A/N: Updates might be a bit slower than with my other stories, real life has been ridiculous, and I'm revising the chapters I've written, and I still haven't finished writing this story. :( I'm aiming to update once every few days hopefully, if real life doesn't get any crazier. Also, I would like to thank Shimmer of an Angel for a prompt reply to my e-mail. Your suggestion greatly helped. :) Part of it I'm going to save for a future story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

At Death's Door

Hermione's mind clouded in confusion. She felt like she was drifting in a black cloud, her soul suspended above her body. Her sense of up and down escaped her. She tried to concentrate on something, anything, so she'd no longer be lost in the darkness. That's when she heard them. Voices. They sounded so far away. Solemn, grieved, pitying voices. A tone of finality ringing in them. (Is this really the end? All I remember is a flash of green light) she wondered absently, hardly caring. She felt rather peaceful.

The voices became clearer. Hermione felt conscious that she was lying in a bed. (I'm alive! I need to get up, tell them that I'm fine. I need to open my eyes. Why aren't my eyes opening? WHY AREN'T MY EYES OPENING!) She was aware of her body, but it wasn't responding. (I must relax. There must be some logical reason for this) She strained her ears, listening to the voices carefully for the first time.

"- such a shame. She was Harry Potter's friend, you know." It was a woman speaking, on the old side, by the sound of it.

(Why are they talking about me in the past tense?) Hermione wondered, alarmed.

"Really?" a younger sounding woman said. "That's terrible that he's had to suffer another loss. Yet another person's life destroyed by Voldemort."

(I'M NOT DEAD!) Hermione tried to shout, but her body didn't respond. She started feeling claustrophobic, trapped in her own body. (I'M NOT DEAD! SOMEBODY HELP ME!)

"She's not dead yet," the older woman whispered. "She's a case just like young Rupert's. Quite tragic, really. It's only a matter of time."

"Oh," the young woman said. "That's horrible."

Hermione heard the sound of the door closing. She tried desperately to move, panicking as she felt no response. Her mind screamed in terror. She couldn't speak, she couldn't move, she didn't know where her wand was...and she couldn't even blink. Here she was, Hermione Granger, the girl who knew every spell in the book, but she now couldn't even master opening her eyes. (And now I'm going to die. Who knows how long that will take.) Her heart, in this condition weak at best, beat with all its strength in fear. The effort exhausted her. (Where's Harry and Ron? Where's my parents? Am I going to be alone for my last hours, or however long this will be?) A fury consumed her. After all she'd done, did no one care? When she needed them most, when she felt so frustrated and helpless, everyone was gone. (Somebody...anybody...help me) she wailed. As she drifted off to sleep, exhausted, she noted how hungry and thirsty she felt. Were they starving her to death?

Hermione drifted in an out of consciousness. For how long, she didn't know. Time stretched into eternity, and she was surrounded by agonizing silence. A deep depression settled on her. She wished somebody would come back, anybody, even those nurses who insisted that she would die. Progressively she grew hungrier and thirstier, to the point of pain. Did they know that she was conscious? (They might not. I'm stuck here) Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek. (At least something responds to me) she thought dejectedly.

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin stumbled into St. Mungo's, a sight indeed. Full moon had occurred the night before, and he was in for a checkup. It was routine, he already knew what to do about his cuts and bruises, but Dumbledore had insisted on it after every full moon. He hated coming here. They were none too friendly towards him, since he was a werewolf. He stood still, unnoticed, for a minute. He was about to approach the counter when he heard a nurse say a name he recognized.

"You haven't heard about Hermione Granger?" she said, sounding surprised as she addressed a fellow nurse. "She got knocked into a state like the late Rupert's."

"That's so unfortunate," sighed the other nurse. "I hope the criminal was caught."

"He was. It was Michael Judge, you know. Horrible man."

His brow furrowed and heart sinking, Remus approached the two ladies. "Hello, I'm Remus. I thought I heard you talking about Hermione. She's good friend of mine. Where are you keeping her?"

"Upstairs, room 13. No good visiting her, though," the nurse responded sadly.

"Why not?" asked Remus.

"Have you ever heard of Rupert Eastwood?" At Remus's nod, she continued. "Well, Hermione's suffered the same fate."

"She's dead?" Remus whispered.

"Well, no. But since there is no known way to reverse an Avada Kevadra, we must let her die. She'll never be revived."

"Hermione," breathed Remus, shocked. "Not Hermione."

"I'm so sorry, sir, I can tell she meant something to you. Best be off, we have work to do."

They left Remus staring blankly at the wall. (We must let her die. She'll never be revived. We must let her die. We must let her die) repeated over and over in his head, haunting him. Painfully he recalled a memory from his days just before he'd gone to Hogwarts. He'd broken free of the pen he was kept in on full moon nights, with devastating results. The next morning, he laid beside a roadside, nearly dead. Two wizard boys who used to be his friends before he got bitten debated whether to check him out or not. They decided to leave him for dead. Fortunately, some muggles came along and took him to the hospital. He had a time of explaining what had happened to him. He ended up telling them that he'd run away from home and got beaten up by a wolf, which hadn't been too far from the truth.

And now Hermione was in the same situation he was in all those years ago. (No one knows how to reverse an Avada Kevadra curse) he reminded himself. (But wait...Harry did. It's not impossible. Harry Potter, as a mere babe, did the impossible. He survived a Killing Curse with only a scar to tell the tale. He lives, with only that one blemish. It's not impossible. There's hope for Hermione. Why don't they see that?)

Completely forgetting about his own checkup, Remus strode up the stairs to room 13. He was a man on a mission. Hermione was going to live, she just had to. He wouldn't lose someone else to Voldemort. Especially not her. She was like Lily in many ways, so supportive of his condition. So few were, he'd always been quite touched by her concern and sensitivity towards it. It brightened his days when she was around. Few other things did. He just couldn't afford to lose her, ever. She was such a great friend.

Remus entered room 13, leaving the door slightly ajar. He gaped at Hermione's limp, mute form. She looked so peaceful there, a sheet covering her up to her chest. Merely asleep she seemed to be. He stepped up to her, shaking her a little. He knew it was in vain, but he so desperately hoped that the nurses were joking, that they only were talking rumors, that it wasn't true. Hermione didn't respond.

Being a werewolf, he could detect that she was indeed alive, just barely. It was one of the perks of being a werewolf, he was extra sensitive to noises, sights, smells, touch, and the "sixth sense." He thought he detected the slightest flicker of something – of movement, wakefulness, he wasn't sure what. Or maybe it was just his overly wishful imagination.

"Hermione," he whispered. He detected something again. "I'm here, I won't let you die." He thought he saw the trail of a previous tear down the side of her face. Had she been crying? Was she aware of what was going on around her?

Hermione could feel someone shaking her. She used every ounce of her will to respond, to let them know she was alive, she could hear and feel them. She heard someone say her name. (It's Lupin!) she realized, her spirits lifting for the first time since she'd seen the flash of green light. As she listened to his promise, she wondered if she was hallucinating, if this was just a dream, a result of strong wishful thinking.

She heard him speak again. "I'm going to talk to your so called doctors, to talk them out of this. No one who calls himself a doctor should let his patient die. I can't believe they're doing this, to you, you of all people, after all you've done." His voice was a pained whisper. She detected a staunch determination in his tone, and she had a feeling that she was lucky not to be her doctor today. (But no, even being in my doc's shoes would be better than this helpless state) she thought glumly. She felt him brush her hair off her face, and she got the feeling that he was looking at her closely. Hermione tried to make a movement, any movement, using all the determination she possessed. Her world lurched sickenly as her eyes gave a slight flicker.

"Hermione, can you hear me?" asked Remus hopefully. He was sure her eyelids had moved. To his disappointment, he couldn't see any more response from her, even though he waited several minutes. Giving up, he stood and was about to leave the room, when the door was pushed open all the way.

"Hello," said Dr. Clint. "I'm Dr. Clint." The doctor reached out to shake Remus's hand.

"I'm Remus Lupin," Remus responded, accepting the handshake. "Nice to meet you. Are you Hermione's doctor?"

"Yes, and what was your relation to her?"

"I'm a good friend of her and Harry Potter. Used to be their teacher, and now I'm in the Order of Phoenix."

"I see. What is your business here?" asked Dr. Clint. "She is, unfortunately, going to suffer the same fate as Rupert, a hopeless case."

"Hermione is not a hopeless case," said Remus angrily.

Hermione could hear every word. She knew all about Rupert, she'd read about him in a book somewhere in DADA class. Silently she cheered Remus on, begging him not to give up. At the same time, she had her own misgivings. What if there really was no hope? What if it was indeed impossible for her to even open her eyes?

"Does the name Harry Potter mean anything to you?" Remus continued. "Does the expression, 'The Boy Who Lived,' ring any bells?"

"Of course, everyone knows the story of Harry Potter, how he was the only one ever to survive a curse that should have killed him. I understand your sentiment, Remus. Unfortunately, Harry was only a baby when that happened and has been found incapable of describing the exact means of his survival. There is nothing that can be done for Hermione. Now I would suggest that you go home. I'm sure Dumbledore will notify you of when the funeral is going to be."

"No," said Remus coolly. "No, I'm not going to let Hermione die." He put his hand in his pocket, his fingers closing around his wand.

(Remus, please don't do anything rash) pleaded Hermione silently. At the same time, though, all she wanted him to do was take her home and watch over her. She wanted to live.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to leave," said Dr. Clint firmly. "I'm very sorry, but you must come to terms with her death."

"No!" Remus whipped out his wand. "Not until you tell me you'll give her a chance."

"It's against the law to threaten a doctor," Dr. Clint informed him, starting to feel alarmed. This Remus fellow was starting to look dangerous. "Please go, this is your last chance."

Remus hesitated, glancing at Hermione's face. He didn't want to break the law. Yet, breaking the law of hope, the law of decency, the law of love seemed worse. He moved to Hermione's side. "No," he stated. Shakily he scooped her up into his arms, his wand still pointed at Dr. Clint. "If you won't give her a chance, I will."

"It's five years in Azkaban to kidnap a patient from a hospital," Dr. Clint warned, drawing his own wand.

Nothing could persuade Remus against what he had decided to do, now. His wolfish territorial instincts were kicking in. Glaring at Dr. Clint, he grabbed a towel to use as a portkey.

"STUPEFY!" shouted the doctor.

"PROTEGO!" yelled Lupin. The doctor didn't duck in time, and received his own stunning spell. "Portus," muttered Lupin, pointing his wand at the towel. He grabbed Hermione's wand, which lay on a table. Within seconds, he stood in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, cradling Hermione in his arms and fighting misgivings in his heart. This was right, he just knew it. It had to be right.

Replies to Reviewers:

A big, big, thank you to Rane2920072, gordo-girl, moonyNZ, and BlackPaintedWhite for reviewing! I always appreciate it when people drop a note to tell me what they think:)

CharmedLeoLvr: Thanks so much! Yes, I did come up with the idea because of that case. I probably would never have thought of something like this if it didn't happen. I heard Kate Adamson on the radio talking about her experience, and she what she said gave me some good ideas for a plotline.

Preview of next chapter: Ron, deeply disturbed, asked, "Harry, are you ok?"

Harry, however, either chose to ignore him or wasn't aware of his presence at all. He continued to laugh in a rather hauntingly evil manner. Ron wondered if he should go for help; he'd never seen Harry act so crazy since fifth year.