Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 45
"Severus!"
Hermione screamed his name again, shaking his shoulders roughly. He didn't respond, and she moved one hand to his face, cupping his cheek. It was warm beneath her palm, bloodstained and dirty, but his eyes were closed… why wasn't he answering her?
"Severus, please," she sobbed, shaking him again.
He coughed.
She froze and pulled her hand away, thinking in her hysteria she had imagined it. But no, he coughed again and rolled onto his side, away from her, with a harsh groan.
"Oh, thank God," she gasped, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks.
He tried to get up, taking harsh gasps of air as he struggled to get breath into his lungs again. Another bout of coughing overcame him, and then he was on his hands and knees, retching and vomiting in the long grass.
Hermione braced her hands on his shoulders, supporting him; she could feel his whole body shaking beneath her touch, and there was a faint smell of burning flesh in the air. Turning over and collapsing on the ground again, his face twisted in a grimace of pain, and one hand began to claw at the front of his robes.
"Get it- get it off- off me," he gasped.
"What is it? What's wrong?" His nails scratched her hands as she shoved his robe aside and fought with the buttons on his shirt. Both robe and shirt bore a small burn mark where the last curse had hit him, and Hermione's eyes widened in confusion as she finally freed the topmost buttons and pushed the soft fabric aside.
The rune pendant she had given him to wear the previous night was nothing more than a grotesque lump of melted metal, clinging to his skin, which was an angry, blistered red around it. Hermione reached for it, and then pulled back sharply as the scalding metal burned the tips of her fingers.
"Hurts," Severus gasped, this time clawing at the chain, coughing as he struggled to regain his breath.
Reaching for the chain herself, Hermione found the catch and unclasped it, trying as gently as she could to pull the hot metal away from his skin. Severus hissed as it finally pulled free, the skin beneath blistered, red and bleeding. She reached out a hand tentatively to touch it, but he stopped her before her fingers brushed his skin.
"No. It's all right."
His voice was still pained, and he lay back fully, resting his head on the ground, still clasping her right hand in his left one and breathing heavily. Now that she was able to look at Severus more closely, Hermione noticed his right arm appeared to be lying at a strange angle on the opposite side of him to where she knelt, and a deep gash across his forehead was bleeding profusely, the bright red stain against his pale skin soaking his hair and running down into his eye.
But none of that mattered. He was alive.
"What was that curse?" Hermione could still feel him shaking, and she grasped his arm as he struggled to sit up again.
"Killing Curse." As he spoke, he let go of her hand and he pressed his palm to his chest, covering the small wound. He let out a slow, measured breath.
"Impossible," she whispered. "How…?"
He shook his head wordlessly, eyes drifting to the chain that still hung from her fingers. She held it up, and they both stared at the ruined lump of metal. A Muggle necklace in the shape of the rune of protection shield someone from the Killing Curse? It was inconceivable… impossible.
But there he sat. Alive.
A loud shout from across the field startled them, and Severus looked around, only now realising that they were sitting in the midst of a battlefield. When his eyes fell upon Harry, standing over the body of Tom Riddle, Severus simply stared, as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Across the field, the Death Eaters who remained standing had ceased their duelling and were also staring towards where Voldemort had fallen; many were clutching their left forearms, and Hermione wondered if the pain of Voldemort's death was echoing in the Mark he had branded on all his servants. On the eastern flank of the field, dozens of the cloaked figures were fleeing into the trees.
"Is it done?" Severus asked faintly. His eyes had taken on a glassy appearance, and he seemed almost to sway where he sat. "Is he dead?"
"Yes." Hermione felt a smile break out onto her face, but her eyes misted over with tears at the same time, and her voice, though confident, was unsteady. "Harry did it. We did it. We all did it."
Severus let out a sob of mixed exhaustion and relief, passing his hand over his eyes and inadvertently smearing blood further down his face. Looking at her again, his eyes drifted to the tear in her robes and the dark stain of blood across her shoulder.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
She nodded; her shoulder was stinging, now that his scrutiny had drawn attention back to the injury, but she tried to ignore it. It didn't matter; they were both there… alive… largely unharmed… nothing could dampen her elation, and on impulse, uncaring of who might see, she leant forwards and embraced him as tightly yet carefully as she could.
His good arm rested briefly on her back as he let out a shaky sigh, but then a loud bang jolted them from their momentary embrace. Hermione spun around, fumbling for her wand, which she had foolishly dropped in the grass upon first reaching Severus' side. By the time she had it in her hand and was on her feet, she realised the noise had come from the far end of the field.
Squinting into the haze of dust and smoke that hung above the ground, Hermione saw a large group of witches and wizards had appeared down in the hollow where the house had once stood. Even from such a distance, she could make out the white stars on the shoulders of some of the wizards' robes – Ministry Hit Wizards – and assumed the rest of the crowd were other Ministry officials.
Another noise rang out across the field – a high-pitched cry of anguish – and this time, it was nearby. As Severus climbed unsteadily to his feet, Hermione turned to see the source of the noise. A Death Eater, still masked and robed, was moving quickly towards them, staggering drunkenly across the uneven ground. Hermione felt Severus close behind her as the threat drew nearer, but as she watched, neither moving to attack nor defend herself, she realised the masked figure wasn't as much of a threat as they might have appeared.
The man – she thought it was a man, though she couldn't be entirely sure – collapsed to his knees a few feet in front of her; wandless, he clawed at his left sleeve as another scream of agony ripped from his throat. When the heavy, black material ripped and fell aside, Hermione saw the Death Eater's Dark Mark, black and burning into his skin. As she watched in horror, the Mark split down the centre, just as Voldemort's had, and the immediate flow of blood turned quickly to the same grey ash.
The man lurched forwards, catching the bottom of her robe, his eyes within the mask smarting with tears of agony as he hoarsely pleaded, "Help me."
Hermione stumbled as Severus pulled her back, almost falling into him, and the Death Eater collapsed on the ground again, beginning to cough. The coughs quickly turned to harsh, hacking gasps, and then he was retching, the choking ash spewing from his mouth with a mixture of vomit and saliva as the stench of burning flesh filled the air once more. His struggles to breath became more feeble, the ash still spilling from his mouth as he drew one final, rattling wheeze… and then he lay still.
Hermione turned away, sickened, but was suddenly shoved sideways as Severus lurched at her, knocking her down in the grass. There was a whizzing sound as a spell shot over them, and then they were both scrambling to their feet, Hermione raising her wand to find herself face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy.
"Well, well… Granger," Malfoy spat, his wand pointedly steadily at both of them. "I told you I would have my way when we met again, and if my old friend here would just die, so I shall."
Hermione could feel Severus tense beside her, ready to shove her out of the way again or leap from the path of a curse himself. His own wand was a few feet away in the grass, useless, and Hermione knew she was neither powerful nor strong enough to disarm the Death Eater.
"It's over, Lucius," Snape said, his voice falsely calm. "Voldemort is dead."
"He cannot die!" the blonde man proclaimed, his eyes darting wildly between the two of them. "He will return, and you will rue the day you betrayed him, Snape! Wh–"
As they stood locked in the stalemate, a faint look of irritation suddenly crossed Malfoy's face. A moment later, he let out a harsh gasp and dropped his wand, clutching his left forearm spasmodically with his right hand.
"What is this?" His wide, accusing eyes met Hermione's, as though she was somehow responsible for his pain.
A moment later, he fell to his knees, his face contorting in agony as he gasped, "No, it's not– he can't be–"
"He is, Lucius."
Severus' voice was cold as he stepped closer to the other man. Lucius looked up at him, hatred flaring even through the mask of pain.
"Voldemort is dead," he said, and as Lucius began to cough, bracing himself on his hands and knees, Severus leant close to the blonde's ear and continued maliciously, "and soon, you shall join him."
Lucius let out a choking gasp, tearing his sleeve aside and pressing the palm of his right hand to the Dark Mark in a vain attempt to stop the spreading of the curse. It was a futile gesture, though, and in minutes he, too, was choking on what had once been his own blood.
Looking around, Hermione saw many of the masked, cloaked figures across the field were already on their knees.
"Help me."
Her attention was drawn back to the two men before her as Lucius reached out to grasp the hem of Severus' robes, his pleading tone a stark contrast to the hatred that had been dripping from his words only minutes before.
Severus stared down at the Lucius, his face unreadable. For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to kick the other man, but then he simply stepped back, pulling his robes from the desperate grasp, and turned away.
This time, though, Hermione found she couldn't look away. She watched with a mixture of horror and triumph as the man coughed and choked, clumps of ash spewing from his mouth as he retched, until he finally succumbed, collapsing in the grass, his robes and hair askew about his body.
The cries across the field, which had not long before risen in a cacophony of echoes, were suddenly diminishing, the writhing bodies becoming still and silent. The stench of burning flesh was overpowering, and the wind was stirring the ash and dust into a swirling cloud. Hermione forced down the bile rising suddenly in her throat.
Severus was standing a short distance from her, facing away from the scene. He seemed to be looking for something… or someone. Searching around in the grass for a moment, Hermione spotted his wand, retrieved it, and stepped around in front of him, pressing the length of wood into the hand of his good arm. He hardly seemed to notice the action, his forehead creased with worry and his eyes scanning the tree line some distance away.
"Severus, what is it?" she asked.
His eyes suddenly widened, a single word left hanging in his wake as he lurched forwards on a sudden burst of adrenalin.
"Draco."
Hermione spun around to see the young Malfoy emerging from the edge of the trees, stumbling aimlessly out onto the field, his left arm clutched tightly in an action that sent cold dread through the pit of Hermione's stomach.
Hesitating for only a bare moment, she took off after Severus. In the confusion of Voldemort's death and thinking Severus, too, had died, Hermione hadn't spared a thought for Draco. Even when his father had died before her eyes, and all those bearing the Mark were succumbing to the same fate, she hadn't remembered.
It was some distance to where Draco has appeared, and Hermione caught up with Severus quickly, his initial bout of energy short-lived; his breath was coming in uneven gasps, his injured right arm clasped tightly to his chest with his left.
"Slow down," she said, struggling to catch her own breath as she grasped his arm and they moved together, Severus leaning on her more heavily with every few steps. "We'll get there. We'll help him."
Even as she spoke, she wondered whether there was anything they could do. Severus didn't respond, but the urgency of his movement spoke volumes; it was only desperate need to reach Draco that was keeping him on his feet.
Then, with both of them only a few steps away, the Slytherin collapsed to his knees.
Severus dropped down beside Draco, catching him as he pitched forward, off-balance and blinded by pain. The blonde let out a strangled cry and tried to pull away, not realising who was beside him.
"Draco," Severus said, his voice hoarse and urgent as he steadied the younger man.
"Severus, am I dead?" Draco's voice was barely a whimper when he finally stopped struggling, staring up at the older man with a confused, panic-stricken look on his pale face. His robes were stained and torn, a deep cut down the side of his neck oozing a steady flow of bright-red blood.
"No." Severus' voice was quiet and reassuring this time, though he was still fighting to catch his own breath, but when he turned to see where Hermione was, the look in his eyes was one of despair, only confirming what she already feared. Despite that, Hermione remained a few paces back; something was stopping her from joining Severus at Draco's side… something she couldn't explain.
"But I saw– I saw him kill yo–" His words broke off in a sharp gasp of pain, and Hermione saw his knuckles whiten as the hand clenching his other forearm tightened.
"That's doesn't matter now," Severus said. "Voldemort is gone. It's done, it's over, and–"
He broke off as Draco pulled away from him and vomited on the ground, coughing up bile and blood. The Dark Mark on his forearm, which Hermione could now see clearly, was as black as his father's had been, and as he let out a howl of pain, it split open along the body of the serpent.
"What is this?" he cried, his voice taking on a wheezing quality as he began coughing again. "Severus? Help me!"
Jolted into action, Severus climbed painfully to his feet again, glancing down the far end of the field. "The Ministry are here; they'll have Healers," he said, looking down at the young man again. "They must have."
"Severus." Hermione stepped up to him, resting her hand on his arm. "You can't, it's…"
She couldn't bring herself to say it was no use, though, and desperation in Severus' eyes simply said, I have to try. She could do nothing more than nod.
Somehow, he managed to hoist the young man up into his arms, and they set out unsteadily across the field, Hermione grasping Severus' good arm and supporting him as well as she could as they picked their way through the scattered bodies. Draco began coughing again, his head propped against Severus' shoulder, and the older man stumbled forward, somehow managing to increase his pace.
Beside him, Hermione's worry increased, not only for Draco, but for Severus, too. Not ten minutes before, he'd barely survived a curse – a curse that should have killed him. He couldn't possibly have recovered so quickly.
By the time they were halfway, some of the Order members at the far end had recognised them and were heading in their direction. Hermione wanted to shout for them to bring a Healer, but it was all she could do to keep breathing herself. Severus was running, now – how, she didn't know – his breath was hitching on every intake, and twice, he stumbled, almost falling with the burden in his arms.
The cloud of grey ash drifting on the wind became thicker the further they descended down towards Godric's Hollow, choking them as they gasped for breath. Draco's head suddenly dropped back, lolling unnaturally as his mouth opened and closed, futilely trying to draw breath past the choking ash that was overwhelming his body.
"Severus, stop!" Hermione cried. The group of wizards running towards them was still a way off; even if they could do anything, it would be too late.
He ignored her at first, but then he stumbled, this time unable to stop himself from falling completely. A harsh cry fell from his lips as, trying to protect Draco from the fall, he twisted sideways and landed on his injured arm. Hermione dropped to her knees beside them as Severus struggled to sit up with Draco lying across his lap. The younger man drew in a harsh, rattling breath and tried to speak.
"Sev'us, m'sorry," he wheezed.
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Draco," Severus said, and it was only because Hermione knew his voice so well that she could detect the slightest tremor as he spoke. "You'll be all right. Just…"
He trailed off as the younger man shook his head, a spasm of pain gripping him.
"Tried. Should've listened… come to you before…"
Every word was fainter than the one before, every breath weaker. The wound on Draco's neck had stopped bleeding, but it was clogged with ash, as was his forearm, the Dark Mark barely visible around the gaping split. His skin was far paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot and full of fear.
"No," Severus said again. "You've done so well, Draco. I'm so proud of you." He raised his hand to brush the younger man's hair back from his face, and it was a gesture so tender that Hermione couldn't stop the tears that began spilling down her cheeks.
Draco's eyes drifted to Hermione's for a moment, but he didn't speak, and she wondered if he was even seeing her… or something, somewhere, far beyond. She didn't dare say a word…
The next breath he drew hitched in his throat, a single tear slipping from one eye to cut a trail down his ash-covered face. Draco's features contorted for a moment in a final grimace of pain, and then his eyes drifted closed as his head fell back to rest in the crook of Severus' arm.
Hermione hardly dared to breathe herself, and after a moment of absolute silence, Severus' hand drifted from the younger man's forehead to his cheek, catching the tear on the pad of his thumb as it trickled down the past Draco's jaw.
"Draco?"
The single, quietly spoken word echoed was filled incalculable sorrow and desperation, and Hermione could do nothing but kneel beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder in a futile offer of support. Footsteps caused her to look up, and she realised half a dozen Order members and a single Healer in distinctive lime-green robes were gathering around them. Tonks' bright blue hair stood out amongst the group, and Hermione met the Auror's eyes, shaking her head.
Understanding flashed in Tonks' eyes, and she silently drew the others back.
"Severus?"
Hermione's voice was soft, but he ignored her. Instead, saying the younger man's name again, quietly, pleadingly, Severus shook him gently.
"Severus, please," she implored. "There's nothing you can do."
"No, I–" His voice was thick with grief as he shook Draco's lifeless form again. Pulling the body more firmly against him, he struggled to his feet. Hampered by his own weakness and the burden of the dead weight in his arms, though, he barely managed to stand. "If I can just…"
But there was nothing he could do, not for Draco. Hermione stopped him from moving, one hand clasped on his shoulder and the other turning his chin so he was forced to meet her eyes. There was a flash of light from somewhere nearby, but she ignored it, her gaze fixed on his, willing him to see reason for his sake as much as anyone else's.
"Severus, please, you have to stop," she begged, her voice breaking. "He's… he's gone."
He stared at her, his dark eyes filled with warring emotions… refusal to believe it was true, and the knowledge that it was. After what seemed like an eternity, with a single nod, he gave in. Sinking back down into the grass and bowing his head over the body in his arms, Severus finally broke down and wept.
Standing beside him, the sense of helplessness that rose within Hermione was overwhelming, and she had to turn away. The elation of Voldemort's defeat was still there, lingering somewhere in the background, but it had been surpassed by the loss of the young man she had honestly come to consider a friend. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of such a waste of life. In turning away, she was faced with yet more bodies, littered across the field. Some of them, like Lucius Malfoy, in her opinion, thoroughly deserved the end they had met… but were there others who had simply made the wrong choice, or never had a choice, like Draco?
It was a stark realisation that had Voldemort not tried to kill Severus so many months ago, he would still have borne the Mark today, and therefore shared the same fate as the younger man now lying dead in his arms.
"Hermione?"
The voice nearby drew her back from her inattention, and she turned her head to see Ron at her side, his freckled face pale, yet dirty with the ash that seemed to be covering everything.
"Are you… okay? I mean, not hurt?" he amended, and she was grateful for that. Despite having accomplished what they had come here to do today, Hermione knew it would be a long time before any of them were really and truly okay.
"I'm alive," she managed, the ghost of a tired smile crossing her lips. As she spoke, a sudden wave of dizziness came over her, and she swayed on her feet, momentarily reaching for Ron to steady herself.
A flash of light distracted Hermione, hurting her eyes in its brilliance, and they both blinked, trying to see where it had come from. Some distance away, a tall, weedy-looking man was holding a large camera which emitted the bright flash and a puff of orange smoke each time it went off.
"What the bloody hell is the Prophet doing here?" Ron began angrily. "No bloody dignity…"
Tonks, a short distance away, noticed the photographer at the same time, and with a loud, "Oi! What do you think you're doing?" She advanced on the man, her wand drawn.
"Just for the paper. Big news, Voldemort's finally dead!" The man sounded far from convincing as he backed away from and angry Tonks and her wand.
"Hermione? Are you sure you're not hurt?" Ron's attention had turned back to her, and he was frowning with concern.
"I'll be all right," she said, the sudden return of the stinging pain in her shoulder reminding her she had been injured. Probing her hand inside the tear in her robes, she was startled to discover how much the wound had bled. Her black robe was soaked, and when she removed her hand again, it came away covered in blood.
"Bloody hell, Hermione! What do you mean you'll be all right? You need someone to look at that." Ron tried to take her arm and draw her in the direction of the Healer who had arrived with Tonks a few minutes before, but Hermione shook him off and glanced back at Severus, who was still bent over Draco's body.
"I can't… I shouldn't leave him," she said.
But then another wave of dizziness hit her, and before she could reach out for Ron again, the ground was suddenly rushing up to meet her, and she knew no more.
When Hermione awoke, the first thing she recognised was the high, vaulted ceiling of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Her whole body ached with bone-deep exhaustion, but she was pleased to discover, upon testing her limbs, that everything seemed to be working.
There was a soft murmur of voices in the room, beyond the curtain drawn around her bed, and as she raised herself up on her elbows, the curtain was pushed aside and Ginny stepped through.
"Hermione! Oh, I'm so glad you're awake. Are you all right? Do you feel okay?"
The younger girl had dark circles under her eyes, her face pale with worry, but she was nevertheless overjoyed to see Hermione awake, as was evident by the barrage of questions. Ginny was carrying a goblet of a steaming potion, which she set on the small nightstand beside the bed as Hermione lay back again, trying to recall what had happened immediately before she had passed out. She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on under her robes, though they seemed a good deal cleaner than they had been out on the field.
"I'm all right, I think," she said slowly. "How long have I been here?"
"About two hours, I think," the other girl answered, perching on the edge of the bed.
"What about everyone else? Are they here?"
"Ron was here, but only long enough for her to patch him up; the Healers at Godric's Hollow had more serious injuries to deal with, and he was up to taking a Portkey, so they sent him on here. Harry's gone to St Mungo's with Professor Dumbledore – neither of them were in that great a shape, so it's probably a good thing Harry's gone with him – he might let them take a look at him, too."
Hermione nodded. Everything was still a little hazy.
"Professor Lupin is there, too. He was drawn into the trees at the battle and set upon by a group of men… Ron said he heard they were the werewolves who wouldn't turn from Voldemort."
"Will he be all right?"
It was because of Lupin that their numbers had been increased, recruiting those of his kind who would help them in exchange for a more civilised existence.
"I haven't heard yet," Ginny said. "I hope so."
After a moment's pause, the younger girl went on, "I heard about Draco. Hermione, I'm so sorry. I know he was a friend."
It all came rushing back to Hermione with Ginny's words, and she sat up suddenly.
"Where's Severus? Is he all right?"
Ginny nodded. "I haven't seen him, but he must be all right. He's still out there… helping the Ministry."
"What?"
"They're… they're collecting the bodies… of the Death Eaters." Ginny swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "They don't want anyone unaccounted for. The Ministry is stretched thin as it is, and they called for any able-bodied Order members to help, precious few of them there are."
"Able-bodied?" Hermione pushed the sheet aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Severus is far from able-bodied right now. He almost died! He could… no one knows what effect the curse has had on him!"
"Hang on, Hermione." Ginny stopped her from getting to her feet with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Just slow down. You're not so able-bodied yourself at the moment. Now, what curse?"
Hermione blinked.
"He was hit with the Killing Curse, Ginny."
The younger girl stared at her, disbelieving.
"But… but that's impossible! How is he–"
"It's a long story, and I don't even fully understand it myself, yet." Hermione shook off her friends arm and stood up, one hand on the edge of the bed to steady herself as a momentary bout of dizziness hit. It passed quickly, though, and she looked around for her robes, spotting them draped over the chair on the other side of the bed.
"Hermione, wait," Ginny hissed, grabbing her arm as she moved to retrieve them. "You can't! Madam Pomfrey will have my head if you just up and leave!"
"I'll tell her I'm going myself, then," Hermione returned firmly. "I am going, Ginny. I'm not staying here while he's out there. Besides, I'm all right."
The younger girl sighed, biting her lip uncertainly as Hermione pulled herself free again, retrieved her robes and shrugged into them; Madam Pomfrey had done an exceptional job of healing her shoulder. Checking that her wand was in its usual pocket, she turned back to see her friend still watching her worriedly.
"Ginny, please," Hermione implored. "I have to find him."
She had to see with her own eyes that he was okay… not okay, she amended, but still standing, at least. He may have inexplicably survived the curse, the rune absorbing the brunt of the magic, but it would be foolish to imagine there would be no repercussions. Narrowly missing an Unforgivable – as they had at Christmas – was enough to leave one with a bad case of spell residue sickness. Actually being hit i/ with one and yet managing to survive… who knew what the effects would be?
"All right," Ginny conceded at length, reaching for the goblet on the nightstand, "but not before you take this."
Hermione accepted the compromise and downed the Pepperup Potion quickly, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of steam pouring from her ears. Ginny disappeared for a moment around the other side of the curtain, and then returned with two small phials in her hand.
"And take these with you," she said, holding them out in her palm. "You might need them."
Hermione recognised the phials as Invigoration Draught and Strengthening potion, but she took only the latter from her friend. At Ginny's curious look, she smiled pensively and said, "Invigoration Draught doesn't mix well with Pepperup. Severus taught me that."
Tucking the phial into a pocket, Hermione embraced her friend briefly, then stepped out past the curtain. Madam Pomfrey emerged from behind another curtain some way down the room, and when she spotted Hermione and Ginny, her lips thinned in a disapproving line and she bustled over.
"What do you think you're doing out of bed, Miss Granger? Miss Weasley, what were you thinking, allowing her up so soon?"
"It's my fault, not Ginny's," Hermione said quickly. "She wanted me to stay but I wouldn't listen to her. I have to go back out there to find– to find someone."
The older woman frowned, running her wand in an arc over Hermione.
"You seem to be well enough," she conceded. "But just you don't overexert yourself. I don't want to see you back here again because you've overestimated your capabilities."
"I'll be careful," Hermione promised. "And thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I appreciated what you've done. I wouldn't be in half as good a shape if it wasn't for your hard work."
The mediwitch's expression softened just a fraction, and she said, "Yes, well, you just remember that, and be careful."
At one end of the Hospital Wing, beside the fireplace, was a small table set up with an assortment of battered and broken items: shoes, china mugs, torn books – Portkeys.
"These will all take you back to Godric's Hollow," Ginny explained, pulling Hermione aside as the nearby fireplace flared green and an official-looking wizard in Ministry robes stepped through. "You just pick it up and tap it when you're ready to go. Leave it in the pile at the other end when you arrive – any of those will bring you back."
Hermione selected half a broken china plate, mindful not to cut her hand on the sharp edge, and readied her wand.
"And Hermione," Ginny added, "be careful."
Hermione smiled and nodded at her friend, tapped her wand on the plate, and felt the telltale jerk behind her navel as she was pulled away in a whirl of colour.
A dizzying few moments later, Hermione found herself deposited in a heap in the long grass of Godric's Hollow. A fallen pillar of what had once been the house lay nearby, acting as a makeshift table, covered with the same odd assortment of objects that were being used as Portkeys. Climbing to her feet, Hermione set the broken plate she had used among them, and turned to survey the scene.
The field, which had been littered with bodies, was now almost empty, the churned-up grass and dirt devoid of all but a small group of wizards at the far end, two of whom Hermione recognised as members of the Order.
The sickening smell of burning flesh was not as strong as it had been hours before, but a the fine, grey ash still covered everything, giving the scene a dulled look, even in the warm afternoon sun. She heard voices close behind her, and turned, realising there was a large group of wizards, many in Ministry robes. Upon seeing her, one of those not in official robes broke away from the group, and though the red hair was almost brown with dirt and ash, Hermione instantly recognised Charlie.
"Hermione, what are you doing back here?"
"I, uh, I'm looking for Severus," she explained. "Is he here somewhere?"
"Yeah, he's somewhere out there, I think," Charlie said, gesturing in an arc towards the field and forest beyond. "Couldn't tell you exactly where, but I'm just going back out myself. Do you want to tag along? It's not pleasant, but if you're up to it and you want to find him…?"
"Thanks, Charlie," Hermione said gratefully. "If I can help in the meantime, I might as well."
"What are those?" she queried as they set out across the field towards the trees at the far end.
He looked at her sideways for a moment, before answering carefully, "They're for tagging the bodies."
"Oh."
After a few minutes walking in silence, he spoke again.
"The Ministry wants all bodies accounted for before nightfall," he explained. "The tags are Portkeys they've set up to… to collect them. The orange ones are for Death Eaters – they're being taken to the Department of Mysteries. The Ministry wants the bodies to be destroyed; they're not taking any chances that some small part of Voldemort may have survived in the curse that killed his followers. The blue ones are for others… the Order, any werewolves not bearing the Mark. It takes them to St Mungo's."
"Are there many blue ones?" she asked fearfully.
Charlie shook his head, bumping into her for a moment as he gestured for them to change directions and head for the eastern-most corner of the field.
"Not many," he said. "But there are more Death Eaters than we thought. It seems Voldemort may have ordered some of them to wait while the first group took us on. When they realised he'd been killed, they tried to flee. The anti-Apparition barriers stopped them from escaping, and they had to run, instead. Some of the got quite a way before… before… well, you saw what happened."
"I did," Hermione said softly, her mind latching onto something the red-haired man had said. "Charlie, what of Draco? Have they taken him, too?"
He hesitated, and Hermione stopped, prompting him. "Charlie?"
"For the moment, yes," he finally said. "But we made damn sure the Ministry knew he shouldn't be counted among them."
They started walking in silence again, Hermione's mind on the disturbing image of a pile of bodies somewhere deep inside the Ministry of Magic. It was little consolation that the Ministry had been informed of Draco's true role… would that even matter when he still bore the Mark on his arm?
"Weasley!"
A wizard Hermione vaguely recognised as an Auror was coming towards them. When he saw Hermione with Charlie, he frowned.
"Proudfoot," Charlie greeted with a nod. "You heading back?"
"Yeah," the other wizard said, then jerked his head at Hermione. "What's she doin' out here? No place for a young lady, this isn't."
"We're looking for someone," Charlie answered, shooting Hermione an appeasing look as she drew herself up to argue. "You seen Snape lately?"
"Yeah, he's 'bout half a mile that way," the Auror replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I ran out of tags, but there's a few bodies right down by the river. Got a long way, those ones did. I think Snape was headin' down to tag 'em. No one's covered that direction, yet, either."
He indicated a thicker patch of trees heading down into a hollow some distance away.
"Right, I'll do that," Charlie said. "Thanks."
The Auror headed back the way had come, towards the field and Godric's Hollow, and Hermione met Charlie's eyes.
"I'll go this way, then," she said, nodding in the direction the Auror had indicated Severus was.
"I might see you back at the Hollow," he said. "I'll let the others know you're with him if I arrive first."
Charlie turned away, heading for the thicket of trees, and with a deep breath, Hermione headed down towards the river. She could hear the water in the distance. As she drew closer, the smell that had lingered across the field and forest became stronger, and she realised it was likely because there were still bodies nearby. She'd seen enough of them on the field before she had passed out, but she hoped she found Severus before she encountered anymore.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees in this part of the forest, throwing a dappled light across the ground and making it hard to see too far into the distance.
A twig snapped somewhere to her left, and she spun around, wand training in that direction as she squinted through the trees. She thought she saw a movement, but she didn't dare call out in case it wasn't Severus.
Who else could it be? a voice in her head questioned. Anyone who would be a threat is dead.
Brushing that thought aside, she continued on.
She could see the river, now, glittering in the sunlight, the trees thinning out around its edge. And near the river's edge was a figure in black, sitting on a fallen log.
Relief coursing through her, she picked her way down to where he stood, calling his name as she approached.
"Severus!"
He turned where he sat, barely stifling the spell that had been on the tip of his tongue before he realised who it was.
"What are you doing here? I could have hurt you."
She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, shocked by his appearance more than his sharp tone. He looked terrible. His right arm was bound tightly against his chest in a crude sling, his wand clutched tightly in his left. The gash across his forehead had been healed, though not well; the line of the cut was raised and red, and his face was still stained with blood, dirt and ash, as were his robes.
"I– I wanted to make sure you're all right," she said. "They told me you were still out here, and…"
He turned his head from her as she spoke, and she suddenly realised there was a body at his feet, just the other side of the log.
Moving closer and standing beside him as he stared down expressionlessly, Hermione fought down a wave of nausea at the sight of the body, hexed and cursed until it was rendered unrecognisable.
"Do you know who it is?" she asked in a whisper.
Severus' face darkened, and in an unseemly gesture, he nudged the bottom of the dead man's robes with the toe of his boot. The bloodstained fabric fell aside to reveal a wooden leg.
Moody.
Severus' closed expression suddenly made sense, and Hermione, though still sickened by the way in which the ex-Auror had died, couldn't help a momentary feeling of vindictiveness that he had met such an end.
Severus reached into a deep pocket of his robes, pulling out a handful of the orange and blue tags.
"I should tag him as a Death Eater, just to spite the bastard." Snape's voice was bitter as he toyed with an orange tag, before selecting a blue one instead and pocketing the rest.
Leaning over the body, he somehow managed to slip the tag over Moody's mutilated hand and onto his wrist. Tapping it with his wand, the body vanished, leaving only a dark stain of blood on the ground before them, which would be washed away by the rising river the next time it rained. Hermione watched the water for a moment, gently lapping at one end of the bloodstain.
"Are you all right?"
Severus' quiet voice broke the silence, and Hermione realised he was looking up at her, the closed expression on his face having been replaced by one of genuine worry as he added, "You shouldn't have come out here."
"I know," she said with a sigh, sitting next to him on the log, but facing the other way, so she could see his face. More quietly, she added, "I'm sorry, I just… I wanted to see you. Are you all right?"
He rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes, not answering her, but instead saying, "We should keep going. There will be time for discussion later. I'm afraid this gruesome job isn't quite done yet."
Hermione frowned at his avoidance of her question, but stood up, and it was only when Severus joined her that she realised how far from all right he was. Even rising to his feet appeared to be an effort, and his slow, uneven gait as he set off down the bank of the river was nothing like his usual brisk and confident pace.
She followed after him, dismayed. Torn between forcing him to stop and following in silence, she quickened her pace until she reached his side and then fell into step with him, ready to reach out if he should stumble. The ground was uneven, and it wasn't long before he did. She grabbed his elbow to steady him, and he stopped for a moment, looking sideways at her through narrowed eyes.
"I don't–"
"Don't say you don't need my help," she cut him off. "I'm here because I was worried about you – you shouldn't even be out here doing this."
"What would you have me do instead?" It was the longest sentence he could manage in a single breath. Though they'd walked perhaps only half a mile from where she'd found him with Moody's body, his breathing was laboured. It was further proof, in Hermione's eyes, that the curse was having an unknown but lingering effect on him.
"I'd have you put yourself first, for once in your life," she retorted. "God knows what that curse has done to you, Severus. You should probably be in hospital, or at the very least, resting. Not gallivanting around out here. And if you insist on continuing, which you know I don't agree with, it will be with my help."
She glared at him defiantly, daring him to argue again, but he didn't, his mouth snapping closed. Whether it was because he agreed with what she said, or he didn't have the breath to argue, she wasn't sure.
They walked on, Severus neither shaking off her arm nor leaning on her more heavily.
"Did it occur to you," he said after some time, pausing mid-sentence to cough and take a breath, "that I might need to be doing something?"
"To make yourself feel useful?" she scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. You've done quite enough already to contribute to our victory today, and far more than most people will ever know."
He was silent, and she glanced sideways at him.
"It's not that, is it?"
"I need to be doing something," he said at length, turning to look at her; his eyes seemed to be begging for her understanding, her acceptance. "When I'm doing, I don't have to think."
Realisation dawning, she finally understood why he had pushed himself far beyond the point of exhaustion today. She had no idea what had happened to him between the time she had passed out on the field and found him at the river. Draco's body had been taken away, that much she did know, but where Severus had been at that time, or if he even knew the young Slytherin was being counted amongst the Death Eaters… She daren't bring it up in case he didn't know.
Hermione understood his mindset now; while he was physically hurting, he didn't have to acknowledge the emotional turmoil brought on by the loss of Draco amidst the joy of finally defeating Voldemort for good. Physical pain was welcome while it kept other kinds of pain at bay. He would continue to run himself into the ground until he could no longer keep going, but when he finally crashed, everything he refused to acknowledge, all the feelings he was pushing aside, would overwhelm him.
More frightening to Hermione, though, was the realisation she had no idea what to do for him. All she could do, she supposed, was be there.
Around the next bend in the river, through a thicket of trees that opened into a concealed clearing, they found the other bodies the Auror, Proudfoot, had spoken of to Charlie. The smell of burning flesh rose strong in the air again as they emerged from the trees, and Severus recognised the dead before she did, a soft, muttered expletive spilling from his mouth.
He pulled away from Hermione, going to the black-cloaked figure nearest the river's edge. Watching him for a moment as he knelt down, examining the Death Eater's ruined forearm, Hermione then turned away, focusing on one of the other bodies.
As she drew closer, she stopped, recoiling for a moment as she recognised the dark hair and heavy-set features of her former classmate and dungeon attacker, Crabbe. Drawing a slow, steady breath, she willed herself to move, the logical part of her mind reassuring he could no longer hurt her.
His eyes were wide, his face twisted with pain, even in death. His fingernails had torn deep gouges in the skin of his forearm, around the blackened Dark Mark.
A hand on Hermione's shoulder startled her, and she realised Severus was beside her, staring down at the body of his former student. Looking behind them, the body by the river was gone.
"Who?" she asked softly.
"Goyle," he replied.
Hermione had expected that; where one of the former Slytherins was found, the other would most often be found, too. She took a step back as Severus knelt by the body, slipping another orange tag around the limp wrist and tapping it with his wand, activating the Portkey. As Severus tried to get up, he paused on one knee, seeming to double over as he let out a gasp of pain.
"Severus?"
Hermione moved around in front of him, kneeling down so she could see his face. It was contorted in a harsh grimace, and his wand slipped from his fingers as he pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. She placed her hands on his shoulders, unable to do anything for a few frightening moments as he struggled to breath.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, and he rose shakily to his feet, paler than ever.
Catching her worried look, he cleared his throat and said, "It's all right. It passes quickly."
If anything, knowing that what she had just witnessed wasn't a singular occurrence only worried her more. Picking up his wand and handing it to him, she stood, glancing behind her to where the third body lay.
"Last one," he said quietly. "We can go back then."
Approaching the body, Hermione recognised another former classmate and one of Severus' former charges. Theodore Nott, a slight, wiry young man had clearly not succumbed to the curse without a fight. His wand was lying a few feet from his body and beside it, Dark Mark blackened and split on the exposed skin, was his arm.
Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth, fighting down a fresh wave of nausea at the sight of the severed appendage. Turning her eyes to the body itself, the stump of the arm, protruding from torn robes and clogged with ash, was just as gruesome.
"What hope did any of them have if even that didn't save him?" she whispered, half to herself.
Severus shook his head, looking sickened. In an action that forced Hermione to avert her eyes, he picked up the severed arm and the wand, placing them both atop the dead man's chest before he bent down to tag the attached arm. He withdrew his wand to tap the Portkey and send the body on its way, but he hesitated, looking down at the young man's face.
"I wonder…" his voice was hollow. "I wonder I could have shown any of them another way before it came to this?"
"This isn't your fault, Severus," Hermione said softly, taking a step forwards so she was beside him. "None of this is your doing; they made their choices."
"How many of them didn't have a choice? Or didn't know they had a choice?"
Hermione had no answer for that, but she knew she needed to say something.
"That doesn't matter now," she said as gently as she could. "Come on, it's time to go."
Nodding wordlessly, Severus reached down and tapped the Portkey, the body vanishing before their eyes.
Leaving the clearing beside the river, they turned back up into the forest and began the long walk back to Godric's Hollow. The anti-Apparition barriers were still in place around the area, and even if they hadn't been, Severus was in no shape to Apparate himself, and Hermione didn't have the experience to take him along with her.
The shadows were growing longer, the sun sinking lower into the western sky as they made their way through the trees. They saw no one as they walked, no Ministry officials, no Order members, and thankfully, no bodies.
The further they went, the more Severus slowed, and Hermione could see his energy was finally beginning to run out. More than once he had to gasp out for her to stop, bracing himself against a tree and struggling to catch his breath. She could tell he hated to have to ask her to wait, but his body was no longer as strong as his mind, and he could only push it so far. Halfway back to the Hollow, he fell, catching his foot on an exposed tree root, and Hermione didn't let go of him after she helped him up. Their progress was slower with him leaning on her, but it was also steadier and they had to stop less often.
As they finally emerged from the trees, the fallen stones of the house in Godric's Hollow visible a short distance away, Severus stumbled again, going down painfully in the dirt. This time, he made no move to get up, and Hermione dropped down beside him, pulling him over onto his back.
His body was shaking beneath her hands, the adrenalin that had kept him going for the past few hours finally running dry. His face was covered with dirt, rivulets of sweat drawing tracks through the grime and mud, and strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead. As she leant over him, his eyes fluttered open again.
"Severus, are you with me?"
He moaned softly, his breath wheezing past his lips as he tried to talk.
"Can't– can't do it," he managed.
"It's all right," she soothed, brushing his hair back from his face. "You don't have to do anything anymore. It's over. We can go home."
Dimly, she was aware of approaching footsteps. Hearing a voice, first quiet, then louder, Hermione realised it was Charlie, and that he was summoning a Healer from somewhere nearby.
"Home," Severus said faintly, his eyes drifting closed again. "Will you be there, too?"
"Right by your side," she reassured him.
The Healer reached them, then, kneeling down opposite Hermione and immediately sweeping his wand in an arc above Severus' body. Finally giving up his battle with consciousness, Severus didn't move as the Healer laid one hand across his forehead. Charlie appeared next to Hermione, drawing her to her feet and back a few steps as the green-robed wizard worked.
"Will he be all right?" she asked, leaning on the oldest Weasley for support as her own weariness began to catch up with her.
"Been through the mill, this one," the Healer said, frowning. "Really a case for St Mungo's."
"No, not there," Hermione said softly, shaking her head. Severus had been through enough without half a dozen Healers poking and prodding him, trying to work out how he'd survived the curse. He needed to rest, to recover, and the familiarity of Hogwarts would surely help that, not to mention she could be – would be – there with him, to help him.
Understanding her words, Charlie shook his head.
"No, Hogwarts for both of them," he said firmly.
The Healer frowned, but Charlie insisted again, and the green-robed wizard conceded, producing two old shoes – Portkeys – from somewhere in his voluminous robes and handing one to Charlie.
"You bring the girl," he said. Gesturing to Severus, he added, "I'll take this one."
Without waiting for a response, he hoisted Severus up effortlessly, somehow managed to tap the Portkey with his wand, and they both disappeared.
"All right, Hermione?" Charlie said, turning to her. "Ready to go back?"
She swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to explain why now, of all times, she suddenly felt like breaking down. Perhaps it was relief, knowing Severus, while not completely all right, was in capable hands. Perhaps it was just relief that it was all over, that she was going home… to the place that had been her home for seven years, anyway. She had the feeling it might remain that way for a little longer yet.
Exhausted and overwrought, she wiped her eyes and nodded, reaching for the Portkey Charlie held. As she gripped it, he pulled her against him, wrapping one arm securely about her waist.
"A less bumpy ride," he said by way of explanation.
A whirl of colour was the next thing Hermione saw, and she squeezed her eyes shut, dizziness and nausea returning full-force. She vaguely remembered them hitting the ground – upright, thankfully – and seeing the familiar surroundings of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey, Ginny and another green-robed Healer moving quickly down the long room towards them.
Next to them, the Healer who had Portkeyed in moments before them was Levitating Severus' prone form across to the nearest empty bed. Madam Pomfrey and the other Healer went directly to him, while Ginny moved towards Hermione and her brother.
The young red-head reached for Hermione as she swayed, taking her arm in a bruising grip to steady her. Black spots dancing in front of her vision, Hermione vaguely remembered asking, "Is Severus okay?"
Before the younger girl could answer, though, the room tilted sideways, then upside-down, and for the second time that day, Hermione passed out cold.
To be continued...
Author's Notes: Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Regarding Severus, did anyone actually think I kill him? There will, of course, be further explanation into exactly what saved him next chapter, as well as more on how Harry, Ron and Hermione's spells combined to kill Voldemort. Speculation is welcome, though. :P
Regarding Draco, it was a tough choice to make, but it had to happen this way. War is never pleasant, there are always casualties, and some of those casualties hit very close to home. I try to remember that while writing this story and keep it real.
Proudfoot is an Auror in canon, who first appeared in HBP.
Many, many, many thanks to my beta, Potion Mistress, who makes this story so much better.
