Chapter Twelve
Hermione stayed in the hospital wing for over a month. She might have left earlier except a dark cloud of depression overcame her with such a force that it effectively slowed down her recovery. Sometimes Harry would come and sit with her, talking about Ron.
"Remember that time I beat him in chess," he recollected one sunny afternoon, "that was the only time I ever beat him. He was so angry." Hermione smiled weakly at the memory.
"I think he let you win, Harry," she said softly.
"Really?" he asked incredulously.
"He always was a bad actor." She remembered the incident clearly and how she had been amused when Ron had winked at her when Harry's back was turned.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said, "That sounds like something he would do." His eyes shone with tears but he held them back.
She had no more tears to cry. Every available tear was drained from her, leaving in their wake a gaping hole in her heart. Harry, on the other hand, was handling Ron's death much better than Hermione, funneling his anger and grief into the war effort, while she withered and wilted away in the hospital wing. She sat staring out the window, frustrated that the sun would shine when she felt so dark, so empty.
"I think I would rather be alone." She turned from the window to face her friend.
"Hermione, are you sure?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice. "Ron wouldn't have wanted to see you like this, y'know."
Hermione didn't think Ron would have wanted to see her at all had he known the part she had played in his death—too busy worrying about how to convince Severus to change the color scheme of their living room instead of informing the Order about plans to kidnap him and working to prevent it. Ironic really, when she thought about how much the two men had despised each other. She had been caught in the middle and unwittingly she had made a decision between her best friend and her husband—a choice she severely regretted now.
Consequently, Severus had not returned after her whispered accusations and that suited her just fine. She blamed him equally for what had happened and she could not be held responsible for what she said or did to him if she were to see him again. Unfortunately she could not escape herself so easily.
"Please go Harry," she pleaded. He rose from his chair by her bed, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head.
"I'll come back tomorrow and check on you," he assured her. She merely nodded and turned back to the window.
A few days later Madame Pomfrey announced that she was well enough to go home. Hermione felt uncertain, her heart in turmoil. Where was home? She couldn't go back to the dungeons but at the same time she couldn't bear the thought of retuning to Grimmauld Place where she was certain to be bombarded with unwanted sympathy and worry. And returning to her parent's home in the muggle world was simply out of the question—it was too dangerous. She wanted to be left alone to wallow in her own self-pity. Wandering around the Hogwart's grounds, she contemplated her current situation, hardly noticing the biting wind or the frost that sparkled from every tree branch and blade of grass. She was sitting on her favorite bench overlooking the lake when Professor Dumbledore came upon her.
"Miss Granger, may I join you?" he asked.
"It's Mrs. Snape," she said automatically after months of correcting people. "And I would rather be alone." He sat down next to her anyway.
"I often find the times that we most ardently wish to be alone are the times when we most need someone to talk to," he told her. She didn't respond but stared out at the icy lake. Perhaps if she didn't say anything he would get the hint and leave. But he didn't. He stayed on the bench next to her—patiently waiting.
"It's my fault he's dead," she whispered finally, afraid to speak the words aloud.
"That's not true," he stated simply.
"Yes it is," she said vehemently, turning towards him. "I overheard Malfoy telling Severus that they had a plan to kidnap Ron and I was too worried about playing wife to tell anyone or to do anything to prevent it."
"How do you know that you could have prevented it? This world is too unpredictable for us to dwell too long on what ifs, Hermione. What if Severus had told us sooner about the plans to take him? What if Mundugus hadn't slipped into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink when he was supposed to be guarding Harry? What if Ron hadn't insisted on going to Diagon Alley that day, or even, what if he had never befriended Harry Potter in the first place?"
She sat pondering his words.
"Severus told you?" she asked softly a few moments later.
"Yes, two days later."
"But…I accused him of not telling you…he never said," she faltered, searching for words. She took a deep breath and then began again. "I accused him of not telling you. I blamed him for Ron's death and he never said anything. He just yelled at me, saying I was stupid to go looking for him in the first place."
"Though shouting at you probably wasn't the best idea, I'm certain he did it out of concern for your safety. He loves you, my dear girl, and he hardly realizes it. He doesn't know how to handle such feelings. And I suspect you are growing to love him as well," he said smiling and patting her hand.
"How can I love him when I have just spent the last month hating him?"
"I think perhaps you don't hate him so much as you need someone else to blame."
She considered his words carefully. Two tears she thought she didn't have made silent tracks down her face. But these weren't tears for Ron; they were tears for Severus and the tenuous relationship she had effectively destroyed with her angry words.
"I can't go back now," she said sadly.
"Yes you can, and you must. He needs you and you need him. Together you can work to make Ron Weasley's sacrifice significant. Don't let him have died in vain, Hermione."
She looked over at the headmaster. His eyes weren't twinkling like they usually did and when she thought about it she was impressed that they ever did. He must have seen so much tragedy, so much death in the first war and now in this one. How did he do it, she wondered.
"By pressing forward and remembering that those we love never truly leave us," he told her. She jumped slightly, startled to realize that he had answered her unspoken question. He was nearly omniscient at times; it was eerie but comforting as well. She knew what he said was true. She needed to start healing; she needed to fight for Ron; and she needed to reconcile with Severus.
Dumbledore stood and held out his arm. She rose to accept it, following him across the grounds and inside.
"Professor, there's something you should know," she said as they mounted the steps to the castle.
"Yes," he said, pausing.
"Severus isn't wholly loyal to the Order. He's playing both sides hoping to take advantage of his position with whoever wins in the end," she said quickly, her face flushing at the confidence she had betrayed. But it was important. Dumbledore deserved to know.
"I suspected as much. He never has believed that my forgiveness for his previous crimes is offered freely. Perhaps you will be the one to convince him, my dear." He gave her hand a small squeeze.
She nodded as they continued on. He escorted her to the dungeons, knocking at the garden painting to their rooms. Severus opened it, staring at Hermione, surprised to see her.
"I found her half-frozen outside. Take care of her Severus," Dumbledore said gravely, handing her to him. He simply nodded as she stepped into his arms.