Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 46
When Hermione woke in the Hospital Wing for the second time, she lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and the flicker of firelight playing across the high beams. It was night, and a quiet calm seemed to have fallen over the ward. Hermione could hear soft, murmuring voices somewhere not far away, and she raised her head.
The curtains weren't drawn around her bed, and she realised she was at the far end of the Hospital Wing from the entrance. She could see a little way down towards the other end, past a host of other occupied beds – some with curtains drawn around them and only silhouettes visible in soft candlelight beyond, others with curtains open, like hers, and the occupants of the beds sleeping.
Directly across from her, she recognised Harry's tousled dark hair protruding from above the rumpled blankets of another bed. She breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how long ago he'd returned from St Mungo's, and how long she'd been asleep. It had been almost nightfall when she had returned to Hogwarts, but whether that was hours or days ago, she had no idea.
With the thought of her return to Hogwarts came the remembrance of Severus, and she sat up quickly, glancing down the Hospital Wing more carefully at the other beds, hoping to see him occupying one of them. She didn't consider for a moment he would already be up and about, and if he had been, surely he'd have been nearby?
As though sensing one of her patients had awakened, Madam Pomfrey suddenly bustled down the main aisle between the beds, offering a tight-lipped smile when she saw Hermione sitting up.
"Welcome back again, Miss Granger," the older witch said. "How do you feel?"
Hermione stifled a yawn with some difficulty. She was still tired, a dull ache spreading through all her body, but she brushed it aside; there were more important concerns on her mind.
"All right, I think. How long have I been here?"
"About seven hours," the mediwitch said, flicking her wand over Hermione and nodding, satisfied with her assessment. "You seem to be well enough. I trust you will heed my warning not to push yourself this time, though?"
She nodded sheepishly, then glanced past Madam Pomfrey to where Harry slept.
"Is Harry all right?"
The older witch followed her gaze and then turned back, her hard expression softening a little.
"He is understandably exhausted, both physically and magically," she said. "Mr Potter insisted accompanying Professor Dumbledore to St Mungo's and ensuring the Headmaster's health before considering his own."
"How is the Headmaster?" Hermione enquired. She hadn't seen the old wizard until almost the end of the battle, but he had been on his knees at the time.
"It will take him some time to recover, I think," Pomfrey said matter-of-factly. "Would that he could recover here, but the Minister of Magic himself insisted St Mungo's was the proper place for Albus to receive the best care. Mr Potter is lucky they let him return to Hogwarts, and I daresay it was only because he was able to walk out on his own two feet."
Hermione nodded, relieved that Harry had been able to do even that.
"And Severus?" she asked, looking around at the other beds again in the hope she would spot him. "Is he here? Is he all right?"
Madam Pomfrey eyed her for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing her face.
"So," she said at length, "it was him you left here to find, was it? I wondered, when you returned with him last night."
"I had to find him," Hermione said. "I was so worried; he'd been hit with a–"
"A Killing Curse, I know," the older witch cut in. "It was well you did go after him. He was in bad enough shape as it was, even with your help. I'm loathe to think how he would have fared without it."
"How did you know about the curse?"
"You told young Miss Weasley yesterday," Pomfrey answered. "She mentioned it to me when you'd left. Of course, I couldn't see how it was possible, but given the shape he was in last night, it seems you were right. The Healers hardly believe it either, though the residue of the curse is clearly detectable. They can find no explanation for how he survived, and they are most anxious to speak with you about it."
"Is he here?" Hermione asked again, pushing the bedclothes back and getting up, her feet steady enough on the freezing stone floor. She was waiting for Madam Pomfrey to force her back into bed, or berate her for her haste, at least. Instead, she was surprised when the matron handed her a robe – her own, she noticed, though much cleaner than it had previously been – to pull on over the thin Muggle t-shirt and track pants she found herself wearing. A pair of shoes sat waiting on the floor nearby, and she slipped her feet into them, giving the mediwitch a curious look.
"He was here," Pomfrey said, beckoning for Hermione to follow her to the other end of the ward.
Struggling with the buttons of her robe, Hermione hurriedly made after the older witch, pausing only a moment to snatch her wand from the small table beside her bed. When Pomfrey stopped before the fireplace and reached for the jar of Floo powder on the mantle, a sudden feeling of foreboding crept into Hermione's stomach. She had been hoping the other woman would lead her to another bed in the Hospital Wing, another room in the castle – Severus' own rooms, perhaps… unless that was where she was Flooing.
But why would she need her robe and shoes for such a short trip?
"Where am I going?" she asked, accepting a handful of the glittery powder.
"St Mungo's."
Her stricken expression must have been clear, because the older witch shook her head and said reassuringly, "Do not worry. I have every belief Severus will be all right, but you must understand, once the Healers discovered the cause of his ill health, they insisted he be taken there. It was out of my hands – out of any of our hands."
Hermione nodded numbly as the mediwitch placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her into the fireplace. She just wanted to see Severus, and despite the other woman's reassurances, the knowledge that he was at the wizarding hospital did nothing to comfort her.
"Do you need someone to go with you?" Madam Pomfrey asked, a trace of concern in her voice as she regarded Hermione.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione shook her head. She needed to see him alone; the time would come – soon, she hoped – when others would become aware of the true nature of the relationship they shared, but now wasn't the time for explanations… or questions.
"No, I'll be fine," she said quietly. "But thank you for everything you've done, for me and for Severus… for all of us."
"It is I who should be thanking you," the older woman said. "All of you who fought out there yesterday have given the rest of us the most precious gift we could hope to receive – freedom to live. Give Severus my best wishes, and Professor Dumbledore, too, should you see him."
A whirl of flames later, Hermione found herself stepping out of a small anteroom lined with fireplaces into the vaguely familiar reception area of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Despite it being the middle of the night, there was a flurry of activity and a queue of people waiting to speak to a very flustered witch behind the reception desk. Realising she had no idea where Severus would be, Hermione joined the queue behind a frightened-looking witch only a few years older than herself. The witch, wrapped in a threadbare cloak, turned and gave her a small smile that failed to reach her eyes, unconcealed worry darkening her gaze.
"Are you here to see someone who was in the battle?" the other witch asked softly.
Hermione stared at her for a moment, then at the line of people in front of them. It suddenly struck her that they must all be here to see friends, family and loved ones who had been at Godric's Hollow the previous day. The numbers on the field had been great, on both sides, but she had failed to recognise until that moment how far-reaching the deaths and injuries suffered in the fight would be.
Turning her eyes back to the other woman, Hermione nodded.
"Me, too," the young witch said with a sigh, taking a step forwards as the line moved and the witch and wizard who had been at the reception desk hurried across to the stairs leading up to the other levels of the hospital.
The line shuffled forwards slowly, and the witch in front of Hermione said little else as they neared the desk. Hermione glanced behind her to see the line growing longer.
An anguished cry suddenly rang out above the quiet buzz of background noise and whispered conversations, and Hermione looked towards the source of the noise. A middle-aged witch in a heavy grey cloak at the front of the queue was shaking her head from side to side.
"No, no, he can't be. You've got the wrong Carmichael." The woman's voice rang out clearly in the sudden hush, distress plain in her tone. "Eddie Carmichael – Edward. He's only nineteen… my son."
The Welcome Witch said something too soft for anyone but the witch to hear, and out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw two wizards making their way across the room. Dressed in standard robes but bearing the crossed-wand-and-bone emblem of St Mungo's on their robes, she guessed from their tense stances and drawn wands that they must be the hospital's watch wizards, wary of anyone who disturbed the peace.
And disturb the peace the witch did.
"My son is not a Death Eater!" she suddenly shrieked in response to whatever the Welcome Witch had said, pushing herself away from the desk and drawing her wand.
The watch wizards were on her in an instant, calmly but firmly restraining her. Having been relieved of her wand, the witch seemed to sudden collapse in on herself, knees buckling as she sank to the ground.
"My son was not one of them," she sobbed.
The watch wizard hauled her to her feet and half-led, half-carried her from the reception area. The queue of people reformed as those who had stepped forward to witness the incident returned to their places, and Hermione looked around at the other witches and wizards, realising they all looked as shaken as she felt.
The name was familiar, somewhere in the back of her mind… Eddie Carmichael… she could have sworn he'd been a Ravenclaw.
She shivered.
Finally, she reached the front of the line, and as the witch who had been ahead of her hurried away, following the directions of the Welcome Witch, Hermione stepped up to the desk herself.
The witch, looking anything but welcoming, eyed her impatiently.
"Well, who are you here to see? Name?" she snapped.
"Oh, I– uh, Severus Snape," Hermione said quickly.
The other witch frowned, perhaps recognising the name, and flipped through the pile of parchments before her. Pulling one out, she glanced at it quickly before pushing it back into the stack.
"Fourth floor, Spell Damage," she said, already looking past Hermione. "Next!"
Almost pushed aside by the next witch and wizard eager to find their own loved ones, Hermione stepped away from the desk and walked quickly towards the stairs.
Spell Damage, she thought, increasing her pace as fear took hold once more. As she ran up the four flights of stairs, all she could think of was the occupants of the Spell Damage ward she had encountered on her first visit to St Mungo's over two years ago… Neville's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, and her former Defence teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart.
But they're in the long term Spell Damage ward, she reasoned with herself as she finally reached the fourth floor. It can't be that serious… can it?
The Welcome Witch at the desk of the Spell Damage ward looked far more pleasant and less flustered than the one downstairs, and she smiled kindly at Hermione.
"Hello, dear, can I help you find someone?"
Hermione leant on the edge of the desk for a moment to catch her breath.
"Yes, I'm here– here to see Severus Snape," she finally managed.
"Sorry, love," the witch said. "No one but family to see anyone who was in the battle just yet. Healer's orders."
"But… but I'm… He doesn't have family… and I'm– I need to see him," she insisted.
"You and everyone else," the witch said, though not unkindly. "They're saying he survived the Killing Curse, so you can understand people want to see whether it's true."
"I know it's true," Hermione implored the older woman. "I was there when it happened." Fumbling in the pocket of her robes, she clasped her hand triumphantly over the rune pendant, still safely tucked away where she had put it after they first realised what it had done.
Pulling it out, she held it up for the witch to see.
"I gave this to him," she said quietly. "It was hanging around his neck when the curse hit, and somehow it absorbed the magic itself."
The Welcome Witch stared at it wordlessly, and Hermione pressed the advantage of the shock.
"Please," she implored. "I need to see him. Which room?"
"Hermione!"
Hermione spun around at the familiar voice and found Charlie striding quickly along the hall towards her. She sighed with relief.
"You're here to see Snape?" he asked. Before she could answer, he went on, "Look, I'm sorry they brought him here. I know you didn't want them to, and I tried to stop them. It's probably for the best, though."
"That's okay, Charlie," she said. "I just want to see him. Can I?"
"Of course." Turning to the Welcome Witch, he said, "I'll take her in to see Snape, and I've just Flooed Minerva McGonagall; she'll be coming by later this morning to see Albus."
"Oh, all right," the witch said, still eyeing Hermione curiously as they turned away.
"Is Professor Dumbledore okay?" Hermione asked. Charlie took her arm and led her down the hallway, dimly lit with only a few flickering torches set at intervals along the wall. At the far end, she could see a small group of people mingling, some of whom she recognised as part of the group of werewolves who had fought with the Order. She didn't have time to wonder why they were also there.
"He's resting," the redhead said quietly. "At his age, it will take him longer to recover than some, but recover he will… we all will… in time."
The wistful tone of Charlie's voice made Hermione turned to regard him. In the confusion of victory amidst such loss, she had somehow forgotten how much others had lost, not only in the last few days, but over the course of the whole war, as well.
"Your parents would have been so proud of you today, Charlie," she said quietly. "You, Ron and Ginny."
"And you and Harry," Charlie returned, smiling, though his eyes were suddenly bright in the dim torchlight. "They'd be proud of us all."
They stopped in front of a closed door, and Charlie nodded to it.
"Go on in," he said. "I'm going to sit with Albus until Minerva arrives. You let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Charlie." Hermione smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand briefly where it still rested on her arm. As he stepped away, she called, "Wait… Charlie?"
He stopped, and after a moment of uncertainty, she asked, "How is everyone else? Have we… was anyone… did we lose anyone?"
Charlie hesitated, and Hermione's stomach dropped. She watched him fearfully, trying to recall who she hadn't seen yet following Voldemort's demise. The list was long.
"Remus Lupin is down the hall, too. He's not in good shape, but they're optimistic. There were always going to be casualties, Hermione," he said carefully, but then cleared his throat. "Don't think on that now, all right? Concentrate on the ones we can help."
He turned away, and Hermione watched him until he disappeared through a door further down the hall. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door before her and entered Severus' room.
There was a single pillar candle on the small bedside cabinet; it cast a soft, yellow glow over the sparsely-furnished room, the small, curtained window, and the empty chair beside the bed. Silent and still, Severus lay under a soft cotton sheet, his dark hair spread out on the pillow beneath his head.
Closing the door quietly behind her, Hermione crossed the room and pulled the chair close to the edge of the bed as she sat down. Toeing off her shoes, she tucked her feet up underneath her and undid the buttons of her robe, letting the garment hang loosely from her shoulders. Then she turned her gaze to Severus again.
His right arm, resting atop the sheet, was heavily bandaged from mid-bicep to wrist. The curse that had shattered the bone must have been serious if the Healers hadn't been able to mend it straight away. His left hand was lying by his side, nearest to her, and she reached out, gently running her fingers over the pale skin. He was cold to the touch, and she clasped the hand in her own, pulling it gently towards her and trying to transfer her warmth to him.
In the silence of the room, his soft, even breathing seemed to resonate, but it was a far cry from the harsh, gasping breaths he had been taking before he had finally collapsed at Godric's Hollow. Whether he merely slept now, or had yet to regain consciousness since that time, Hermione didn't know.
The cut across his forehead had been properly healed this time, no trace of the red line of the scar visible any longer. His skin was clean and pale but for the dark smudges of exhaustion still smeared beneath his eyes. Letting her eyes trail from his face to further down his body, Hermione saw the thin white line of a new scar at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Releasing his hand to reach out and touch the mark, she realised the rest of his body was as cold as his hand had been. As her hand rested across his shoulder, she felt a tremor run through him.
The door of the room opened a moment later, and Hermione withdrew her hand from where she was tracing the line of the scar. Looking up, she saw a green-robed witch enter the room, a wand and two phials of potions in her hands. If the witch was surprised to see Hermione, she didn't show it; setting the phials in a small stand on the bedside cabinet, her profile was thrown into the light of the candle, and Hermione saw the witch was older than she had thought at first glance across the dim room, fine silver hair pulled tightly into a bun.
"It's times like these I wonder why we have visiting hours," the Healer sighed, peering down at Severus for a moment before turning her gaze to Hermione. "Hello, dear, I'm Healer Derwent. In charge here tonight, as luck would have it."
Hermione smiled, the older witch's calm tone putting her at ease.
"I'm sure you've had a busy night," she said quietly, glancing down at Severus. "Is he just asleep, or…?"
The Healer ran her wand down the length of Severus' body, hovering it a few inches above the sheet; a soft, fuzzy light glowed around the length of wood in an ever-changing myriad of colours. Hermione had no idea what it meant, and the Healer spoke no audible words of any spell.
"He is," she confirmed, and Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding as the woman went on. "The potions he's been given will see to it that he sleeps out the night, and the longer he remains resting the better."
As Hermione watched, the older witch drew the sheet down Severus' torso, exposing the pale skin of his chest and the spot where the curse had hit him. The skin, previously blistered and red from the heat of the melted metal and the magic of the curse, had been healed, though the rune-shaped mark created by the impact still remained. It seemed to Hermione he would carry the scar for the rest of his life… a reminder of what might have been.
Healer Derwent touched her wand lightly to the newly-healed, pink skin, and Severus' breathing suddenly hitched, his brow creasing slightly. Hermione studied his face, wondering if he was on the verge of wakefulness, but he seemed to relax again as the Healer withdrew her wand and pulled the sheet back up, a small frown creasing her face.
Tucking her wand in a pocket of the lime-green robes, she regarded Hermione carefully.
"So, am I to assume you're the young lass who was with him last night?"
Hermione nodded.
"I have been told," the witch went on cautiously, "that the Killing Curse actually hit him. Of course, I can detect traces of a very near miss… and then there is the scar… but perhaps you can set the record straight?"
"I suppose in a way it did hit him, and in a way it didn't," she said. At the Healer's frown of confusion, Hermione reached into her pocket. As her fingers closed around the pendant again, they also brushed a cool glass phial, and she drew both objects out, frowning at the second one in confusion.
Suddenly it came back to her – Ginny handing the phial to her in the Hospital Wing before she'd gone back to Godric's Hollow to find Severus.
"How could I have forgotten?" she muttered under her breath. Seeing the other woman's curious expression, she explained, "I had this in my pocket the whole time… It could have helped him. I clean forgot about it."
"It was well you did forget," the other woman said, evidently recognising the coloured liquid. "Strengthening potion at that time would have only served to prolong the inevitable. Having a false impression of one's limits and abilities can be a dangerous thing indeed."
Hermione paled, unexpectedly thankful for her forgetfulness.
Tucking the phial back in her robe pocket, she glanced at the other object in her palm – the remains of the pendant – and laid it on the sheet beside Severus' covered legs for the other woman to see.
The Healer stared at the twisted lump of metal, confusion turning to disbelief as she appeared to make the connection between the object and the scar on Severus' chest. Moving around the bed near to where Hermione sat, she reached out to pick up the pendant. Hermione had to stifle the sudden impulse to reach out and grab it herself before the other woman could touch it, but she shook her head and remained in her seat, confused at her sudden compulsion.
She watched as the Healer held it up by the chain, examining what once had been the rune of protection. Furrowing her brow, the older woman tapped her wand to the metal, and it glowed brilliant green just for a brief moment.
"My goodness," she breathed. "How is that possible?"
Hermione shook her head, glancing back at Severus. She had no explanation for what had saved him, nor what magic had enabled her own Killing Curse to merge with those of Harry and Ron, finally bringing about Voldemort's demise. It had just… happened.
Perhaps the Headmaster, in wisdom borne from years of experience with all magic – Dark and otherwise – would offer some explanation when he was well enough to think on it for a time. Perhaps it was simply fate and chance, and no explanation would ever justify what had taken place the previous day.
"Where did it come from?" The Healer's voice interrupted Hermione's thoughts, and she glanced up to see the other woman still examining the pendant carefully.
"My parents gave it to me," Hermione said quietly. "They're Muggles."
Thankfully, the Healer didn't question why Severus had been wearing it during the battle. She seemed to be thinking deeply, pondering how a piece of Muggle silver could have possibly blocked the deadliest curse known to wizard-kind.
"Might I relieve you of this for a time?" she finally asked.
Hermione hesitated, once again unable to explain her reluctance to let the necklace go. It was useless to her as jewellery, but it still held a special significance… perhaps now more than when her parents had given it to her or when she had passed it on to Severus. Perhaps it was silly and sentimental… but it had saved his life.
"We'd like to understand how it deflected the curse," the Healer pressed.
"I don't know if it can be understood," she murmured.
"Be that as it may, we'd like to try. If such protection could be captured, it would save more than one life."
Hermione reached out to the lump of silver where it swung from the end of the chain. It was cold now, the heat of the curse long-since faded.
"Will I get it back?" she asked. Smiling wryly, she added, "I know it seems worthless… but it isn't to me."
"Of course, dear. You have my word," the older woman assured her. "There is nothing worthless about anything that has saved a life, even inexplicably so."
She dropped her hand, and as the Healer tucked the pendant away in a pocket of her bright robes, Hermione's eyes fell on the potions the other woman had set on the bedside table upon entering the room. One looked similar to a potion she had brewed before; the other she didn't recognise at all.
"What are those for?" she asked, gesturing in their direction. "Is the blue one a restorative draught?"
The Healer appeared surprised at her knowledge. "It's a combination of a magical restorative and strengthening potion, used when a witch or wizard has overspent themselves both physically and magically."
"He just kept going until he couldn't go any further," Hermione said quietly. "He was afraid to stop because it meant he'd have time to think."
Nodding, the other woman said, "I daresay he didn't realise how much the curse had drained his strength, either. If it wasn't for the scar where he was hit, I'd have diagnosed it as one of the worst cases of spell residue sickness I've seen in a good long while."
"I thought that just made you nauseous?" Hermione questioned, thinking back to Christmas when she and Severus had both suffered a near miss.
"In it's most common form, yes," Healer Derwent agreed, "but in more serious cases the witch or wizard exhibits a significant weakening of the body, hence the use of strengthening potions. In this case, the over-expenditure of his magic has only compounded the weakness."
"He'll recover, though, won't he?" Hermione asked, glancing worriedly at Severus' face again. Aside from the dark circles beneath his eyes and his injured arm, he seemed so… all right.
"Oh, that he will," the older woman affirmed, "but just don't expect him to be completely recovered when he first awakens. He's very lucky to be alive, and these things take time and patience."
Patience, Hermione thought. She couldn't see Severus having much of that… not for himself, not when it was his own body holding him back. Perhaps things would be different now.
"And the other potion?" she asked. It was a murky orange colour, settling to a deep brown at the base of the phial.
"A pain-killing draught, specifically for use with curses that repel standard pain-relief potions. The charmed bandages on his arm are working to repair the damage and remove the last traces of the curse, but until it is completely removed it is a painful process. Should he rouse before such time, I expect he'll need something to take the edge off the pain."
Moving back around the bed to the table and the phials, the Healer picked up the orange-coloured one and shook the phial.
"It didn't seem to be that serious an injury earlier," Hermione commented. "He couldn't use his arm much, but…"
"It's a nasty curse, and a Dark one, too," the woman replied. "The impact itself is painful, rendering the limb mostly unusable, but the pain diminishes quickly, giving the victim a false impression of the seriousness of the injury. The longer it's left untreated, the worse it becomes, and the removal of the curse in order for the injury to properly heal is the most painful part."
Shaking the phial once more, she set it down again. "Am I to assume you'll be here for some time?" she asked, and Hermione nodded. "I see you know something of potions. If he should require this one before I make my next rounds, there are two doses in the phial. Do not give him a second one within two hours of the first."
"And the restorative?" Hermione asked.
The older woman ran her wand over Severus once more, appearing satisfied with the result.
"Leave that one until I return. His strength has increased somewhat even as we've been speaking, which is a good sign. Once he's awake, I'll be able to better assess how much of the potion is necessary. But I'm afraid I must move on for now. As I said earlier, visiting hours do not seem to apply today. We're terribly short-staffed, so I'm pleased to leave one of my patients with such a capable person watching over them."
Hermione gave the Healer a small smile. "I'll be here until he wakes up… and afterwards."
Crossing to the door, Healer Derwent hesitated with one hand on the doorknob and turned back to Hermione.
"Perhaps it isn't my place to say it," she began, "so I hope you'll forgive my temerity, dear. I've seen many strange things in my time as a Healer, as many unexplainable recoveries as there have been unexplainable deaths. I doubt any of us will ever fully understand the mysterious ways in which magic sometimes works, but it is clear some magic was at play to save him from that curse. I don't know either of you beyond what I've seen here and now, but I can see you care deeply for him."
Hermione smiled pensively and nodded, wondering where the other woman was leading.
"We will examine the pendant to try to discover how it saved his life, but I don't know what we will find. Perhaps, having gifted it to him, it was your magic that saved him."
Before Hermione had the chance to think on that and formulate a response, the Healer took her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.
Pulling Severus' left hand into her own again, she leant back in the chair, contemplating the Healer's final words. They triggered a memory in the back of her mind, and she frowned, trying to recall it. What had Dumbledore said before the confrontation? Trust and love were their strengths and would see them prevail?
Love was a powerful emotion, that much Hermione already knew. It was Lily Potter's love for her son that had invoked the ancient magical protection that had saved Harry the first time Voldemort had tried to kill him… was it possible such magic had been invoked at Godric's Hollow again yesterday? Had such magic saved Severus?
She shook her head as she tried to grasp such a concept. It was beyond reason… but was it beyond the realm of possibility? Some things went beyond reason.
Yawning, Hermione realised her own tiredness was again catching up with her. She shifted in her chair to she could sit sideways, resting her head against the backrest and watching Severus for signs of waking. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady, and her eyes grew heavy watching it. She didn't want to fall asleep, though; if he woke, she wanted to be awake to see him open his eyes.
She rubbed her thumb softly across his knuckles, glancing around the darkened room. The flickering candle threw eerie shadows across the walls and merged with hazy darkness in the far corners of the room.
The night wore on; Hermione thought she must have dozed off at some stage, because Severus' head had turned towards her without her noticing the movement. She wondered if he'd woken, but calling his name softly brought no response. She moved, stretching the aching muscles in her back and neck, and settled in a different position in the chair, propping her chin up on her hand as she regarded him.
The grey dawn was beginning to appear on the horizon, visible through the small curtained window, when Severus began to stir. The first sign of him waking was an occasional hitch in his breathing, as though the pain of his healing arm was bothering him, but not enough to rouse him fully just yet.
Releasing her grasp on his hand, Hermione rose and went around the other side of the bed to retrieve the pain-killing potion.
When she returned to her chair and glanced at his face, she found herself looking into his dark eyes. He blinked once… twice… as if trying to focus on her.
"Hermione?"
The word was barely a whisper, his voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. But he was awake.
"Severus," she whispered, setting the phial carefully in her lap and grasping his hand again. Leaning forwards, she reached up to his face with her other hand and touched his cheek lightly. He sighed and turned his head into her touch, his eyes drifting closed.
When he opened them again, they seemed clearer, and he held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke.
"You're here," he murmured. She simply nodded, and his eyes moved past her then, taking in the small room, still in semi-darkness. "Where is here?"
"We're at St Mungo's." She felt his breathing quicken slightly, and she trailed her hand from his cheek down to his shoulder, anticipating his next move.
"What happened?" Trying to sit up, he gave a sudden, sharp hiss of pain, and Hermione gently pressed down on his shoulder, encouraging him to relax back against the pillows.
"Easy, Severus," she cautioned. "You're here for a reason."
He slumped back, trying unsuccessfully to move his bound arm; the attempt showed Hermione that it was indeed the source of his pain.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked, letting out a slow, deep breath as the pain momentarily subsided.
"The curse has to be removed before it can heal," she said quietly. "It will be painful for a while yet, but the Healer left a potion to help ease the pain a bit. Do you need some now?"
"Not yet," he said. Pulling his good hand away from hers, he raised it to his chest, fingering the rune-shaped scar gingerly at first, then more thoroughly when he realised it was healed. After a moment, he allowed the hand to drop to his side again, this time beneath the sheet.
His eyes travelled to her face, then down over the rest of her body where she sat.
"Are you all right?" he enquired.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just worried about you."
He let out a soft huff and closed his eyes again. She could tell his arm was paining him; there was a small furrow between his brow, and a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead.
"How long have I been here?" Even his voice had a strained edge to it.
"Not long," she said quietly. "Just overnight, so far, though I think they'll have you stay for a few days… just as a precaution. I think you should take a dose of this potion, Severus."
"Precaution against what?" Ignoring her last statement, he turned his head away and coughed, his face contorting as the action sent another jolt of pain through his arm.
Trying to sound reassuring, she explained, "To make sure your arm heals… and no one is really sure what effect the other curse might have on you yet. Better that you stay here for a few days, just in case."
"What of the others?" he asked. "Is everyone all right?"
"I don't have news of everyone," she said, hoping he wouldn't ask about Draco. "Professor Dumbledore is just down the hall, but they think he'll be all right. No one is sure about Professor Lupin yet, but we're hoping. Professor McGonagall is stopping by to see the Headmaster today, so although I haven't seen her, I assume she's all right."
"And your friends?"
"They're okay, too," she said, a faint smile crossing her face at his consideration. "We were all very lucky."
"Not all of us," he said flatly. He tried to turn away from her, but his injured arm wouldn't allow him to roll onto his side. Berating herself for such a broad statement, she watched as he tried to find a comfortable position, finally settling for remaining on his back, his head turned away from her.
"I'm sorry, Severus," she began. "I–"
"Don't."
The single word halted her, and as she watched, another grimace of pain crossed his face. His whole body tensed for a moment, then he exhaled a slow, measured breath. Finally, after a few silent moments, he added, "I don't wish to talk."
"And if I do?" she countered softly, encouragingly.
"Then talk to someone else," he snapped roughly.
Hermione sat back in her chair, stung, and tried to blink away the tears that welled in her eyes. She could see that he was hurting, physically and otherwise, but what more could she do than be there for him? She desperately wanted to hold him, but she was afraid of hurting him further, or worse, having him mistake her caring for pity. She had taught him the difference well over the past months, but it was clear he wasn't thinking straight at the moment.
She sat silently for some time, hoping he would realise it would take more than a harsh word following her foolish statement to turn her away. Draco had come to be her friend, too, after all.
"I'm sorry," Severus' voice came a while later. "I had no right to speak to you like that. Perhaps it would be better if I didn't speak at all."
She wiped her eyes before she spoke. "No, that wouldn't be better," she sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to– to push you, but no one will think any less of you for showing emotion, Severus, least of all me… not after what we've all been through. Please, I… I know you're hurting, and I want to help… I just don't know what do to."
"Nor do I."
The words hung in the air as his eyes flickered back to meet hers again. She saw mirrored in them all the confusion and despair she felt. It was inexplicably wrong that they should be so disconsolate when finally, after so many years, Voldemort had been defeated and the whole wizarding world was free to live without fear. The elation was there, deep within Hermione, but to let it show – to smile, laugh, jump for joy as she had imagined she might when the war was finally won – seemed wrong… seemed a great disrespect to those who had been lost.
She hoped he wouldn't yet be able to bring himself to ask what had become of Draco's body. The last news she'd had was that it had been taken to the Ministry with the other Death Eaters… regardless of his true loyalties.
By the time Severus asked, Hermione hoped she would be able to tell him something other than that. Draco's death would be hard enough to take without him being counted among the enemy rather than those who had died for their own cause. With that thought, Hermione again wondered who on their side had been lost… Charlie had seemed reluctant to tell her, or had he simply not known the details himself?
"What are you thinking?"
His voice drew her from her thoughts, and she realised he had been watching the myriad of emotions that must have been playing across her face.
"I'll tell you later," she said softly. "Now, I think you should take some of this potion."
He didn't protest this time, though the look in his eyes gave away the fact that he suspected she was keeping something from him. Perhaps he was too tired to begrudge it at the moment. Whatever the reason, he allowed her to place one hand behind his head, tilting it forwards as she brought the phial to his lips. As the Healer had instructed, she only allowed him to drink half, then recapped the phial and rose to set it back on the bedside table.
"Are you staying here for a while?" he murmured. The potion seemed to have taken the edge off the pain already, and his eyes slipped closed again as his face relaxed.
"I am."
Settling in her chair again, she leant forwards, resting her head on the bed beside him. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she was tired and wanted to be close to him. He withdrew his left arm from beneath the sheet again and rested it gently on her head, his fingers tangling through her hair.
The soothing caress of his fingers through her hair lulled her almost into slumber before his hand ceased its movement. Raising her head, his hand falling away as she did so, she realised he had fallen back to sleep.
His face was turned towards her this time, a strand of hair falling across his cheek. She reached up and brushed it back behind his ear, then shifted in her chair again so that this time she could rest her head beside his shoulder. Just being with him was enough… for now.
They were all walking wounded in the week following the battle at Godric's Hollow, though Hermione, of all of them, seemed to have come through the most relatively unscathed.
Severus had been released from St Mungo's after three days. Hermione had hardly left his side during that time. Although his strength was gradually returning and his arm would heal in time, he might never again be the deadly duellist those who had seen him at Godric's Hollow knew him to be.
Healer Derwent, still perplexed by his survival, had brought three of her colleagues to examine him the day after he'd awoken. Unfortunately, the others shared little of her calm, easy temperament, and they poked and prodded Severus until he was ready to leap out of bed and hex the next green-robed witch or wizard who entered his room into oblivion.
Such moments of temper were rare, though, and for the most part, he was worryingly silent. Hermione tried to coax him to talk about Draco, but was rebuffed at every attempt. She spent as much time with him back at Hogwarts as she could, but a good deal of it was filled with a heavy silence. She tried to encourage him to talk about other things, but he just… wasn't there. He seemed numb, and it frightened her.
Severus spent a good deal of time in the lab, brewing potions to help those still in the Hospital Wing. It was unnecessary – Hermione could have managed, and St Mungo's could have supplied anything else Madam Pomfrey required – but he seemed more content when he was occupied. Like immediately after the battle, Hermione feared he was using the brewing as a distraction from his thoughts – from facing the reality of Draco's death, which she knew was affecting him far more deeply than he would admit, even to her.
Although he tried to hide it, he was still quick to tire after physical exertion, and many of the brews he was making were complex and required a great deal of concentration, even from someone so used to making them as him.
For all he seemed able to sleep during the day, exhausted after brewing a complex potion, the nights were different. In unspoken agreement, Hermione had stayed with him every night since they had returned to Hogwarts, and more than once she had woken to find him caught in the grips of vivid dreams. He refused to speak of them after she shook him awake one night, turning away from her in the pretence of going back to sleep. She could tell from his breathing that he remained awake for a long time, and she moved close behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head between his shoulder blades. If her touch, her nearness, would keep away even some of the horrible dreams… well, it was something.
Rest was one thing he should not be without.
The near-miss of the Killing Curse had not been without its effects, as evident by his tiredness. In the days following the battle, word had spread like Inferi-fire through the Order, the Ministry and the wizarding world – thanks to the Prophet – that the ex-Death Eater had survived the curse.
Hermione's rune pendant had been examined by the Healers, who could find no explanation for the protection it had afforded him, and the ruined clump of metal had been sent to the Department of Mysteries for further investigation. Despite Healer Derwent's reassurance, she doubted it would be returned to her now.
Hermione knew they wouldn't find anything. Leaving Severus alone for a few hours one day, she had visited the other Order members who were occupants of the Spell Damage ward – Dumbledore and Lupin. The Headmaster, looking frail and old, smiled knowingly when Hermione had explained the circumstances surrounding Severus' survival to him. Dumbledore repeated his words from the eve of the battle, that love and trust were more powerful than any Dark magic curse could ever be… and with no other possible explanation, Hermione now believed that had saved Severus.
The necklace had been gifted to her by her parents; Muggles they might be, but they had unconsciously poured all their love and concern for their only daughter into the runic symbol of protection. Hermione, in turn, had gifted it to Severus in an impulsive moment of fierce protectiveness, all her fear and love for him only adding to the power it already possessed.
"Do you not see, Hermione?" the aging wizard asked, his tired eyes shining. "It was your love for Severus that saved his life, just like your love for your friends, and theirs for you, allowed you to defeat Tom."
"I… I don't understand, sir." She frowned in confusion. Dumbledore had seen the three Killing Curses merge into one as she, Harry and Ron had stood before Voldemort the final time… but how had it come about?
"You are aware of the prophecy that has now been fulfilled," Dumbledore said.
"Yes, but how–"
"Think on its words," the old wizard insisted. "It spoke of Harry having a power the Dark Lord knows not. At Godric's Hollow, that power was revealed."
Hermione stared at the Headmaster, confusion written clearly on her face. Perhaps the old wizard had been given too many potions… was he trying to say love had been Harry's power over his foe? It was a powerful emotion, yes… but to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard since Grindelwald… surely there must have been more to it?
"Love, trust and true friendship, Hermione," Dumbledore said, forestalling her question. "Tom Riddle has never known any of those things. He had no understanding of love, having never been the recipient of it himself; he had no concept of trust, having gained his standing through power and intimidation. In uniting together to defeat him, all of us – and most importantly, the three of you – harnessed a power he could neither understand nor counter."
Being back at Hogwarts was strange for Hermione, though they'd only been away for a few days. Despite most of the students and teachers being away from the school for the summer, the castle was still a hive of activity. The three Weasleys were still staying in the Gryffindor common room, the smoke was still rising from the chimney of Hagrid's Hut, and the Hospital Wing was still full, many who had been taken there following the battle choosing to remain and recover, rather than go on to St Mungo's or their own homes.
Harry had slept for two days straight in the Hospital Wing and remained there for a further three, until Madam Pomfrey was convinced he was not only physically recovered, but of sound mind as well.
After leaving the Hospital Wing, Harry kept to himself, choosing to make the Room of Requirement his temporary haven. Even within the school he was being hailed a hero, and the wizarding media, hankering for new stories about the Boy-Who-Lived, had no respect for the time and space those who had fought in the battle needed.
Dumbledore, too, had been allowed to leave St Mungo's after only a day longer than Severus. Although the Headmaster had returned to the school on his own two feet, Hermione had been shocked at how frail the old man remained. She hadn't seen him fighting at Godric's Hollow until the very end, and he had seemed tired but well enough during their conversation at St Mungo's, but it was clear the battle had taken its toll. He had always been old, of course, but had never really seemed his age until now.
Lupin was the last to be released from the hospital, almost a week after the others. He had been set upon by a group of werewolves loyal to Voldemort, and only a fierce defence by those of his kind whose loyalty had turned to the Order had saved his life. His recovery was slowed by his lycanthropy, some healing potions failing to work as they should have due to the Wolfsbane in his system. He had returned to Hogwarts limping and leaning heavily on a cane, but there was a smile on his face and a light in his eyes. Finally, the lives of his childhood friends had been avenged.
Of the Order, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones and Moody had been casualties in the battle at Godric's Hollow, along with four of the group of werewolves Lupin had recruited to fight with the Order. And then there was Draco. Given the casualties on the other side – none bearing the Mark had been found alive – such few lives seemed a small price to pay for the freedom of all.
But for those who had been close to the victims, it seemed a much higher price indeed.
The Daily Prophet hadn't, as Severus had expected and Hermione had feared, labelled him a supporter of Voldemort and demanded he be tried for past crimes. Instead, to his eternal chagrin, the front page of the newspaper one morning not long after Voldemort's defeat was emblazoned with the most ridiculously exaggerated story of their relationship.
Written by the insufferable Rita Skeeter, the report described how a relationship of mutual respect between the student and teacher both working for the Order of the Phoenix had blossomed into a cautious friendship. Then, when his treachery was discovered and he barely managed to escape Voldemort with his life, the young witch had allegedly put aside her obsessive studying to nurse him back to health, consequently falling in love with the reclusive yet selfless man she discovered behind the cold façade.
Hermione had laughed until she cried reading the horribly clichéd article that evening – she had no idea where the woman had gleaned the supposed 'facts' of the story, but they no longer had to worry about how or when to reveal their relationship to the wider world. Looking at the accompanying moving photograph, though, Hermione had dissolved into real tears. It showed her supporting Severus as he staggered across the field, carrying Draco, and then standing helplessly beside him as he wept over the body in his arms.
Severus, finding her still crying a short time later, took the article from her hands and read it with a closed expression on his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned his gaze to the photograph, and the parchment crumpled slightly where he was gripping it too tightly. Hermione knew he was fighting the urge to throw the paper across the room, into the leaping flames of the fire.
Instead he turned the parchment over, reading the other side. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped the Prophet on the coffee table, striding to the fireplace. With a quick pinch of Floo powder, he called out for the Headmaster's office and disappeared.
Wiping her eyes, confused, Hermione took up the parchment again and turned it over. The writing on the back was a Ministry notice, stating a decision had been made that the bodies of all those bearing the remains of the Dark Mark were to be destroyed. Draco bore the same Mark as the rest of them, but surely his true loyalty would give cause for an exception?
Hermione swallowed thickly and read on. There was a list of names.
Whole families lay somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry, awaiting their fate, and for those who hadn't borne the Mark but who had lost a family member and now sought to have the body returned to them for burial, no such courtesy would be allowed.
Halfway down the listed, the names of three Malfoys caught Hermione's eye. Lucius, Narcissa… and Draco.
Tossing the Prophet aside, Hermione followed Severus.
"It is out of my hands, Severus," Dumbledore was saying quietly when Hermione arrived. The old wizard was sitting behind his desk, still looking frail and tired, and neither he nor Severus spared a glance at her arrival. "You must understand, while I can exercise some control and influence at the Ministry, I have no leverage in this situation. The Minister will not take the chance any lingering trace of Tom Riddle's magic be released into the world again. I have tried, believe me, but he will not be moved."
"So Draco," Snape's voice broke as he spoke the name, "though he took the Mark only because we offered him no alternative, will be counted as one of them, destroyed as one of them?"
"I'm sorry, Severus," the Headmaster said, "I truly am."
Severus turned away from the older man and raised a shaking left hand to his forehead. Hermione could see the despair written clearly on his face, but she daren't move forward and reach out to him. Frustrated with his own weakness since returning to Hogwarts, his temper had been hanging by a thread, and the calm with which he spoke now seemed false, unnatural.
"After everything that has happened, Albus," he began in a low voice, "am I not allowed to ask this of you, this one thing?"
"You ask the impossible!" Dumbledore seldom raised his voice, but now it rang out, anger and frustration clear. "You cannot ask me for what I cannot give!"
"There was a time when you could make anything happen, old man," Severus spat, spinning back to face the Headmaster. "Anything."
Dumbledore stared at Severus and leant back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
"There was a time when I thought I could make anything happen," he said heavily. "I have since realised how foolish such a notion was. I'm sorry, Severus. After all you have done, you know I would give you this if I could… but I cannot."
Severus turned away again and sank into one of the armchairs, the anger leaving him only to be replaced with utter defeat. Hermione did go to him, then, sitting on the armrest and resting one arm across his shoulders. The sling still binding his right arm against his body had slipped sideways a little about his neck, and she adjusted it carefully. If he objected to her ministrations, he made no move to stop her.
She truly believed Dumbledore had done everything he could, and Severus would accept that in time. His guilt over Draco's death was heavy on his shoulders, and the knowledge the younger man would not even be allowed a dignified resting place only served to compound that guilt. It had cast a shroud over any joy he might have felt at finally being free to live without bonds again. While he was physically recovering, with each passing day he seemed to withdraw into himself a little more.
"It does nothing for Draco's memory to blame yourself for his death, Severus."
The Headmaster's voice was quiet, and Severus' responding laugh was harsh and bitter.
"Who else is left?" he asked.
"Myself, if you still wish to lay blame," Dumbledore said.
Severus was silent for some time, then he stood.
"What difference does it make where blame is laid?" He moved to the fireplace and took a small amount of powder from the Floo jar. "It changes nothing. A young man who fought and died for us will still be known as a Death Eater to everyone else."
An awkward silence fell between Hermione and the Headmaster as the green flames of Severus' departure died down. She understood Severus' frustration, his anguish at the young Slytherin's death, but she felt for the Headmaster as well, certain the older wizard held himself to blame, just as Severus did.
"I truly wish I could do something to ease Severus' grief," Dumbledore sighed, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "Alas, I cannot."
"I know that, sir," she said quietly. "And he knows that, too… he just needs time, I think. He's so… so closed at the moment… even I can't seem to reach him."
"Keep trying, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, a sad, pensive smile crossing his face. "This time of mourning will pass, and Severus will remember there is still much to live for. He just needs to be reminded."
To be continued…
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed. It's getting very close to the end now. Another chapter and an epilogue, I think… but don't quote me on it. I thought this would be the last one but there was too much to say.
Healer Derwent isn't canon, but her ancestor Dilys Derwent was a Healer and also Headmistress of Hogwarts from 1741 – 1768.
The title of this chapter is a line from Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. A stunning version of the song can also be heard on the new Gregorian album, Master of Chant Chapter V.
Last but never, ever least, thanks to Potion Mistress, who makes this story so much better through her input.
