Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 26
"The Dark Mark," she whispered in disbelief. "It's gone."
"What!" Harry exclaimed.
Dumbledore didn't make a sound, but strode quickly across the room and took the Potions master's arm from her grasp, running his own gnarled hand along the smooth, bare skin of Snape's inner forearm.
"My dear boy," Dumbledore said softly. "You're finally free of him. You're finally free."
Hermione watched as the old wizard's eyes grew brighter and brighter, one lone tear spilling over to run down his cheek and disappear into the white beard. Hermione knew Snape and Dumbledore had had their differences in the past, their most recent disagreement over the Muggle school attack being only one of many. For all Snape's complaining about Dumbledore's meddling, though, she knew he thought highly of the old man, and the Headmaster of him. Hermione had seen the reluctance with which Dumbledore sent Snape back to the Voldemort each time.
They both knew the risks of answering a summons, but the consequences of ignoring one while so marked by Voldemort were even greater. Now, though, Snape was free.
"How is that possible?" Hermione asked softly. Harry, who had moved to stand beside the Headmaster, shook his head in disbelief.
"It's not possible," he said. "The Mark isn't supposed to come off. Remember what Sirius said, it's a lifetime of service, or death."
The Headmaster, still holding Snape's arm, continued to trace his hand up and down it, as though reassuring himself the Mark was really gone. After some minutes of silence, he finally let it drop, the limp appendage falling back into Hermione's lap.
"I think I understand why such a difficult time was had removing the dagger," Dumbledore said slowly.
Hermione and Harry both looked at one another, confused, then at the Headmaster for an explanation. The old wizard lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"Dark magic," he said, "is often described as being a living thing in and of itself. I don't agree with this description; I prefer describing it as being cognizant, or aware, if you like, but not alive. This theory of awareness comes from some Dark magic having the ability to seek out and recognise other magic, or other Dark magic, to be specific."
"Like knows like," Hermione murmured, and Dumbledore nodded.
"Exactly, Miss Granger. The Consanguinus Blade is an implement of very strong Dark magic and, upon entering Severus' body, I believe it recognised the other Dark magic already residing within him – the Dark Mark. The magic of the dagger appears to have sought it out, so to speak. Does that make sense to you?"
Hermione nodded uncomfortably; magic with a will of its own was a disturbing thought.
Looking thoughtful, Harry said, "So that's why one of those black... things... was trying to crawl up my arm – to reach my scar. That's got Dark magic in it, too, doesn't it?"
"A sound deduction, Harry," the Headmaster confirmed. "However, the dagger was in Severus for quite some time. I believe the delay in removing it gave the magic time to bind itself to his Mark. Consequently, when the dagger was finally removed, it tore the other Dark magic from his body, too."
"That's good, though, isn't it?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "I mean, as you said, he's free from Voldemort... but you still didn't look happy when you left the room before."
"I am overjoyed," the Headmaster said, "that we were able to successfully remove the blade. I was unhappy earlier with something the spell I cast revealed; something strange, although I think I may now understand it."
Hermione looked at Dumbledore curiously, and he continued. "The spell showed Severus' magic to be very weakened, and I now believe it may be a side effect of the removal of the Dark Mark. The Mark has been a part of Severus for so long that it has bound itself very deeply to his own magic, in much the same way as the magic of the dagger bound itself to the Mark. The removal of the Dark Mark, while good in itself, has had a negative effect on his magic, and his body must now recover from that."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Hermione asked, looking down at the Potions master. The cloth was still draped across his forehead, but the rest of his face was drenched with sweat again. Forgetting herself, she picked up the second cloth – the one she'd been about to clean the blood from his hands with – and wiped the perspiration from his cheeks. When she withdrew her hand, Harry was watching her again, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"What about phoenix tears?" Harry said suddenly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I had Fawkes try that on the wound when Severus was first returned to us, to no avail, and there must be an open wound for the tears to be absorbed, which Severus no longer has."
"I think what he needs most of all is rest," the Headmaster continued. "Although, a Strengthening potion would not go amiss. I will have Minerva retrieve some from the Hospital Wing for him."
"Does Professor McGonagall know what has happened?" Hermione asked.
Dumbledore nodded, gathering his voluminous robes about him as he rose from the chair. "Professors McGonagall and Lupin are aware of the situation. I will be informing them of this new development as soon as they are free of their classes. Can I rely on you to remain with Severus until dinner?"
Hermione nodded. She had no intention of leaving her teacher-turned-friend's side before absolutely necessary. She knew she would probably have to return to classes tomorrow, though, to avoid arousing suspicion of her absence more than to keep up with her NEWT studies.
Harry and the Headmaster left shortly after that, and Hermione moved from the bed to the chair. She didn't know how much Professor McGonagall knew about her work with Snape... or other things, for that matter. She didn't fancy having to explain the familiarity of sitting on his bed to her Head of House, and she couldn't imagine the strict Transfiguration teacher being very understanding.
She just watched Snape for some time, renewing the dampening charm on the cloth on his forehead every so often. The shadow of day-old stubble was darkening his jaw, and Hermione resisted the urge to charm it away.
She had no inclination to study, even if she had brought her schoolbooks with her, but she needed something to distract her. She stole quickly into the sitting room and retrieved Canterbury Tales from Snape's extensive book collection; she'd started reading it a few weeks prior, whilst waiting for him to return from Voldemort's side one night.
Despite her worry for Snape, being near him was of some comfort, and she found herself again lost in the strange stories, stopping only to stretch her stiff muscles occasionally, and renew the charm on the cloth again.
The Potions master still showed no signs of waking when, hours later, the sound of the Floo in the sitting room caught Hermione's attention and, a moment later, the Headmaster entered the bedroom, followed by McGonagall, who was carrying a flask of milky blue liquid – standard Strengthening potion.
Dumbledore greeted Hermione quietly, and then turned to the bed, casting the same diagnostic charm as he had earlier in the day. Again, he frowned.
"What is it, Albus?" enquired McGonagall, setting the flask on the drawers on the other side of the bed from where Hermione was still seated.
"I don't quite understand it," Dumbledore said slowly. "His body seems to have weakened further."
"What?" Hermione said, jumping up from the chair and leaning over to observe Snape more closely; he didn't look any worse... but, to be fair, he didn't look any better, either. "How is that possible?"
McGonagall, too, leant over the bed, casting a different charm, which produced another set of runes to hover over the Potions master's chest.
The Transfiguration teacher looked long and hard at the runes, until Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me, Minerva. It has been a long time since I have used that spell. Perhaps you might enlighten Miss Granger and myself as to what that means." He gestured to the fading runes.
"Hmmm," said McGonagall, frowning. "I'm not a Healer, mind you, but it appears Severus' magic has been damaged, as you surmised, and, in its efforts to repair itself, it is draining his physical strength quite severely."
"He needs the Strengthening potion, then," Hermione declared, "to allow his body to recover his magic without draining his physical strength any further."
McGonagall nodded in agreement, but the Headmaster frowned, considering the prone man again.
At length, instead of explaining his reluctance, he merely said, "Anything is worth a try."
Hermione didn't like his tone of voice.
The following morning at breakfast, Dumbledore announced, due to unforeseen circumstances, Professor Snape would no longer be teaching Potions. The announcement was met with a mixture of relief, surprise and curiosity from the student body.
Hermione, instructed by the Headmaster to appear upset, didn't find it much of stretch as she saw Crabbe, Goyle and a couple of other students around them glance in her direction. Snape might not be dead, as the Headmaster would want the children of Death Eaters to believe, but he was far from being out of the woods. She'd been down to the Potions master's rooms briefly before breakfast, hoping to find him awake, but to no avail. He was still pale and unmoving, as he had been the previous night. The Strengthening potion, its empty flask sitting on the drawers at his bedside, didn't seem to have had any effect... yet.
"Look at Malfoy," Harry hissed, nudging her in the ribs.
Hermione's gaze travelled to the other end of the Slytherin table, where the Head Boy was sitting with the two fifth-year prefects. Though the Headmaster had ceased speaking and sat down to resume his breakfast, Malfoy was staring at the old man with an open expression of disbelief. Then, as if sensing he was being watched, he turned and locked eyes with Hermione.
Confused, she held his gaze long enough for him to register her red-rimmed eyes, and then turned to Harry.
"Strange," she murmured. "It looks like he didn't know."
Any speculation was halted, though, by the arrival of the morning post, and Hermione watched as a large, tawny owl swooped down to deposit a letter in Malfoy's lap.
"That's his father's owl," said Ron, sitting on Hermione's other side. "It's the same one that always brings him extra food from home."
The trio continued their breakfast, surreptitiously watching as Malfoy opened the envelope and withdrew a length of parchment. Even from across the hall, Hermione saw him visibly pale as his eyes flew across the missive. She saw him read it a second time and then shove it back into its envelope, tucking it quickly in a pocket of his robes.
His mouth was set in a thin line as he glanced down the table towards Crabbe, Goyle and the children of other known Death Eaters. Some of the group appeared to have received letters of their own, and were discussing them furtively amongst each other.
As Hermione turned here gaze back to Malfoy, she found him watching her again, and, just for the barest instant, she thought she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.
The Slytherin stood abruptly, leaving his half-eaten bowl of porridge behind as he exited the Great Hall.
"Curious," Harry murmured under his breath.
Hermione furrowed her brow and looked up at the Head Table. McGonagall and the Headmaster were both watching her, the silent exchange with Malfoy not lost on either of them.
It was obvious the letter Malfoy had received was from his father, and Hermione was willing to bet it was a first-hand account of whatever had occurred the previous night, when Snape was summoned. But what about the situation had Malfoy looking so uneasy? Was it the shock of his Head of House turning out to be a traitor to the cause his family followed? Or was Malfoy truly undecided about where to place his loyalties – as Snape had suggested, and realised only too late that the Potions master would have helped him, not turned him over to the Dark Lord as a weakling.
If that were the case, would Malfoy go to Dumbledore now? If he did, how could the Headmaster be sure of his true motives?
He couldn't, Hermione thought. Not for sure. Intriguing as the Slytherin's actions were becoming, there was no way of knowing it wasn't part of a plan by his father, or even Voldemort, to infiltrate the Order with another spy.
If Draco Malfoy wanted out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into, he would have to make the first move.
Three days later, it was clear the Strengthening potions were not helping Snape, and Hermione was at her wits end.
She had been spending every waking hour outside of class with the Potions master, or in the library, looking for even the smallest mention of what might be ailing him.
Between herself, the Headmaster, and Professors McGonagall and Lupin, they had worked out a rough roster of watching over Snape, so that he was never left alone.
After lunch on Sunday, following an exhausting yet fruitless morning in the library, Hermione Flooed to Snape's quarters from the Headmaster's office. She'd all but given up on finding him awake when she entered his bedroom, and today was no exception. Lupin greeted her quietly, gathering up the pile of books he was working his way through, trying to find something that might help the Potions master.
The Defence teacher had been looking increasingly worried as each day went by with no improvement in Snape's condition. Hermione didn't doubt his concern for the man's wellbeing was genuine, but as she sat in Snape's bedroom the previous night, the heavy drapes open to gaze out over the frosty Hogwarts grounds, she realised another reason why Lupin was so worried.
The dark of the moon had just passed and the moon was waxing, each night drawing it closer to the full moon that triggered the Defence teacher's transformation... and the only person who could brew the potion to sedate him during that time was Snape.
She made a mental note to mention it to the Headmaster, who had likely been too preoccupied to notice the phase of the moon. Snape had told Hermione she would have to brew the potion if he wasn't able, and while she wasn't completely confident, she would do her best. Dumbledore wouldn't want another teacher – and Order member – out of action.
"Dumbledore will be here around nine, Hermione," Lupin said. "Would you like me to have something brought up from the kitchens for your tea?"
"No, but thank you, Professor," she said. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Did you find anything in your books?"
"No." the Defence teacher shook his head. "I'll keep looking, though."
"As will I," Hermione said softly.
Lupin left, and Hermione dropped her bag on the floor, again taking up residence in the chair by the bed and gazing at the Potions master.
Someone, presumably McGonagall, had exchanged the dark blue sheet for a plain white one, which was drawn up under Snape's arms. The stark white fabric looked foreign draped over his thin body, the sickly pallor of his skin accentuated by its brightness.
Sweat was beading across his forehead again, and shining on the rest of his face in the soft light. She'd given up on wiping it away, knowing it would return after a few minutes, anyway.
The stillness of his body was deceiving, concealing a terrible internal struggle as he fought to recover from the Dark magic that had sought to drain him of his own magic and his life.
Hermione only hoped he had the strength and willpower to overcome it. He'd been resigned to death, not daring to believe even Harry could save him. Did he realise now, in his unconscious state, that he had been freed from the magical geas that had bound him for twenty years? Was that freedom not worth fighting for?
It's all up to you, now, Severus, she thought. There was nothing she or anyone else could do for him now... nothing but wait, watch and hope.
Sighing, she opened her book bag and withdrew one of the ancient Dark magic tomes she's brought from the Restricted Section of the library. The Headmaster had instructed Madam Pince that Hermione was doing a special project for him, and should be given unlimited access to all available resources. Still, the dour librarian had pinched her lips together in a thin line of clear disapproval as she had checked out Hermione's collection. The books were full of Dark magic, both theory and practice; they were both fascinating and disturbing, but so far useless in the current predicament.
She became lost in her reading, and the next thing she knew, the Headmaster was stepping quietly through the door.
"No change, then," Dumbledore murmured softly, moving to the opposite side of the bed from Hermione. He reached out a wrinkled hand and rested the back of it lightly on the Potions master's forehead for a moment.
Hermione hated the look in the Headmaster's eyes as he watched Snape. It was the same look he'd worn when he'd brought her to the Potions master's rooms the morning Snape was returned; resignation and defeat. Hermione refused to give up, but she'd be a fool not to admit it was looking grim.
On Monday afternoon, following her last class of the day, Hermione took advantage of the last of the afternoon sunlight to walk to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to gather some fresh valerian roots for the Wolfsbane potion.
She had mentioned the approaching full moon the Headmaster the previous night, and he had agreed that she should begin preparing for the brew. Although it didn't need to be ready for another four days, and only took several hours to brew, the valerian roots had to soak in salt water for at least two days before being added to the potion.
The valerian plant grew at the base of trees, spreading out along the ground and displaying tiny lilac flowers during the spring. Hermione was glad the plant preferred some sunlight, and therefore didn't grow deep in the forest like some other potions ingredients.
Locating a thick clump of the plant, Hermione knelt, lowering her bag carefully to the ground, as it was filled with tiny phials. Each root she harvested had to be separated, and Snape had taught her that the phials were the best way to keep them intact.
Pulling a small knife from the bag, she set about her work.
She had retrieved three roots when a sound in a forest behind her caught her attention; she spun around on her haunches to see the moonfilly emerging from the shadows of the trees. She stared in disbelief at the creature; Snape had taken her deep into the Forest to find it, and Hermione knew the creature shied away from human contact whenever possible. What had driven it so close to the school this evening?
It stepped cautiously over to Hermione, watching her with its big, bright eyes, and she knelt on the ground as it came close enough to touch.
"Hello," she said softly. "What are you doing so far from your home?"
The moonfilly nuzzled her robes softly, searching out her pockets.
"I'm sorry, I haven't got anything for you," she said.
The creature took a step back and looked at her with what could only be described as a questioning gaze. It had no real voice, and Hermione didn't know enough conversational Latin to speak with it as Snape had, but the question in the bright eyes was clear.
"Severus can't come to see you," she said softly, and the creature nickered, perhaps recognising the Potions master's name. "He's sick; he might be dying. I don't know... I don't know what to do," she finished in a whisper, her throat suddenly feeling tight.
The tiny creature lowered its head and nuzzled her hand. Hermione couldn't hold back her tears, the sympathetic action of the little animal bringing forth all the despair and helplessness she had felt these past few days.
She bowed her own head, her shoulders shaking as tears poured silently down her face. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed.
She started slightly as she felt a soft nose on her cheek, and the moonfilly snuffled at her tears. She remembered reading in Snape's book that moonfillies could sense pain, and although she couldn't communicate with it, maybe the tiny creature could understand what she was feeling.
"What can I do?" she whispered, and opened her eyes to find the moonfilly watching her. As she met its gaze, the creature ducked its head to her sleeve, tugging on the hand still holding her knife.
She stared at it, and the moonfilly did it again, pulling harder.
"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," she said softly, confused.
The creature pushed its head in under her hand, almost causing her to drop the knife.
"Careful," she said, lifting her hand away. "That knife is sharp."
The moonfilly whinnied and continued to nudge her.
"Don't be silly, you'll cut-"
Hermione's eyes widened, and she stared at the creature as it snorted and stepped back suddenly, as if sensing it had finally been understood.
She remembered Snape's words from months ago, "…a promise never to ask for the other gifts a moonfilly carries."
"No," she said, looking at the tiny creature. "I can't. He promised never to take that from you."
The moonfilly nudged her again, impatiently.
"I can't," she said again, desperately. "He said he would never ask. I can't betray that... or him."
The moonfilly shook its mane, and the thought entered Hermione's mind that she wasn't asking for the creature's blood; it was being offered freely. She remembered briefly skimming the section of the moonfilly book on blood, and reading of its potency as a healing means. In truth, though, she'd paid that section little attention due to Snape's promise to the creature.
Even though it was a rare, prized healing ingredient, used both alone and in some of the most powerful healing potions known to wizard-kind, it was so rarely obtainable that the potions were hardly spoken of in modern books. If taken by force, the blood became a deadly poison.
But here it was, being offered freely.
Could it heal the Potions master where all else had failed?
She looked at the creature again, its bright eyes watching her expectantly.
"Are you sure?" she asked nervously. It tossed its head in a way Hermione could almost construe as a nod, but still she hesitated.
"Severus isn't going to like this. He'll feel as though he's betrayed your trust in him." Even as she spoke, though, Hermione thought Snape could be as angry as he liked, if it saved his life.
The moonfilly snorted and nudged the bag beside Hermione. The empty phials she'd brought to collect the valerian clinked loudly in the stillness of the evening.
The sun had set, and the moon had risen, but it was only a tiny sliver in the sky, casting very little light in the shadows of the ancient trees on the edge of the forest.
Hermione put her hand in the bag and withdrew the smallest phial, barely the size of her pinky finger. The moonfilly eyed it in seeming approval, and again nosed her other hand, which was still holding the knife.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"If you're sure…"
In response, the creature lifted its left front leg and placed the hoof in Hermione's lap, nosing a spot just above the first, bony joint.
It watched her with trusting eyes as, biting her lip in concentration, she lifted the knife and made the smallest possible incision in the creature's skin. She withdrew the knife as soon as she saw a hint of red, and squeezed the edges of the cut slightly to cause the blood to well out.
Exchanging the knife for the phial, she unstoppered it and pressed it against the wound, allowing the blood to trickle slowly into the container. It only took a minute to fill, and she removed it, stoppering it quickly.
Turning her eyes back to the moonfilly, she meant to withdraw her wand and heal the cut when she realised it had already healed itself. She blinked in surprise, and the creature whinnied, looking at the phial still clutched in Hermione's hand.
"If this works," she said softly, "I don't know how he or I will ever be able to thank you."
The moonfilly tossed its head again, nuzzled Hermione's free hand, and then gambolled quickly off into the darkness under the trees.
Ignoring the six empty phials still in her bag, Hermione jumped up, gathered the knife and bag, and hastened back to the castle, overcome by a sudden sense of urgency. This would work; she knew it would. It had to.
She met Lupin at the stone gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office, and rushed ahead of him up the spiral staircase.
"Hermione, wait! What's wrong?" he called after her.
"There's no time," she said, as she entered the round office. The room was empty, but she went straight to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and called out, "Snape's quarters!"
The Potions master's sitting room was empty, too, and Hermione grabbed his copy of the Moonfillies book from the shelf and opened the bedroom door just as Lupin emerged from the fireplace, saying, "Hermione, what is happening?"
Dumbledore and McGonagall were both by Snape's bedside, and looked up as Hermione entered the room. The Headmaster looked more drawn and tired than ever, and Hermione noticed McGonagall's eyes were slightly red. The sudden horrifying thought that she was too late hit her, and she rushed forwards to the end of the bed.
She hadn't seen the Potions master since the previous night, and now, the rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheet was almost imperceptible. His face had taken on a sickly grey pallor and that, combined with the grave looks on her teachers' faces, told her she was only just in time.
"Headmaster," she said, flipping the pages of the book quickly to find the chapter on blood. "I think I've found something to help him."
Dumbledore glanced across the bed to where McGonagall was standing, then to Lupin, who had moved to stand next to the Transfiguration teacher.
"Miss Granger, I'm afraid we have done all we can," the Headmaster said sorrowfully. "As much as it pains me to admit it, it is not enough."
"Just read it," she said, extending the open page to him, refusing to believe there wasn't still a chance. "Aloud."
The Headmaster eyed her for a moment, but then cleared his throat and read from the open page.
"The blood of the moonfilly is the most potent healing agent known to wizard-kind, even more powerful than the fabled phoenix tears. However, it is not widely used in medicinal magic because it is considered all but unobtainable by the common witch or wizard, whom moonfillies will actively avoid. Only when freely offered by the creature does the moonfilly's blood possess healing properties. The taking of blood trickery or force will deliver only a deadly poison into the taker's hands."
McGonagall and Lupin looked from Dumbledore to Hermione, mildly confused. The Headmaster closed the book carefully and regarded Hermione again.
"Miss Granger," he said seriously. "For all that I would like to hope this is a possibility, Severus made a promise to the creature in the forest never to ask for its blood or hair. He would not break that promise, even with his life at stake."
"He didn't have to ask", Hermione said, holding up the phial of viscous blood. "It was given to me."
Dumbledore stared at the phial in amazement.
"It was given freely?" he asked cautiously.
Hermione nodded. She quickly explain what had happened in the forest, finishing softly, "I couldn't refuse once I understood. It might be the only thing that can save him now."
"Indeed," murmured Dumbledore, still staring at the phial in her hand, its contents almost black in the low light of the room.
"Well, Albus," McGonagall said from across the room. "Will it work?"
"I think it might," he said slowly, and this time – for the first time in days – the old man's voice was filled with hope, not despair. "In all my years, I have never seen moonfilly blood, but its healing properties, as the book says, are legendary. We must try it, and if this does not work…
There was no need for Dumbledore to finish his sentence. Snape's ailing appearance was enough that everyone in the room knew this was the last stand to save his life. If this – the most powerful healing agent in the world – did not work, nothing would.
"Let us make haste to try it, then," said McGonagall urgently. "We haven't much time."
Hermione glanced down at the Potions master again. Even in the five minutes since she's entered the room, his skin had grown greyer still, dark circles under his eyes appearing like purple smudges on the pale skin.
"Can we magic it into his stomach?" McGonagall asked, looking to Dumbledore. Hermione and her Head of House had both been using that method to deliver the Strengthening potion to Snape, it being easier than forcing the liquid down the unconscious man's throat.
Dumbledore shook his head, appearing to think the matter over. "I believe," he said, "that this should be done with no magic, if possible. The blood is magical in itself, and I am reluctant to interfere with that, in case it decreases its potency…"
The Headmaster trailed off uncertainly, and Hermione frowned, thinking back to her Medicinal Magic classes. As well as magical first aid, Madam Pomfrey has also taught them several practices she'd picked up from a Muggle-born acquaintance in the field, and Hermione saw she might have use for one of them now.
"I think I can get him to swallow it," she said, "but I need someone to, er, raise his body a little, so it goes down more easily."
"Allow me," said McGonagall, and surprised Hermione by promptly sitting herself on the bed next to Snape, and pulling the limp Potions master up to rest against her, his head resting in the crook of her arm.
"Is this all right, Miss Granger?" she asked, and, noting Hermione's incredulous look, added, "Well, what did you expect me to do?"
"Transfigure some more pillows to prop him up?" Hermione offered, smiling a little.
"That's a little impersonal," McGonagall replied. "There is a time and place for transfiguration, and I don't believe this is it."
Hermione nodded and climbed onto the bed, too, kneeling beside Snape. Lupin and the Headmaster stood silently, watching as Hermione gently tilted Snape's head back a little more. He was hot to touch, still burning with fever. McGonagall adjusted her hold to support his head again, and Hermione unstoppered the phial of blood.
She studied the Potions master's pale face for a moment, praying to whatever deity, Muggle or wizard, who might be listening that it would work.
Parting his soft, dry lips with her fingertips, she put the phial to them and tipped it carefully, allowing the liquid to trickle slowly into his mouth. With her other hand, she gently massaged his throat, triggering his swallowing reflex to draw the liquid into his body.
She continued until the tiny phial was empty.
"What happens now?" she asked Dumbledore, as McGonagall carefully lowered Snape back onto the pillows and stood up from her position on the bed.
"Now," the old wizard said, "we wait."
After a moment of silence, in which Hermione made no attempt to remove herself from next to Snape, McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Perhaps Remus and I should put in an appearance at dinner."
The Defence teacher, who had been watching the proceedings silently, nodded in agreement, adding, "It would look suspicious if we were all absent."
"I might even go down for a spot to eat myself," the Headmaster commented. "I doubt the blood will have an immediate effect. Miss Granger, would you object to us leaving you here for an hour or so?"
"No, that's fine," Hermione said. It was her designated turn to stay with the Potions master, anyway.
"Very well," said the Headmaster, glancing down at Snape. "I do hope we will see some improvement soon."
The three teachers left the room, Lupin giving Hermione an encouraging smile as he closed the room.
She returned it, and then climbed off the bed as the door closed, pulling the sheet up over Snape's chest again; it had slipped down when they'd propped him up to swallow the blood. The scar from the knife was still there, she noticed, but – she lay a hand on his forehead to be sure – he was no longer sweating profusely. Was it a coincidence, or an effect of the moonfilly's gift?
She let her hand trail down the side of his face to find the pulse point at his neck. No, it wasn't her imagination; a strong and steady cadence throbbed under her fingers for the first time in almost a week.
Hermione's knees suddenly felt weak with relief, and she was glad for the chair behind her as she stumbled back and all but fell into it.
He was going to live.
She had assumed as much when he was still alive after the dagger had been removed, but the past five days had taught her not to take anything for granted. Now, though, she knew he was going to live. She could feel it, and, looking at his face, she could see it.
Already, his pale skin had lost the sickly, grey appearance, and while the tired, dark circles under his eyes remained, his whole demeanour gave the impression of a sleeping man, not one unconscious and close to death.
Hermione found herself smiling – really smiling – for the first time in days, and she leant forwards to rest her hand on top of his own; it was soft and warm to the touch.
The curtains across the room were open again, and she could see the dark blur of the Forbidden Forest beside the lake. She sent a silent thanks to the tiny creature somewhere deep amongst the trees.
At that moment, a whispered voice, hoarse from disuse, reached her ears.
"Hermione."
To be continued
Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Updates will probably be around ten days apart, rather than weekly, now that I'm back at uni.
Many thanks to Keladry Lupin for her comments and thoughts on this chapter, and on the story as a whole.
Do I still need to mention the next chapter is posted at OWL? No? Right. owl dot tauri dot org.
