Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right. Also, in the book Harry does get bitten by Nagini. I'm assuming it was a dry bite since Hermione managed it all on her own and St. Mungo's struggled to do the same when Mr. Weasley was bitten. But for the purposes of this story, that bit will change.

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.


Ch 26: Safe Haven

The blank parchment stared mockingly up at her, almost daring her to write something. She didn't. After the way she'd spoken to Snape a few weeks ago, she didn't know what to say. He'd not tried to contact her either. She'd not even told him about Ron leaving, though she imagined Phineas had rushed to share the gory details of that showdown.

"Hermione?" Harry began tentatively, shattering the silence in the tent.

"Hmm," she hummed, not truly wanting to acknowledge Harry. There was too much else going on in her mind for her to worry about navigating a minefield as well.

"Hermione, I want to ask you something," Harry persisted, as dogged in this as he was in identifying the mysterious thief.

"Ask," she snapped.

"How did you know Ginny and I would work?" Harry asked softly, uncertainty, probably fueled by the locket dangling around his neck, woven thickly around the question like some sort of Chinese finger trap. Nothing was going to truly reassure him right now.

"Are you still blaming yourself for Ron and Lavender?" she asked knowingly.

This was the first time he'd said more than, "I'll cook tonight," or "You pick the next spot," since Ron left. Mostly, he just stared at the Marauder's Map for hours on end, searching out their friends or reassuring himself Ginny was alive and well.

She'd been grateful for the ongoing silence. If Harry had said more than that, she'd have lost it. Hermione was furious with him for his part in Ron's decision to leave. They'd both been at fault, but as much as she wished to rail at Harry, she knew it wouldn't do any good. They had to focus on what mattered, and not get distracted. That was the reason Snape wouldn't share his part in Dumbledore's grand plan, after all.

"No, well…yes, but I'm also curious. You were rooting for us all along," Harry said, releasing his death grip on the parchment to face her fully.

"I was," Hermione confirmed, frowning at the intensity radiating off him. "I still am."

"But why?" he insisted, pinning her with his emerald gaze.

The ever present, bone-deep cold made her shiver. Even when she wasn't wearing the locket, it felt like she was walking with bricks of ice encasing her feet. When the wind blew, tiny pricks of frozen needles pierced her all over. It was worse with the locket, at those times, she feared she'd never be warm again.

"Why are you asking now?"

"I think it must be Christmas Hols. She's not there right now, but I…." he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. Without her name to follow around, he needed something else to make her real to him.

"Do you remember early last year, Harry, when she asked you about football?" she inquired.

"Er, maybe?"

"Dean had argued that it was better than Quidditch," Hermione prompted.

"And she asked if I'd ever tried it. Yeah, I remember," Harry said, one side of his lips curving up as he recalled the Sunday they'd eaten lunch together over a year earlier, back before Ron and Lavender had gotten together, so he'd been too distracted arguing with Hermione to notice what his sister had been up to.

"You told her about growing up with the Dursleys, and how they'd never let you try things like that," Hermione explained sagely, wondering if it had actually been a good idea to mention his family while he was wearing the locket. If the dark shadow that crossed his face, leaving his brow pinched and cheeks gaunt was any indication, she shouldn't have.

"All right," he said tightly.

"I listened to you guys talking then," Hermione plowed on, figuring she'd gone this far, she might as well get back to the bit about Ginny Harry had been originally interested in hearing about.

A blank stare greeted her. Harry still didn't get it.

"Harry, you never talk about what that was like for you – how the Dursleys treated you. I know you've told Ron a little since he's seen it for himself, but in seven years of friendship, you've never once mentioned any of that to me and I've asked – repeatedly," Hermione said quickly.

"That's why you thought Ginny and I would work?" he asked doubtfully, frowning openly.

"She makes you feel safe. She lets you be you, and loves you regardless. You open up to her because you're not worried about being judged or that she'll look at you differently once she learns the worst of your secrets," Hermione said thickly, pain, not from the frigid air leaking into the tent making her chest ache. No, this agony was from longing – for Snape.

She missed her husband. Missed the companionship and challenge he offered. Missed the warmth he exuded and the heat of his touch. Missed his protective side, and the way he seemed so pleased when she managed to surprise him. Missing proving him wrong and learning from him. Most of all, though, she missed the way he was undeniably beginning to…what…love her? She could hope, at least. Without the locket whispering doubts in her ears, she could dare to hope for that much.

"What Ron said…before…he got it wrong. I love her, Hermione," Harry announced, balling his fists against the onslaught of emotions he was experiencing right then. He struggled so much when he allowed himself to feel the full depth and range of normal emotions.

"I know you do," Hermione said compassionately. "She knows too, Harry. I promise."

"I never told her," Harry said bleakly, the starkness of winter a layer of empty grey infusing his confession.

"She knows," Hermione repeated. "You'll get the chance to tell her."

It was a feeble promise, and they both knew it. There was no guarantee either of them would survive long enough to reunite.

But Harry didn't acknowledge the fact, surprising her instead by saying, "I hope you find the same one day."

"Thank you," Hermione said stiffly, wondering if he'd notice her daydreaming about Snape, and this was his segway into the discussion.

"You want that, don't you?" Harry prodded, evidently having noticed.

"I think that's what everyone wants for themselves," she answered evasively, not quite meeting his searching eyes.

"Ron was right about one thing though. I've noticed too – about you. I haven't brought it up because you didn't seem like you wanted to talk about it, but… Were you…was there someone you…look, if you fancied someone, you don't have to keep it a secret from me," Harry continued, determination making him brave the awkwardness he typically avoided. "I know I'm not the best at this stuff, but you can talk to me."

Hermione tensed. This was not the time to confess everything. Not when Ron had already left them, and Harry was worried about what Snape might do to Ginny. He would act first and think later. He'd kick her out too and be all on his own. He'd get himself killed that way.

"You know how I don't push when you tell me you don't want to talk about something?"

"No. You definitely push," Harry countered wryly, grinning widely.

"I mean when you're really insistent that you don't want to talk about it, I let it go. Can you do the same for me, now?"

"I guess," Harry allowed reluctantly. Suddenly, with a horrified look, he demanded, "It's not Malfoy, right?"

"No, Harry. I can swear to you that I do not, nor will I ever, fancy Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, shuttering at the very thought. He might have helped her that night with Crabbe, but he'd always be the pompous git that had spent years trying to make things difficult for the trio. The likelihood of her ever liking Malfoy paralleled the likelihood of Snape and Lupin becoming best mates.

"Right, well that's a relief," Harry said, sighing and slumping a bit. Cautiously, he verified, "You really think Gin and I are that good together?"

"I do," Hermione said, biting back her smile. The redhead was never far from Harry's thoughts. That spoke volumes.

"I think my parents had that," he said uncertainly.

"By all accounts, they did," Hermione confirmed.

"You know I'm worried about her. I think about her all the time."

Hermione only barely managed to avoid rolling her eyes. She reached out and laid her hand over Harry's instead, tenderly acknowledging, "I know. But you also believe in her. That's important too."

"I can't even consider anything else," he said fearfully, a tremor shaking the words.

"For Ron, she'll always be his little shadow and the first year taken into the Chamber of Secrets to die. She'll never really grow up in his mind," Hermione explained, trying half-heartedly to justify Ron's actions. She was too furious with him herself to say more.

"I see her as the only one at Grimmauld Place willing to tell me off when I thought he was possessing me, and when she cursed Malfoy, and when she helped me after Dumbledore…."

"She's proven her strength and resilience time and time again. You need someone who can keep up with you," Hermione agreed, resenting the circumstances that were interfering in all of their potential happiness.

"And Ron's right that Lavender is a sitting duck this year," Harry allowed, guilt clearing the way for him to see reason despite wearing the locket.

"She will be until this war ends. And it can't until we get our part done," Hermione reminded him pointedly.

They'd not even tried to find another Horcrux since Ron had left them, choosing to wallow in self-pity instead. Except they couldn't afford to waste anymore time. Too many people were depending on them. All Harry could think of were the cup and the locket, but Hermione was starting to think there was someone else who might have a few suggestions regarding objects Voldemort might have been interested in.

Harry bit his lip and ran his fingers distractedly through his hair, a sure sign he was nervous about whatever he was about to say. Hermione suspected she knew what he was about to suggest, seeing as he had a number of times back when they'd been at Grimmauld Place. She'd always been the one to shoot him down then. But things were different now. They were out of options, and now she had her own reasons for wanting to go.

"About that…."

"You want to visit Godric's Hollow," she guessed, hiding her smile as he gaped at her.

"You think we should? But I thought, I mean…this whole time you've been saying it's too dangerous," Harry reminded her, probably not even realizing he was putting forth rather valid arguments for why they shouldn't go.

"You want to see their graves. I don't think you'll be able to concentrate properly until you do. And…well, I think we should pay Professor Bagshot a visit. She's a historian, so she might have an idea about what the other relics are. Based on your mum's note, she lives there," she rationalized.

"Don't you think Dumbledore already tried that?" he asked skeptically, frowning a bit.

"Probably, but as we've seen, he wasn't infallible. He might have dismissed something as unlikely that he shouldn't have," Hermione countered.

"I suppose that's possible," Harry said, slowly nodding as he thought it over.

Ever since learning of Dumbledore's past association with Grindelwald, Harry was reluctant to trust Dumbledore. She wouldn't have to try very hard to convince Harry that Dumbledore might have messed up. Hermione could sense the betrayal Harry felt at his mentor never having confided in him.

"Hermione," Harry said excitedly, grabbing her hand suddenly.

"What? What are you thinking?" Hermione demanded, having not followed whatever leap of logic he'd just made.

"The sword," Harry breathed, face becoming more animated with each word he spoke, "if Dumbledore really took it and hid it, wouldn't it make sense for him to hide it there?"

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione tried, flinching at his tight grip. No, it didn't make any sense. Besides, she knew Snape still had it – not that she could come right out and say as much to Harry.

"He's from there, and he knows I am too. He probably figured I'd want to go at some point. Maybe he even hid the sword with Bathilda," Harry tried, and she realized it was less a leap of logic than a wild guess on his part. Only Harry could come up with such a ludicrous idea and try to convince people his reasoning was sound.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to check," Hermione agreed, simply because she knew he'd not be dissuaded without proof now that he'd started to believe his own guess, "but even if he did, Harry, we can't use it –"

"Until it's earned, yeah. I know. But given our luck, something, at some point, will be dangerous enough for us to win it over," Harry said, barely sparing her a glance, already too busy relishing the fact he'd finally gotten his way.

"You just had to say that, didn't you?" she hissed disapprovingly.


"Professor Bagshot, I have a few questions for you," Hermione tried, restraining the urge she had to wave her hand in front of the woman's cloudy gaze.

The elderly witch didn't seem to notice her at all, walking from the room as though she'd not even heard Hermione. Perhaps she hadn't. It was amazing that she'd even been aware enough to guess that they were the Polyjuiced people in front of Harry's childhood home as it was. Of course, that was enough to have alarm bells ringing in her ears as it was.

Uncertainly, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm to stop him following when he made to go after the historian. Everything inside Hermione cried out that something wasn't right with all this. "Harry…"

"Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't all there. Muriel called her 'gaga.'" Harry glanced at the door the woman had gone through, and promised, "It's okay," before striding purposely after her.

Hesitantly, Hermione trailed behind, the unease in the pit of her stomach growing at an alarming rate. She was just about to try and convince him to leave when Harry snatched a photo from a shelf, making Hermione gasp and prepare to scold him, but Harry spoke before she could, demanding, "Mrs. – Miss – Bagshot? Who is this?"

Hermione heard the rising frustration in his voice as he questioned the woman.

"Harry, what are you doing?" she hissed, going to grab the frame from him and return it before Bathilda noticed, but he jerked it out of her reach, waving it about as he explained.

"This picture, Hermione, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!"

And they were back to the mystery Harry had been obsessing over ever since he'd seen Voldemort questioning Gregorovitch in Voldemort's mind. How often had Harry allowed himself to enter Voldemort's mind since? Was the obsession really Harry's or had he allowed Voldemort's emotions to leak in and take over his own?

Deciding to redirect the conversation, Hermione tentatively said, "Please, Mrs. – Miss – Bagshot. There are some questions I was hoping you could help us with. About the Hogwarts founders. And Harry would like to know about the pictures. Couldn't you speak with us, please."

The woman gestured at Harry then upstairs. No way. Why couldn't they just speak here? Why hadn't she said a word yet?

"Oh, right…Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."

"What? Harry, no!"

"Hermione –"

"She isn't even talking to us. Why do we need to go somewhere else?"

"I don't know, but we need answers. Maybe she'll be more willing upstairs," Harry suggested with a weak shrug.

"All right, let's go," she said, pursing her lips. Bathilda gestured again at Harry, her meaning unmistakable.

Harry confirmed what Hermione was dreading Bathilda wanted. "She wants me to go with her, alone."

Suspicion had her hackles up enough to hotly ask, "Why?"

Harry simply shrugged again, unphased. Hermione wanted to argue. It was stupid, so utterly stupid, to split up. But she said nothing as Harry exited the room.

The longer she waited, the harder she found it to believe that she'd let Harry talk her into coming there. Or that she'd wanted this herself. She was in Bathilda Bagshot's sitting room, and she'd just let him go upstairs with the aged stranger - alone. What was she thinking?

None of this felt right.

She shouldn't have let Harry out of her sight. Why couldn't Bathilda talk to him in front of her? That didn't make any sense. Honestly, how long did it take to give someone a sword or to ask about a relic? How had she known it was him despite the Polyjuice Potion? Nothing about this situation was sitting right with Hermione. And how did she know the boy Harry and Voldemort had both been obsessing over?

Hermione stared at Bathilda's bookcase, looking for clues as to the boy's identity, but there were none. There were, however, so many titles she recognized, and even more she didn't. Longing seized her to investigate. One unexpected book caught her eye. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. Why would she have a copy of it? Was Harry right that Rita Skeeter had gotten her information from Bathilda for the book as he'd suggested months ago?

Picking it up, she debated for half a second then stuffed it into her beaded purse. Hermione was getting really good at stealing. She'd be a regular kleptomaniac by the end of this war.

She turned away from the books, lest she be tempted to steal another before Harry returned. What was taking so long?

Hermione stood up straighter as she felt the potion beginning to wear off. They must have been in the cemetery longer than she'd thought. Being here without their disguises really didn't sit well with her. She wished Harry would hurry up before the disguises completely wore off.

Remembering the cemetery reminded her of the mysterious symbol from the book Dumbledore had left her. Why had it been carved on the headstone too? Had Dumbledore seen it and liked it? Did it have some deeper meaning since three seemingly unconnected wizards all seemed to use it? Did -

A thump and the sound of shattering glass came from upstairs, startling Hermione out of her musings.

"Harry?" she called, worried.

He didn't answer, but more thumps came from above. Why did she let them come there? Hermione berated herself as she took off upstairs to find him, taking the steps two at a time and huffing by the time she reached the landing.

Rushing into the room, she found the snake, Nagini, pinning Harry to the floor. So it was a trap! But where was Bathilda? Had the snake killed her? Was the snake waiting up here for him?

"Relashio!" she cried, firing the jinx at the snake and forcing her to release her hold on Harry.

Once freed, Harry scrambled to his feet, blood streaming down his arm from where he'd clearly been bitten. Nalini, though, turned her massive head to Hermione and lunged.

She dove out of the way, barely avoiding the snapping of the snake's poisonous fangs, and fired a Stinging Jinx at her.

Nagini's serpentine form slithered just out of the path of the spell. It hit the window instead, causing it to explode in a shower of broken glass raining down upon all three of them. Hermione ducked down and threw her arms up over her head to avoid the cutting spray. Biting stings nipped up and down her arms, though the pain faded almost instantly in the wake of the adrenaline rushing through her.

Dropping her arms, she saw Nagini twisting around, slithering towards Harry again.

"Reducto!" Hermione cried, hoping to blast the snake, the Horcrux, apart.

It hit her full on, but did nothing more than send her flailing into the air, her swinging tail knocking into Harry on the way and smashing pictures and the many figurines decorating the room.

"He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!" Harry bellowed, his scar starting to reform as an angry red zigzag on his slowly morphing forehead.

There was no need to elaborate on who he was. Debris flew wildly about the room as the snake's tail batted it about like a baseball player hitting a home run, and Hermione was forced to duck and dodge to avoid being hit.

Harry grabbed her arm, the age spots having already vanished, and dragged her across the bed, bits of shattered glass sliced across her back, adding more tiny cuts as he did. The burn barely registered. Terror was all she knew.

Harry's pulling yanked and wrenched her shoulder, contorting it to a weird angle. He continued his frantic tugging, unrelenting as he urged her further across the room. Hermione didn't know where he thought they could go. Nagini was firmly planted between the door and them.

"Harry, where –"

"We have to go!"

Just as Nagini reared up, ready to strike once more and prevent their escape, Hermione shouted, "Confringo!"

And again, it bounced harmlessly off the protected snake, doing nothing to clear her from the doorway before it ricocheted all around the room.

Hermione screamed a warning too late as it seemed to hit Harry. His wand flew up and she snatched it from the air, but he was again trying to pull her backwards, focused entirely on whatever insane plan he'd devised. Hermione doubted he'd even realized he was missing the wooden magical object in his hast to escape.

It was then she saw that he meant to take them out the window. Voldemort appeared in the destroyed bedroom's doorway just as she wrapped an arm around Harry, and screamed as he seemed to leap out the open window taking her with him.

Except he went limp the moment they were airborne.

Holding Harry tighter, Hermione turned in the air, hoping Disapparating would still work even without a clear destination in mind. The only thing she could think of was dark hair, a permanent scowl, and an unwanted bond that had grown to become her only safe haven - the thing they needed most right then.

The dilapidated house on Spinner's End appeared before Hermione even as she sagged under Harry's dead weight and sank to her knees, panting. She tried to leverage him up, but her hand slipped in the slick blood coating his arm. Somehow, through sheer determination, she got them to the door and began pounding on it, hardly daring to hope Snape was home and alone.

It was a dangerous risk, but she needed him. Snape was the only one with enough experience to help her. He was the only one she trusted.

Luckily, Harry still looked mostly like the elderly Muggle they'd taken the hair from just the day before. It was impossible to determine how much of her own disguise lingered. The Muggle woman was very close to her in size, and with the cuts and blood and assorted bruises, she simply couldn't tell.

Harry began thrashing just as she went to knock again, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep him from crashing to the ground. Low whimpers rose from deep within him, wringing her soul with the agony they betrayed.

The door opened to show Snape clutching his middle, likely feeling her fear from the last five minutes.

"You're here. Help him," she demanded, relief and panic warring within her as she pushed Harry towards him and ignoring the blank stare he assessed her and Harry with.

She didn't even have time to be grateful that he was home before a full fledged scream broke from Harry, his whole body contorting dangerously. What was happening to him? Was this the result of the venom in Nagini's fangs? But it couldn't be….

"Hermione?" he asked, clearly befuddled by her appearance and arrival.

"Yes. Harry's hurt," she gasped, sagging against the door as Snape seized Harry's wrists to prevent him from clawing at his chest as he'd just begun doing.

"Get inside. Now," he barked, glancing up and down the street before he shut the door. "What were you thinking bringing him here? Where is Weasley?"

"Later," she said, trying to help restrain Harry. Blood had begun oozing from the scar on his forehead, terrifying Hermione with what could have caused it.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. It all happened so fast. It must have been a trap. Just help him, please," she babbled, reaching to help him wrestle Harry's straining arms.

"You're hurt," Snape observed, probably noting the dozen or more cuts marking her from the flying glass. And that was just what he could see. Her shoulder screamed in protest of each move she made, likely close to being dislocated from where Harry had pulled her to get them clear of the house when Voldemort arrived.

"I'm fine!" she cried, shouting to be heard over Harry. "You have to help Harry – Nagini bit him!"

"Let me see," he said, instantly on alert, but he stopped her from heading to the secret staircase leading up to their bedroom. "No, we'll just put him here for now."

As soon as Snape released Harry's hands, they returned to scraping at his chest, nails shredding his shirt and snagging on the links of the chain encircling his neck.

"The locket," she gasped, darting forward to remove it, hoping that would stop whatever torment was currently assailing her best friend. She tugged at the chain, but it didn't budge. "It's stuck," she grunted, pulling harder, but Harry went with it, and she could see where the edges had seemed to fuse with his skin, almost melting together.

Snape aimed his wand, silently casting some spell that likely nullified Dark magic, then nodded for her to try again. Nothing. More blood leaked from Harry's trademark scar, and his face twisted into a mask of horror.

Another ragged scream ripped from Harry's throat and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes where they were screwed tightly shut. On and on it went, the note drawn out to unimaginable lengths.

"It's in his head, making things worse! Get it off him! Do something, Severus," Hermione begged.

Snape glanced between them, then cried, "Diffindo!"

The spell sliced cleanly through the skin of Harry's chest, successfully separating the locket from him, but leaving a disgusting and bloody hole behind. Hermione felt her stomach roll at the sight of the oval spot exposing tissue and muscle.

For three full seconds, Hermione watched as fresh blood surged with each beat of his heart before she screamed, "Agh!" Then she dove forward, ripping the locket off and tossing it aside, chiding, "Not that! I didn't mean for you to mutilate him!"

"You wanted it off," he said, completely nonplussed.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she sang, recalling the healing spell he'd taught her all those months ago. She'd been too flustered to try it when Ron had been injured, but seeing Snape reminded her to use it now.

"Use dittany as well, though it will probably still scar," he advised, already busy studying the puncture on Harry's arm while she patched up the newest wound on his chest.

At least he'd finally stopped screaming.

Hermione heard Snape performing a few unfamiliar spells on Harry as she dug through her beaded bag for the bottle of dittany that he'd had given her. The stuff must have cost him a fortune, but he'd provided her with more than most people, aside from the Healers at St. Mungo's, would ever see in a lifetime.

"Weasley?" Snape inquired, a wealth of meaning in the name of their absent friend.

"He left us. Weeks ago," she answered, focusing on applying dittany to the wound and not cringing as she touched the squishy, meaty bits not meant to ever be seen.

"You've been alone with Potter?" There was an edge to the question, and it cut her fraying nerves as easily as his spell had sliced Harry's skin.

"Not now, Severus," she said wearily, too exhausted to deal with his jealousy just then.

"What happened?"

"We went to Godric's Hollow. You-Know-Who had a trap waiting for us. He must have known we'd visit," she admitted.

"Did you get what you needed?" he asked tightly, still working on Harry.

"No. There was nothing there," she admitted, regretting ever having agreed to go. Now Bathilda Bagshot was dead, and she knew of no one else that knew enough history to help them.

"Why would you take such a foolish risk? If you had informed me beforehand, I could have discreetly asked around to see if it was safe to venture there or worth trying," he lectured.

"And risk blowing your cover? You know I won't endanger you that way," Hermione said adamantly.

"My entire purpose is to aid you. Some things are worth the risk," he insisted, a muscle ticking in his jaw where he clenched it.

"It was a judgment call. A poor one, granted, but I am more than capable of weighing the risks and rewards and making my own decisions," she said stubbornly.

"Bloody, brash Gryffindors," he sneered, onyx eyes blazing and sparking with ebony flames. "Surely you –"

"We were desperate, and out of options," she cut in, not up to being lectured right then. She'd be chastising herself plenty in the coming days, she was sure. "He was there. We only just made it out, so just don't, all right? Trust me, I know we screwed up."

"I'll need to brew a potion for this," he said, letting the matter drop as he nodded towards Harry's arm. "There are stores in the kitchen – begin a base of lavender, yew, and three salamander eyes in salt water. It needs to simmer for six minutes then two clockwise stirs with a silver rod. I'll be in to complete the rest."

She nodded and started to leave, when he caught her hand to stop her.

"Hermione, see to your own injuries while it simmers," he ordered, not having forgotten that she was hurt as well.

Hermione watched him finish the brew from her seat at the table, admiring the efficiency and confidence of his movements. He'd not said a word as he took over the preparations from her, but he'd offered a sharp nod at seeing she'd used dittany and several spells on herself before he'd arrived. She watched him add a bit of shed skin that must have come from Nagini to specify the potion's target and nullify her venom.

"I was afraid you'd be at Hogwarts, but I had to try. I knew I needed you," she said quietly, biting her lip as she judged his current mood.

"Not a single student stayed for the holidays this year. I made the executive decision to send them and the staff all home. Everyone was in need of a break from the place," he said by way of explanation, still working on the potion.

Hermione remembered Harry looking at the map and guessing Ginny was home for break. But he'd not mentioned a word about the castle being entirely empty.

"Has it truly been that awful?"

"Worse," he said darkly, a bitter twist to his thin lips.

"I know you're doing the best you can," Hermione said soothingly.

"I'm sure our numerous conversations have convinced you of that." His words were stilted, but the accusation was clear.

This was her fault, the strain between them. She'd let the locket get to her. It was easy, while in his presence, to detect just how much he cared about her. Her baseless doubts were just that, baseless. He'd given her every reason in the world to believe he cared, and not just because he'd been ordered to.

On paper they made no sense. But when he touched her or looked at her, she came alive. He made her more confident, even as he made her question everything.

"I haven't been in the right headspace to talk to anyone, and Ron was beginning to ask questions. It was too big a risk," Hermione said, recognizing the hollowness of her flimsy excuses.

She should have made the effort regardless. She'd been scared of his rejection, after how often he had rejected her initially. She'd let the fear rule her. It was cowardly. Not at all a show of her living up to her house's reputation for bravery. Nor did it display her worthiness of Snape, a man that bravely walked the tightrope between both sides on a daily basis.

"Of course," he said tightly. She floundered, not knowing how to smooth things over. "Though you said Weasley has been gone for weeks."

"Yes," she agreed, not having any other excuse to offer. Probably because they were just that – excuses.

"Come here. Please," he added when she didn't immediately get up.

He gently turned her to face away from him, carefully lifting the back of her shirt and healing the places he must have guessed she'd been unable to reach. His hands lingered at her waist, and butterflies erupted in her stomach.

"My shoulder," she admitted, and sighed in relief when he cast a silent spell on the injured area. Nervously, she spoke again, informing him, "Harry's wand broke. After Crabbe, I don't like the idea of us not each having one."

"I don't have access to a spare, not this year at least," he said regretfully, his hands falling away at the mention of Harry.

She'd not meant to tread on such infamously thin ice, but his touch had a way of reassuring her like nothing else. He made her feel safe enough to confront a truth that had been unconsciously festering in her mind since she'd caught the broken fragments of Harry's wand.

And of course he couldn't help her solve the problem. If there had been spare wands at Hogwarts, the staff would have lent Ron one in second year when his had been held together with just a bit of spellotape. And Ollivander's was closed. Had been for over a year now. Ever since he went missing.

"I was afraid of that," Hermione sighed, leaning back against the counter.

"He won't touch you again. He remembers nothing," he said, stepping back to give her space. His gesture was a sign to her subconscious. She had the freedom to move, and an unspoken acknowledgement that she wasn't trapped or boxed in, at another's mercy – even his.

"I never want to be helpless again," Hermione said frankly, tipping her chin up defiantly.

He didn't offer false promises. Instead, with complete sincerity, he said, "You're strong enough to handle anything, no matter what. Never forget that."

There was a gravity to his words, but seeing as he wasn't looking at her, he didn't notice how much they moved her. After everything else that had just happened, she could feel the adrenaline crash coming, and with it a vulnerable emotional state. Fire licked at her eyes and pressure built as tears formed.

Attempting to fight off the looming outburst, she weakly joked, "Am I clever enough too?"

"I'm not inflating your ego more than it already is," Snape snorted, ladling some of the acid green potion into an empty glass phial he'd conjured.

"One day you will," she predicted stubbornly.

Snape glanced pointedly at the phial he held, a silent reminder that she'd not been that day, and smoothly asked, "Care to wager on that?"

"Prat," she grumbled, then frowned when he pulled another phial out of a cabinet. "What is that?"

"Dreamless Sleep Draught. He needs time to recover, and so do you," Snape informed her, leading her from the room.

Dreamless sleep? Harry would be unconscious and oblivious for hours then. Tentatively, she asked, "We can stay for a bit?"

"You're not going anywhere until you rest," Snape said, propping Harry's head back to pour the contents of each phial down his throat. Carefully, he massaged her friend's neck, ensuring he swallowed rather than choked on the liquid, before removing the pressure bandage he'd wrapped Harry's arm with.

Only a circular pink mark remained. It wasn't even puffy or swollen.

Hermione began crying in gratitude. Between the security he was offering and the aid he'd just provided, it was too much. The last few months had been an all time low for her, and Snape had just dragged her from the depths of that dark hole with a few swift words and actions.

Hastily, Hermione excused herself, retreating back into the kitchen so she didn't embarrass herself any further. It wasn't until she caught sight of the remaining potion resting on the counter that she was able to regain her composure.

They were going to face off with Nagini again. They had to. The snake was a Horcrux, and had to die. What if one of them were bitten again? There was no guarantee Snape would be available to brew another antidote. Knowing that, Hermione helped herself to another phial of the potion, slipping it into her purse and tucking it back away as quietly as she could.

"You could have just asked. I planned to give you some regardless just in case," Snape said, announcing his presence and calling her out in the process.

"Habit. I just took a book from Bathilda…well, yeah…and I did the same to Mad-Eye to get some Polyjuice," Hermione said awkwardly, uncomfortably aware of the itchy tear tracks drying on her face.

"You and that potion. Judging from your appearance when you arrived, this attempt went better than the first. No more cats, I trust," Snape said, slowly approaching her. The jest was enough to ease the remaining tension from her burst of crying, just as he'd known it would.

"Evil. You're pure evil," she growled, smacking his arm.

"I've never denied it," he agreed, then carefully asked, "are you feeling better?"

"Not really. Maybe?" She honestly didn't know, but when Snape extended his arms, she slumped gratefully into them, pressing her whole body against him and breathing deeply.

"Potter will sleep for hours. You need to eat," Snape suggested, running his hands across the overly prominent knobs of her spine.

"My stomach is a mess of knots right now," Hermione said regretfully. There was no way she'd be able to keep anything down if she tried.

"Then come," he encouraged, leading her past Harry and towards the hidden staircase.

"I don't want to leave him. What if he gets worse?" she asked, catching sight of her friend sleeping in the chair, his mouth hanging open slightly.

"You look like you haven't slept or eaten in months. Turning into a zombie won't do anyone any good," Snape chided, urging her upstairs with him.

Reluctantly, Hermione bent to retrieve the locket, spying it lying in the middle of the floor, but Snape took it, setting it on the table and ignoring whatever protest she planned to make. Then he practically dragged her upstairs.

"It's safe there, and you could do with a night off. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake," he promised, tucking her into their bed.

"Stay," she begged, glancing at the empty space beside her. He immediately crawled into bed behind her, wrapping his arms securely around her slender frame.

"What have you and Potter been doing?" he asked flatly.

"The same thing we've been doing all year," Hermione answered briefly, already beginning to doze off, confident that Snape's presence would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

"Apart from that?" he prodded, his warm breath fanning over her neck. Probably he was picturing them curled up like this in their tent. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

"He'll never have my heart, Severus. Not like that," Hermione confessed, sensing what he was really asking, despite the drowsiness muddling her thoughts.

"And do I…have your heart?" he asked so quietly she almost missed the question entirely, would have thought she imagined it altogether, if not for the tense stillness that settled over him as he waited for her reply.

"Do you want it?" she asked, heart jumping and knocking against her ribs.

Hermione felt him move, shifting slightly behind her, but he did not answer her, nor could she read the answer for herself in his expression given their respective positions.

After a minute, he sighed, saying, "Sleep, wife. You need to rest. You're safe here tonight."