CHAPTER 2 – Resurrectus Severi Snapi
AN: I am determined to find a use for those seven agonizing years of Latin. Please note that as I have decided to continue this story, the Lily/Severus ship has docked. Let the Hermione/Severus one sail!
The previous chapter may have presented Snape as somewhat OOC. Let's bring back the snarky, shall we? Don't worry, he will return in full snark mode eventually. He's a little weak and vulnerable right now, what with that whole death thing.
As a side note, I am putting together an outline of where and how I want this story to go, but until I establish that, I'm sort of winging it, and thus the slow chapters. I am beta-bereft, and if there is anyone who would like to help me with my story, I would greatly appreciate it! I do not have too many problems with grammar or spelling, but punctuation does not like me. Most of all though, I could really use a second set of eyes to help me pull out any plot holes, inconsistencies, or advise me on where to go. Brit-picking would be handy too!
DISCLAIMER: Gimme a J! Gimme a K! Gimme an R! What's that spell? Not my name.
Hermione ran from the great hall. She pushed through the weepers and the clappers, past those celebrating the demise of the last dark wizard, not slowing for the ones sprawled out in agony over deaths of loved ones.
If she had things her way, there would be one less death tonight.
Her feet stumbled across the grass, the roots, and even a few moaning bodies, but she would not allow herself to be distracted. If there were a higher power, if there were any goodness in the world, if only there were enough time, and enough miracles to go around tonight, maybe, just maybe…
Maybe Severus Snape did not have to die.
When she came upon the Whomping Willow, she noted the drooping of the branches with some surprise. It seemed even the violent tree was affected by the evening's excitement. As she approached the knob that would open a passageway beneath, she held her breath, fearing a right hook directed from the limbs. But no strike came, and with a relieved sigh, she entered the passageway towards the Shrieking Shack. Maybe this was a sign?
She ran through the corridor, mindless of the bumps and bruises she would doubtless find in the morning from her falls and stumbles. Finally, finally, she reached the door and threw it open in her hurry.
He was still in the same position, slumped against the wall, blood drenched and paler than even before. If anything could be done for him, she would have little time in which to do it.
When they had left him there before, flask of memories in hand, she had felt a pang of guilt, though she had not understood why. All three had felt it. In spite of what Professor Snape had done, in spite of how he had treated them through the past 7 years, they had all felt the twinge of sorrow upon witnessing his death.
Did anyone deserve to die that way? Even the hated murderer of Albus Dumbledore?
But now, now everything made sense. After the showdown in the Great Hall, after Harry had proudly assaulted Voldemort with the words "He was Dumbledore's man", after hearing how his love for Harry's mother had completely altered his existence, everything had clicked into place.
She had never been able to hate him. This was, in part, due to the fact that regardless of everything, he was her Professor. And it was not in Hermione Granger's nature to ever disrespect or suspect a Professor. The exceptions to this rule of venerating her mentors were certainly noteworthy, but really, she respected those who had real knowledge, not hazy, incense coated hunches like those of Trelawney.
To Harry and Ron, Severus Snape as the "bad guy" made sense. It made everything they knew about him click into proper place. To Hermione, however, it had never sat properly, and not until she heard from Harry mouth what he had seen in Snape's memories did things begin to make sense. She had been the one most desperate to know what were in his silvery memories. If not for her quick conjuring of a flask, Harry might have simply walked away, uncaring, though not unmoved.
She stared down at the mutilated body on the floor, and fell to her knees. She felt like weeping at the injustice of it all. She was sickened, not by the sight of her former Professor's torn and tattered body, but by the fact that she was the only one here to see it. Where were the crowds of people running forth to see if this hero might be saved? They had left him for dead, deciding, seemingly, that it was easier to appreciate a hero when he wasn't around to sneer at them. Hypocrites, the whole lot of them.
She emptied the pockets of her robes, spilling various potions, vials, magical bandages, and salves out across the floor. She quickly thumbed through the pages of one of the books she had carried with her, Visceral Venoms and their Antidotes, stolen from, ironically enough, a private lab connected to the potions classroom. She had found it strange that this room had been left opened, for she had always known it to be a private area allotted only for Professor Snape. She had had no time to wonder why the sullen headmaster had still been using the private lab, nor why it had been open, though she supposed that the attack on the school had disrupted many wards.
On the table in the lab had been various bottles and ingredients, and she had been able to snatch all the items, including the book, up into her robes in very little time, without even checking clearly to see what she might need were she to attempt to perform this…
Resurrection. For surely there could be no other word to describe what the body in front of her required.
She pushed her head against his chest, but heard no heartbeat. Her fingers against his scarred and bloodied wrists detected no signs of a pulse. She let out a heavy sigh of resignation, but did not slow her efforts to repair his wounds. She refused to give up without doing everything she could to try to save him. He was a hero, and he deserved more than to be left abandoned in an old wooden shack, where he had been humiliated so many times before.
She began performing every healing charm she could remember. She cleaned his robes and mutilated skin of the blood. She used every last drop of her precious Essence of Dittany. She skimmed through the book, desperately seeking possible antidotes, fumbling through the labeled bottles and salves, using anything that might help.
Strangely enough, it seemed the Professor had concocted several of the antidotes within the book, and had labeled the bottles appropriately. Again, she wondered how he could have known, why he would have prepared for a snake attack, but the thought was merely fleeting in light of more important matters.
Though she was no mediwitch, after cleaning his robes and exposed skin of blood, she found that the snake did not appear to have actually bitten Snape in more than one place. She applied some salve to the small bite at his neck, where it seemed Nagini had done little other than nip Snape in a "loving kiss", and wondered at all the blood. The other slashes in his skin appeared to have been made by the tight coils of the snake itself, and she tried not to think about how tightly the snake must have bound the Professor in order to actually break his skin. Instead, she started in on her other book, one she had snatched from the healers who had been looking over the bodies strewn about the castle: Broken Hearts and Bones: Advanced Healing Charms for the Battered and Bruised.
She had been bandaging, charming, antidoting and murmuring for nearly an hour before there was any sign of change. And when she felt a slight twitch coming from the veins within Snape's wrist, she did not trust it at first. She continued with her various multi-faceted ministrations, determined neither to quit, nor to break down into the long overdue tears, until a movement caused her to shriek in surprise and jump back.
Severus Snape had opened his eyes.
In fact, it had been very sudden. His eyelids had snapped open, and had been watching Hermione work for five minutes before she had even bothered to look at his face, as she had been too busy murmuring detection charms over his chest, cringing when she detected the broken ribs and battered organs within.
Now she was standing three feet away, looking at him with pure fear and shock. He was alive, though she had no idea if he might stay alive. In fact, she had held so little hope in her abilities, that she had completely forgotten to steal, er, borrow, any pain suppression potions, as was evident in the way he cringed, and the agony that shone in his eyes.
She fell back on the floor in front of him, scrambling, moaning, "Oh Professor, I'm so sorry… you must be in unbearable pain, I'm so terribly sorry…" She frantically reached for her book again, desperately seeking a charm that might lessen the pain at the very least.
Though he had opened his eyes, he had evidently not regained the strength or ability to speak, or even move. In agony he watched her poring through the pages of her text, and when she looked up, he glared pointedly at a small vial that had fallen into the corner.
Understanding immediately, she grabbed at the unlabeled vial that Snape had seemed to recognize, and uncorked it, quickly lifting it to his lips and emptying it. She had no idea what it was, but it seemed to bring him immediate relief in some measure.
She watched him as his eyes closed, absorbing the effects of the draught, and she felt helpless yet again. She had done everything she could, and the limits of her severely limited knowledge of healing spells (albeit, probably still enough to earn her a position at St. Mungo's – She was Hermione Granger, after all) had been exhausted. She searched his eyes, his face, his chest, for any sign of visible improvement, and cast more injury detection charms when the visuals had provided no evidence of relief.
Professor Snape, wincing, managed to carefully and slowly shake his head at her. He was only able to make one movement of his neck before the agony of the effort showed on his face. She touched him gently on the shoulders, saying only, "Don't."
His eyes opened and he looked at her again. His dark gaze startled her, and she felt naked. She felt embarrassed, as though saving the life of one's Professor was certainly breaching some code of conduct. She did not blush, but looked into his eyes again, trying to understand in case he sought something else from her. She knew not what else she could do.
They sat there, staring at one another, for what seemed like hours, though it could only have been a few minutes that passed. She had begun to feel quite uncomfortable under his searing, questioning gaze, and scrambled about for something meaningful to say that would require no response.
She looked at him pleadingly. "Please, sir. Please. I couldn't just… I couldn't just leave you here to die! Not after… everything you've done for us. The doe in the woods… the sword… everything. Everyone knows now, or at least, they know part of it. I don't even know the whole story, but everyone knows about… about… about Mrs. Potter…"
Mrs. Potter indeed. I'll be sure to send a note of gratitude to the Boy Who Never Shut Up, Severus thought.
He furrowed his brow, and she saw a flash of anger boil into fire in his eyes. What had she said that had angered him? She was at a complete loss mentally, but never being one at a loss verbally, she continued, frantically.
"I mean, I always knew… I always knew on some level that you couldn't be, well that you couldn't be… evil," she whispered. "I knew there was something else to it. Surely everyone else will know that as well, once everything has been explained, once the story has been let out."
His eyes narrowed in even further anger. This was not going well at all. She flung about for a change of topic in the one-sided discussion.
"You weren't actually bitten. Well, not badly anyway. Just one small bite on the neck. I was able to neutralize the venom, at least I think so, because there really wasn't very much. Unfortunately, you were left here so long, that even such a small amount of venom can have disastrous consequences if left to linger." Her voice faltered at the end, and the shame and regret of having abandoned the hero alone in the shack for so long quieted her, and she hung her head like a chastised child.
He was still watching her face, and at her forlorn expression, the hard edge of his eyes had dissolved. He did not seem to blame her, though she did not seem to notice. It was not that Severus never betrayed kindness in his eyes. It was simply that no one ever seemed to pay attention when he did. He remembered how many times Lily had ignored his eyes when they had shown kindness, or embarrassment, or naked love and devotion. He had long since decided that it was probably better that no one ever noticed anyway. Such putrid displays of emotion were a sign of weakness. He wanted to sigh, but the delicate balance of breathing between all the broken bones in his body held him captive.
Once again, she began looking over his injuries. Superficially, he seemed to have healed well, though he would apparently retain the striping scars circling his body. Internally, however, was another story. She knew of his injuries. She reached within her robes for a bottle (stolen again of course) of Skele-gro. His eyes settled on the bottle with resolute acceptance.
"I know… it will be agony. That's why I hadn't given it to you yet. Between your other injuries, and the healing wounds, and the venom… But I don't know how else to repair all your broken ribs and other bones, Professor. I could run and find Madame Pomfrey, but I am afraid to leave you in such a fragile state. There may still be some Death Eaters running around, and they know enough of your story to realize you were not a spy on their side, and who knows how long it would take for Madame Pomfrey to get here, because," her voice hitched, "well, there are a lot of… a lot of bodies to take care of."
His eyes opened wider at her words, and he winced again, as he licked his lips. He tried to swallow, and his adam's apple bobbed slowly. He tried to speak, and his voice came out in a gargled whisper.
"Miss… Miss Granger, I…"
"No! Don't speak! Merlin, it must be pure agony for you!"
She conjured a glass of water, and lifted it to his lips. He took a grateful sip, but swallowing seemed to be excruciatingly painful. She winced and cringed, almost as though she could feel the physical agony he was enduring.
Well, she thought, looks like I've found one career path that I'll never be able to follow. I can't very well be a Healer if the sight of someone else's pain is so miserable for me!
They had returned to the uncomfortable silence, staring at one another, the bottle still in her hands. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him for forgiveness for the pain she was no doubt thrusting upon him.
His gaze still seemed to be searching her, trying to understand why she was doing this. Why not just let him die? Why not just walk away? Why was this silly girl so intent on saving him? The thought of being saved by any member of the Golden Trio made him want to wretch. The memory of being saved yet again in the Shrieking Shack reminded him of a different humiliation from deeper in his past, and he wanted to lash out at Miss Granger. Was it some sort of misguided attempt at Gryffindor honor? Normally this might sicken him, but he thought again of Lily's words.
If you go back, it will never be easy. It may not even be possible, and the attempt alone will be miserable, if not excruciatingly painful.
Well she had been right about one thing so far. It was definitely excruciatingly painful.
As Hermione watched his eyes, he seemed to settle on something. He glanced at the bottle of inevitable agony she wielded, and then back up into her eyes. He nodded, or at the very least, twitched his head in a downward direction to give her his approval.
She groaned and closed her eyes, knowing how difficult it would be to watch this. But watch she would. She would not be yet another hypocrite who abandoned Professor Snape. Harry and Ron and all the others would get on just fine without her for what remained of the night. Though she ached to console Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys for their loss, not to mention the many losses others had sustained during the battle, she felt that ensuring there was not another death to add to the numbers took precedence.
She brought the bottle to his lips, and tipped it forward to administer a considerable dosage. If Snape found the taste disgusting, his face did not show it. The potions master had evidently had his share of poor-tasting draughts. He winced while swallowing, but then straightened his face. He was in for a rough night, but the effects would not be immediately painful.
Hermione looked around the shack for the second time that evening. She summoned an old tattered blanket from another corner, and transfigured a broken crate into a soft pillow. She set these aside, and turned to the Professor, who was eyeing her cautiously.
"Professor, please. I know this will be unpleasant, but I am going to move you, so that you can lie down. You have to get some sleep."
He snapped his eyes back to hers, and the panicked look in them rendered her momentarily speechless. She returned his gaze with her own confused eyes. Then understanding spread through her, and warmed her. She had never seen Severus Snape betray any fear, but it seemed that he expected her to leave, and this fact, for whatever unknown reason, frightened him. Had she considered it more thoroughly, she probably would have imagined herself one of the top five members of a list of creatures near which Severus Snape least likely wished to sleep. Right up there with Harry Potter, Voldemort, and Nagini.
She stood, looking around her and evaluating her surroundings again, seeking suitable objects for transfiguring. She eyed a dusty, torn remnant of a sliced curtain, and transfigured it into a quilt. Summoning yet another crate, she transfigured it into a smaller pillow for herself. She Scourgified the dusty blanket she had summoned earlier, and placed it on the floor again. Eyeing the hard floor with distaste, she transfigured the last two wooden crates into small, light mattresses.
When she looked at him again, he seemed to understand her actions. The panic had disappeared from his eyes, returning the calculating, searching look to which he had earlier defaulted. He still seemed suspicious of her. While she found this slightly annoying, it occurred to her that perhaps Severus Snape had never been one to allow anyone in his presence when he was at his weakest. And she had certainly never seen him so weak and defenceless. She imagined that, knowing what little she did about the ex-death eater, he would most likely be mortified, and resolved to make him as comfortable as she could in every way possible.
She laid the mattresses side by side on the floor, and placed the blankets and pillows nearby. Now she faced the broken body of Professor Snape with the eye of one attempting to solve an Arithmancy equation. She could, if she were exceedingly careful, use the Mobilicorpus charm to move him onto the mattress, but she was unsure if she could control his body carefully enough to avoid any further injuries. And, as lanky as the Professor might be, he was also at least 6 inches* taller than her, which may prove difficult if she attempted to move him without magic.
Finally, she decided to use Levicorpus, and as she focused all her magical energies on not dangling him to the ceiling by one foot, she slowly moved the cringing Severus Snape to a slightly more comfortable place on the small mattress. It looked as though the movements were exceedingly painful for the Professor, but she forced herself to ignore his face, and focused her attention on controlling the careful movements of the spell.
Finally he rested on the mattress, gasping for air, clenching and unclenching his fists. She rested on her knees next to him, and carefully arranged the pillow underneath his head. She summoned the transfigured quilt, and gently laid it across him. As his breathing slowed, he eyed her movements carefully, as though inspecting her movements in an exam. He seemed to be tensely expecting her to drop something on his broken chest. She smiled and chuckled as she lay on the mattress next to him, pulling the old blanket over her legs. Lying on her side, facing him, she smiled as he glared up at the ceiling.
"Professor Snape, you are certainly not a very gracious man."
His only response was to switch his glare to her instead.
*Ack! Should this be centimeters? Brits please advise .
