hit me?"

"Actually if felt like that because it wasn't a spell. Draco Malfoy hit you in the back with Hagrid's ax for splitting wood." he said. She gasped, horrified. She always knew he was a backstabber, though she didn't appreciate the pun. "You're lucky to be alive."

"What happened?" she asked. "What of Voldemort?"

"Ahh, no longer a threat." Dumbledore said. "Harry fought valiantly." But he didn't look happy.

"Oh no." she murmured. "Harry…" The headmaster did nothing to correct her assumption. Harry had saved them all with his own life. It was all too much; she felt dizzy and had to lay back. "I want to see Severus." she said, shakily.

"I want you to be well-prepared for what you see, Hermione." he said. "Severus is not himself and has not been since the battle. He was held in the Crucio curse for a long time, longer then many people could stand. He's lost a lot of mobility and dexterity. It's hard for him to make potions now. He is very depressed and very bitter." Dumbledore explained. Severus was a bitter man anyhow. This was not good news. "When he saw how badly you were hurt – we didn't think you'd make it – he spiraled even deeper into his guilt."

"I want to see him." she repeated, duly warned and determined.

"In the morning." he promised. "Take Poppy's potion and I'll come by first thing in the morning." She didn't want to wait – he needed her, couldn't they see that? But it was no use arguing and she was tired again and so she nodded, once – curtly – and soon she was asleep but it was not restful.

Pomfrey woke her up early, only a few hours later.

"I thought you might want a proper bath." she said. Hermione did and so she leaned heavily onto the stout strength of Poppy Pomfrey into the bathroom where there were a few secluded tubs for the long term infirmary resident such as herself. Pomfrey started the tap and the tub filled with nothing but clean, clear hot water. "I've seen it all, dear, no need to be modest with me." she said when Hermione hesitated in taking off the simple cotton nightgown she wore which she was sure was in dire need of a cleaning as well. She nodded and pulled the garment off and turned and screamed a little. She'd caught sight of her self in the mirror and thought it was a stranger. For one, all her hair had been cut off, cropped close to her head. Her hand reached up to touch the curls so close to her scalp now. It was one way of controlling the mass of hair, she supposed.

"It's so short." she said.

"Yes, easier to deal with on a long term basis." Pomfrey said unapologetically. She was practical, of course, like Hermione herself. She was standing unabashedly naked, watching herself in the mirror. She'd lost so much weight that she looked like a strong wind might just take her away. She'd never been able to see her ribs with such clarity; her hip bones had never been so angular before. Her skin was sallow. Her skin was dry and scaly. She turned slowly to look at her back where the ax had been. There was a long, angry scar now marring her once flawless back. It was bright red and almost six inches long. "That will fade and there are things to help it along." the mediwitch said. "Don't worry dear; the human body is quite resilient. Into the bath now." she said but her voice lost the bossy edge and she was a bit more gentle with the girl then she might have been. Hermione simply sat in the bath, a little in shock, while Pomfrey washed her skin and her short, boyish hair and dried her off with a charm and dressed her in a new, similar nightgown and a thick, quilted robe to preserve her modesty for when she left the safe walls of the infirmary.

Hermione was tired and limping a bit on her left side. She didn't mention it, though, and when they went back into the main room, Dumbledore was waiting. She felt like she could face anything. She was going to see Severus! He was alive! A little worse for the wear, perhaps, but then so was she. She smiled bravely at Dumbledore who took her arm and helped out the door and towards the dungeons.

"Remember my warnings." he said.

"Did you tell him I was awake? Does he know that I'm coming?" she asked, a little hurt he'd not come to see her. If it were the other way around, she would have rushed to his bedside the moment she heard he was awake but she tried very hard not to place blame. Severus was different, reserved, austere and it was part of what attracted him to her. They would get through this. They had to. They'd gone so far already.

"I told him. He… didn't want you to see him hurt." Dumbledore said. "I told him not to be selfish."

"He didn't want to see me?" she asked.

"He did want to see you. He's a proud man, though." he consoled her. Hermione decided to just let the situation speak for itself. She was out of breath when they finally arrived at the dungeons, standing in front of his door. "I'll leave you here." he said.

"You aren't coming in?" she asked, suddenly afraid.

"I think it would be best for you to go in alone. Just floo me when you're ready to go back to the infirmary." he said. "Poppy will start to fret if you're gone too long." He leaned in and kissed her cheek and he smelled of peppermint and sugar. She never knew either of her grandfathers but she felt that if she did have one he would have been something like Dumbledore.

"What if…?" she said, holding him back. "What if it is too different?"

"Hermione, you were sick for nearly five months. It's going to be different. It won't be easy but then, you've always been able to do anything you've set your mind to, so I'm not worried. Go on, go in." he said and she watched him recede down the dark hallway before she knocked on the door. She heard his voice – gruff –bidding her to enter. She pushed the door open, clutching her robe tightly. She wished that she looked beautiful but she knew half-way decent was just beyond her grasp at the moment.

He was there, sitting in his favorite winged back chair facing the fire, with a blanket over his lap. She had a sudden flash of images: him in the moonlight, him in muggle London, him in Italy, making love to her in a pool… Now he wasn't even rising to meet her. She wanted to appear just as uninterested – just as cool as he was being now but she found herself tripping over herself to get to him, to stand in his line of vision at least.

"Severus…" she said, but didn't touch him, didn't throw herself into his arms like she had planned. He looked gaunt and unnatural. He wasn't dead but he could have passed as a corpse with little effort. The tan she remembered him having was gone now and his skin was pale and yellow like he'd not seen the sun in a long time. His hair had been hacked back to chin length and was greasy once more though not from brewing, she supposed, but neglect. His eyes had dark circles beneath them – lack of sleep – and she could see a walking stick leaning next to him on the chair. He back was hunched and there was a glass of strong alcohol in his hand. He met her gaze briefly and then turned his head away so his hair hung down, obscuring his face.

"I didn't want you to see me like this." he said, softly. She felt righteous, indignant anger welling up inside.

"Are you even happy to see me? I thought you were dead!" she said, not in the mood to pity him when she was just as bad.

"Perhaps that would have been better." he said. She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I can't… I can't brew. I'm a potion masters who can't make potions." he tried to explain.

"Yes, and I got an ax in the back, Severus. We've all had a bad go of it." she snarled. "It was good to see you, too." She felt utterly betrayed by him. He'd not even touched her, told her he was happy to see her. He didn't even tell her 'hello'. She turned and left the room. He didn't call after her. She didn't go back to the infirmary but headed straight to the staff quarters. She assumed her rooms were still there even though someone else was obviously teaching transfiguration by now. She would find out. She passed a group of students – first years by the looks of them – who jumped back at the crazy, short haired woman limping by them in a bathrobe and they startled her. School, right. She'd have to remember. The portrait of the dancing couple was still there and still opened for her and inside were all her things. Her bags from her visit home were still unpacked and there were letters and get well cards on the coffee table. She brushed by them, and threw herself on the bed even though the force jarred her so badly that all the pain that had been fading came back anew. She felt the tears come and she let them. She sobbed for the better part of an hour. She cried for herself – for the pain. She cried for the end of an era, the end of a war she was still desperate to know the details of. She cried for the way Severus had treated her, how what they had so precious and new was lost. She cried for Harry who hadn't made it through the war after all. He was the boy who lived to die for them all. Finally, feeling drained, she fell asleep curled into a ball feeling ugly and unwanted.

It was hours later when she woke – the light was different. She didn't know what woke her at first but then she heard the foreign noise. Thunk – clunk – stomp. Thunk – clunk – stomp. Someone (or thing) was in her rooms, coming towards the bedrooms. She sat up hoping fleetingly that whatever it was was coming to kill her. Then she felt mad at her self and became determined not to think like that, not to stew in self-pity like Snape.

He was there. Standing, heavily on his walking stick in her doorframe. The clunking she'd heard was him depending on a stick of black wood for mobility. He looked tired and his face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She rose swiftly to help him ignoring her own weakness. He held up his hand to stop her.

"I owe you an apology." he said, breathing heavily. "I came to tell you that I'm sorry which is something that is rarely heard coming from me." She stared at him, unsure if she was willing to accept his apology. "I missed you so desperately. You weren't waking up. The first few months you were in St. Mungo's. You had spinal injuries. At first, they thought you'd never walk again. Finally, they moved you here. They'd done everything they could and everything else was up to you. All you had to do was wake up and the longer you stayed in your coma, the more unlikely your waking up was. Then, a few weeks ago, Poppy said you were showing signs of life but I'd already… I'd given up already. I couldn't take anymore false hope. Now, here you are alive and I keep thinking – one false move and you'll be snatched away and I think if that should happen I really would die." She was surprised at the length and honesty of this confession.

"I didn't want to wake up." she admitted. "I thought you'd already died. I thought I might have killed you myself."

"Why ever would you think that?" he asked.

"I was taking out death eaters. I didn't see you so I assumed you must have been in your robes and…" she shrugged. "I still have no idea what happened, really."

"I'd like to show you something." he said, motioning her closer. She approached tentatively and he rolled up his left sleeve to the forearm. Where the dark mark had once been now was just an ugly, circular scar. The skin was ruined forever and was unattractive, yes, but there was no more mark and that in itself was beautiful. "When Harry sacrificed himself it burned off completely. I was unconscious, luckily. I wasn't in death eater robes. You didn't kill me." he said. "I'd already fallen when you arrived." She touched the scar lightly, the first contact they had in months. He took her hand and pulled her against him, crushing her body to his. She breathed deeply, letting him hold her.