A/N: This chapter was re-uploaded because of course the day after I post it is the day I think of a much better way to write a specific scene... And again after I realized my scene breaks weren't uploading.

Chapter One

The contrast between the library and the rest of the castle was so severe that Hermione froze. The library had felt so normal, she had expected to be greeted with the same sights she had been used to as a student; warm sconces lighting the stone halls filled with cheerful paintings, students and faculty clustered around, the stained glass window down the way adding splashes of color to the walls around it. Instead she faced a broken, crumbling wall, bits of portrait and shards of colorful glass panes scattered on the ground at her feet. There were no dancing colors on the walls; there was no laughter or lighthearted chatter or footsteps across the stone. The only sounds that enveloped her were the shouts and clamoring of the parties in the courtyard, carried to her on a breeze.

Hermione turned back to look at the pristine library. The barriers and protections cast upon the section of castle was truly a work of art. Not a page had moved an inch during the battle, it seemed. The tables had gone slightly askew, the dust was thoroughly disturbed, one of the lamps had even fallen from its hook- but the books suffered no harm. For this she was grateful.

Facing the destruction immediately outside the library was a brutal reminder of the pain she had sought to escape. Now it lay fresh before her as she moved carefully down to the Entrance Hall. She tried not to think too deeply about who could have died on those steps, who could have been buried under that rubble. The thoughts came anyway.

The sun shone high on the grounds as she exited the castle, beating down on the backs of the witches and wizards clearing rubble. She recognized Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood levitating a particularly large chunk of stone and carefully walking it over to a man blasting the rubble into powder. Behind them a ways were ministry officials gathered around in a semi-circle around the newest of exposed bodies- Hermione quickly looked away.

The celebrations had gone on all night, but for Hermione, the only celebration she could manage was relief that this nightmare was over. When she was younger, when Harry brought back a witness account of Voldemort's return, she had imagined the three of them defeating him just as they had helped Harry in the past; she imagined a glorious battle, a satisfied vengeance for Cedric Diggory, and she imagined them as heroes, smiling, a fairy tale ending.

It wasn't a long-lived fantasy, as fifth year had proven to her that this was going to be different; it wasn't a battle they were fighting- it was a full blown war. She felt the shame of a silly schoolgirl for thinking otherwise, even for as brief a moment as she did.

A loud crack, a shout, and a crash-

Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready and adrenaline surging, but exhaled with relief when she saw Neville and Luna kneeling by the rock-blasting man, their large chunk of stone cratered where he had been standing. She turned back towards the infirmary tent, still shaky. When would the paranoia fade? She kept her wand in her hand for comfort.

The infirmary tent had been erected shortly after Voldemort's fall two mornings ago, during the beginnings of the celebration. Healers from St. Mungo's were dispatched to tend to the injured- and quickly fell under Madame Pomfrey's command. Hermione had come to the tent late that first night, unable to sleep and wanting to be useful. They had no time to train her beyond her basic knowledge of first aid but needed a pair of eyes and gladly accepted her help monitoring the condition of a comatose man in dangerously serious condition. She has since taken up this vigil during every meal and late at night.

Hermione pushed aside the tent flap and ducked inside. The tent was longer than it was wide, with a row of beds on both sides, each with a nightstand to the right and a clipboard at the foot. To the left of the entrance was a small podium with a list of patients and their current status. Hermione didn't need to check the list to know how her patient was doing.

Every nurse and matron was crowded around his bed, shouting.

"Don't hold him down- where's that potion?!"

"The spell isn't working! He's going to shake himself off the bed!"

"Out of my way- try to tilt his head back- Oof!"

Hermione had made her way through the crowd in time to witness her patient, in the midst of having a seizure, smack a nurse across the chest hard enough to knock her down. As she stepped forward to help the woman she noticed a small vial slip from the nurse's hand and roll towards her. Grabbing it, she lunged forward and- uncorking it with her teeth- grabbed the man's forehead and dumped the potion down his throat. Sidestepping flailing limbs the nurses threw themselves backwards and watched as their patient slowly settled.

Madame Pomfrey turned towards a young nurse in a fit of rage as she stepped forward to check the man. "Where was the calming spell when we needed it, Miss Clarence? If you can't manage simple first aid spells, you are no good to me!"

Miss Clarence, attempting to straighten her wildly tousled hair, threw her hands down in frustration. "I told you- the spell wasn't working! I can cast that spell in my sleep, Madame, you've seen me do it countless times!"

"Perhaps your wand-" the nurse that had been tossed offered.

"My wand is fine!" Miss Clarence shot her wand up in the air and perfumed the room in rose-scented puffs. "I tell you, something happened. The magic just wouldn't come!"

"Miss Granger, please replace the bandages on our patient," Madame Pomfrey ordered, finishing her last evaluation spell with a flourish and stepping away from the bed. "He should be fine; the potion has done what Miss Clarence failed to do for him."

"I TOLD you-"

Hermione stepped past the nurses and grabbed the bandages from the side table drawer. As she gathered, she could hear the witches still arguing. Hermione's head was full of confusing thoughts. The last two days taught her that Miss Clarence wasn't just a Mediwitch; she may very well be the finest Mediwitch in this tent, save Madame Pomfrey. A simple calming spell would not have been difficult for her to manage in a life-or-death situation, which- scary as they are- grand mal seizures in a wizarding hospital tend not to be. Madame Pomfrey knows this, she thought to herself. She'll see when she calms down. Something else was happening.

Shaking her head, Hermione put those thoughts aside and focused on what was in front of her- her patient. During the seizure, the man was a hurricane of limbs and spasms. Now, however, he was quite still. She took a moment to look him over.

The bandages around his neck needed replacing as they were soaked with blood. The seizure had damaged his newly-healed rib once again, and while Madame Pomfrey had spelled it back into place, the bandage wrapping was sweatsoaked and loose. In fact, his whole body was sweatsoaked- his raven-black hair stuck to his forehead with frustrating determination and as she brushed it away from his now peacefully shut eyes she noticed his skin was clammy and hot. Beads of sweat dripped off his prominent Romanesque nose that flared with each soft breath he took and his often-sneering mouth, now at rest, was unsettlingly pale. With a plan of action, Hermione went to work.

Hermione folded the blanket over so that it was only covering him from the waist down and finished prepping the materials she would need. As she rubbed a sanitizing lotion on her hands, she looked into the face of the man that had so often made her feel miserable.

"The irony is not lost on me," she told him. "For years you made it clear I was nothing but a constant headache- and now I can say the same for you, Professor Snape."

Like this, Hermione could feel pity for her Professor. Vulnerable as he was, she could even feel grief.

She got to work.


Evening had come, and with it a sort of peace. The infirmary tent had quieted, allowing the occupants their much needed rest. A few nurses remained to patrol the beds, checking charts and administering medicines. Outside the tent, the hustle and bustle had settled to a constant hum of noise. And Hermione Granger could still be found at her professor's bedside, curled in a plush chair with a book in her lap.

She flipped through the pages slowly, her eyes darting around as they searched for the answers the small pile of books next to her chair could not give her. This book, Magical Death and Why We Shouldn't Fear It, was no more promising than the others, it seemed.

Frustrated, she slammed the book closed and threw her head back against the chair. "I don't understand why," she spoke softly to the ceiling. Her eyes closed in concentration as she started to talk herself through the problem. "A twin who has passed on 'should within the day appear to the other.' In nowhere I've read does it say anything else. There's no need to summon the other, there's no spells cast or potions made, and it's not like Fred could just choose to not-"

The thought abruptly stopped as flashes of memory danced across Hermione's closed eyelids.

Shouts. Fire. Flashing spells. A collapsing wall-

She jerked upwards, eyes open wide, her chest suddenly tight.

I can't breathe! She struggled to think, to stop the sudden panic she felt spread through her. "Hermione, come on; calm yourself. A deep breath in, a deep breath out," she whispered hurriedly. She mimicked her self-commands and her chest loosened enough for her to take her breath.

"Good," she said, "now focus. What do you see?" She struggled to adjust her eyes, but looked straight forward and kept speaking to herself under her breath.

"White. Sheets. Good. What else? An Arm. Pale. Leads to a shoulder. Black hair, Professor Snape. Good." Keeping her eyes focused on reality, she felt her swimming head clear. Taking another deep breath, she stood, and stared down at the man in the bed. "Professor Snape is here, in the infirmary tent. He is stable. I am- I am-" She paused, blinked, and took his wrist in her hand. "I am here to watch over him."

Under her fingers she felt for his pulse. Badum. Badum. The rhythm coursing through his veins calmed her until her chest relaxed and her own heart calmed.

Suddenly exhausted, she all but fell back into her seat, but she never let go of Professor Snape's wrist. He was, at the moment, her tether to reality. She needed the badum badum under her fingers to remind herself that the battle was over, that she was safe, that she could breathe.

Hermione pulled her legs close, resting her chin on her knees. She sat that way for quite a while, staring at the man in the bed, feeling his pulse beneath her fingers, watching his chest rise rhythmically in restful sleep. Unconsciously her own breath began to mimic his. Her eyelids grew heavy as she watched. She closed her eyes and sighed.


There was a flash of light.

Confused, Hermione sat straight up. The medical tent was darker than she remembered. It was quieter. She was sitting in a chair next to her professor, her head on her knees and her hand on his wrist… she must have fallen asleep. She dropped his arm and heard a disappointed "tsk!" Looking up she saw a man holding a camera at the foot of Snape's bed.

"Oh dear, sorry to wake you!" he hissed.

"Did you take my picture?"

"It's just, it was such a beautiful opportunity, so romantic, you see-"

"Get rid of it."

The man's smile faltered. "'Get rid of it'? I can't do that! It's a beautiful portrayal of how even the darkest of times can't keep the strength of love away from-"

"We're not lovers," she said dryly. "He's just my professor. Your picture is a lie."

"Oh," he smiled. "My pictures never lie. I only capture the truth-" Hermione stood up and pulled her wand out from her pocket. "Okay, ma'am, I understand! You won't see me again!" He scurried out of the tent.

Frustrated, she followed him out of the tent and watched him disapparate. "Who was that?" she asked herself.

"The Daily Prophet sent photographers to document the aftermath of the final battle." Minerva McGonagall stepped next to her from the shadows. "They've been scurrying here and there, pushing boundaries and generally annoying everyone who's truly trying to get some actual work done here." With a sigh, McGonagall put her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "How are you, my dear? I've seen so little of you since all this happened; I've been worried."

"Professor," Hermione greeted her warmly with a tired smile, "I'm- fine." Before she could question Hermione's state any more, she asked, "Why are you here? Did you need something?"

"A letter from Harry just arrived for you, dear." Hermione was handed a short note with her name familiarly scrawled on the front. "It seems the owls are a bit confused, and have been delivering all their mail to the Headmaster's office."

"Why would Harry write me a letter instead of just coming to see me?" She broke the seal on the letter and folded it open.

"I'm sure he says in the letter, dear." McGonagall patted her shoulder. "Do me a favor; when you're done with your shift, please come see me in my tent. It's the red one by the Quidditch Pitch." With a nod, she wandered down to a small gathering of Ministry officials.

Hermione watched her go for a moment before turning to the letter in her hands. Wandering back into the tent, she read:

Hermione,

I'm glad you're finally sleeping! I don't think I will be tonight. Come to Ron's when you can. The Weasleys need help. I am trying my best, but I don't know what to do. There's just too much sadness.

Harry

Nodding at the letter as she slipped it into her back pocket, she took her place next to Professor Snape once more. "That explains the note, at least," she whispered softly to herself. Sleep came at such a cost to her lately. Closing her eyes brought forth flashes of the dead, injured, and terrifying. It was easier to stay awake; easier to focus on something else.

Like this man in front of me, she thought to herself as she moved to gather supplies on the nightstand- one of the few things the nurses allowed her to do was to change the bandages on his neck wound in between their check-ins.

It seemed the only time she had found peace, she had been at Professor Snape's side. Something about the act of caring for another person calmed her, and tonight she had been able to rest, even after her moment of panic. Her days lately have been filled with nothing but distractions and emotions. It was nice to have a safe place… no matter what shape that took. Pulling out new gauze and bandage from a drawer, she tried and failed to not look back on that night.

"I thought you were dead," she said out loud to the man as she started replacing his bandages. She spoke to him often as a comfort, pouring out her musings and contemplations on this poor comatose patient who had, for the time being, no choice but to listen. "The life seemed to leave you so suddenly, it was terrifying. How you managed to survive that-"

Her words cut off as she considered something. Harry and Ron had questioned her previously on her determination to stay at Professor Snape's bedside. It felt odd to tell them about how being here, with him, helped her breathe. For a time she considered it just to be the act of caring for another person. The routine of it all was very soothing. But she knew deep down that it was more than that. If she were asked to watch any other patient, she would still have taken an interest in her Professor.

She wasn't sure why until she considered what she had just said. "Is that why I worry about you, why I want you to wake up?" She asked aloud. "So I can talk to you about that night? How you survived? Are you just another puzzle to me?"

She finished wrapping his neck and pulled a few strands of hair out from the bandage. "No, that's not it," she muttered. "I think... I think I'll have to think about this some more," she said with a smile. Her fingers brushed against his chin and the newly-grown facial hairs scraped against her knuckles. This was the first time she had seen him with any facial hair, and the contrast in the dark hairs and his pale skin was glaring. "I'll see to it that you have a good shave, Sir. We can't have you looking any less menacing, now, can we?" she joked with a soft smile.

The tent flap fluttered and Miss Clarence stepped through. "Hello again, Miss Granger," the other woman greeted, taking a look around as Hermione responded in kind. "I'm here to shoo you away. I take it our lovely patient is still breathing?"

"He had a great night," Hermione responded, smiling. "I just replaced his bandages and was hoping we could get him a shave." Reaching down to pick up her backpack, she added, "He doesn't look nearly scary enough with a 5 o'clock shadow."

Miss Clarence laughed, stepping forward to take his vitals. "You're right about that. I'll take care of him, don't you worry. The next time you see him his cheeks will be as smooth as a baby's bottom." Turning to look at the younger girl, she added, "Now do me a favor and get some rest. A bite or two wouldn't hurt either."

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "I'll do what I can," she promised as she walked out of the tent and made her way towards the Quidditch pitch.

A/N 2: I'm scared. These two "Chapters" took me YEARS to write and be satisfied with. I am so sorry if you guys fall in love with my story and then I disappear. I will try so hard not to do that to you. I have big plans for this story, and I hope I can pull it off. I hope you've enjoyed it so far.