A/N: Chapter 2…thanks for the favs & reviews! I'd love to hear your input so please R&R!
Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I only wish it was mine, although I could never do it justice!
The early morning sun at Hogwarts was a bit of an aberration when compared to the rest of Scotland, brought about by the heat rising from the Black Lake and the wind that whipped interminably around the Forbidden Forest. Nights spent in Gryffindor tower for the past seven years hadn't afforded Hermione the opportunity to experience the morning light rising over the mountains. The early rays barely reached the frosty windows of the Great Hall, let alone her cozy room several stories above ground. Three days waking up to the dawn breaking through the charmed windows of the dungeon, however, had been entirely enough to instill a deep appreciation for the professor's heavy drapes and the warming charm he had woven into his blankets.
Mornings were habitually burdensome for Hermione. In childhood, mornings meant pulling herself out of bed after too few hours of sleep and far too many hours of reading a book by whatever moonlight managed to make it to her bedside. For the past several years they had meant apprehensiveness over whether Voldemort had come to Harry in sleep once more, whether they would be off on another daring adventure risking life and limb. And now that it was all over, the worst part was the brief moment upon waking when Hermione forgot what had happened before reality descended once more.
This morning brought with it the realization that it had been over 72 hours with no change in Professor Snape. His words from six months ago rang with clearly in her mind. "Miss Granger, there is every likelihood, even should you administer whatever counter curse or antivenin or healing potion we've prepared, that I will not survive the coming battle." He had been reclined in his armchair beside the fire as he spoke, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle in a surprisingly relaxed pose. The dying flames had thrown his features into stark relief, and she remembered shivering from the resignation in his voice. "You must promise me that you will not go out of your way to attempt to save me. It is not your concern."
Like hell it wasn't. He was her concern. Most days, it felt like he was her only concern. Certainly more so than Harry who had not only Ron, but the entire Order behind him. No, the only person who had stood nominally behind Snape had been Dumbledore, and that ship had sailed last year. McGonagall had turned on him instantly – she wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive her Head of House for that – and the other Order members were useless, they hadn't trusted him from the beginning. In fact, if Hermione hadn't approached the Headmaster the year previous, she wasn't sure that Snape would have even survived long enough for Harry to end it.
Fighting for the downtrodden. It was her well-established M.O. And look where it had gotten her so far.
The stone floor was frigid under her bare feet as she stumbled into the living area, duvet wrapped around her shoulder to try and trap the last fragments of warmth. Hadn't these people ever heard of radiators? Not much wonder Slytherins were miserable – they were probably just freezing constantly. Perhaps that was why Malfoy was so pale all the time…
She had discovered over their clandestine meetings of the past year that Professor Snape had a preference for spicy, herbal teas, in particular a proprietary blend of star anise, cinnamon and orange zest which she had quickly learned to love. He had presented her with a small container of it at one of their final meetings. At the time she had assumed it was given as a nod to their tenuous friendship; now she wondered if it was meant as a parting gift. Regardless, a cup was definitely in order.
She poured the brew into his mug. He had always drank from this mug, the only one like it in is cupboard, hand crafted by all accounts. She could understand why. It brought out the tannins wonderfully and the heat was dissipated just enough through the thick walls to allow her to wrap her hand all the way around. The leather of his armchair creaked as she sank into it. For such an austere man, Professor Snape apparently indulged in some luxuries in his private life. That bathtub in particular had been well-used by her the past few days.
Since the day of the battle, after she had retrieved Snape from the Shrieking Shack and administered whatever life-saving measures she could conceive of, Hermione had spent most of her waking hours repairing the castle. Harry was still in the infirmary, ostensibly fine and fighting to be able to leave. She suspected that it was an effort on everyone else's part to give him some well-deserved rest that kept him confined to quarters, rather than an actual need to recuperate. Ron and Ginny had traded off time with him and their mother, no one quite knowing how to handle the loss of Fred. For her part, Hermione still hadn't allowed herself to process the losses. Particularly when she didn't know whether she should be grieving for the person in front of her.
His hand twitched where it rested limply on his stomach. She knew the Dreamless Sleep potion would be wearing off, but it was the last dose she had on hand. Even if there were more the risk of dependency was unconscionably high at the point. Though if he never woke up… No, she wasn't going to go down that road. His brow joined in the twitching. Not surprising. A furrowed brow was part of his DNA. Wicked tongue, billowing robes, permanent scowl. Nature vs nurture be damned, he must have come out from the womb snarky.
She would give up as many House Points as he wanted to take if he'd just wake up now. She wasn't even sure if there was a House Cup currently. At least one of the hourglass counters had been destroyed in the battle – she thought it had been Slytherin house, which would not please the professor, but she couldn't be sure. Hell, at this point she'd charm every portrait in the castle to sing "Hail Salazar" whenever he walked by if he would just open his eyes.
So she sat. She sat, staring at him, as his twitching increased over the next half hour. He would grow feverish soon, as the potions wore off. With an audible sigh, she summoned another Pain Reliever potion, silently thanking Ron for finding her another wand. Not that this one was particularly well suited to her magic, but at least it hadn't been the one to carve the ugly word into her arm. It felt as if each individual letter pulsed whenever she held Bellatrix's wand. This wand, at least, held significantly less risk of maiming whomever she pointed it toward.
When the fever broke, she bathed his head in cool water. His skin was salty with the remnants of sweat and tears. He would desperately need a bath when he finally awoke.
It was another hour before his eyes finally parted, glassy and unfocused. His breathing was raspy. "Miss Granger…"
"I'm here, professor."
He slept again. Sweat soaked the sofa. She'd long ago removed his blankets in an attempt to cool his temperature. The fire had gone out in the room and her skin pulled into goosebumps, even the heat radiating from him doing little to combat the chill.
Eventually, his black eyes met hers once again, slightly more focused this time. "I thought I'd dreamt you."
"No, sir, I'm here." She warmed infinitesimally.
"Mr. Potter…"
"He lives. Voldemort is dead."
His eyes closed as he exhaled. Slowly, uneasily, his eyes parted to gaze at his left arm where it lay over his chest. She hadn't even noticed before. The Dark Mark, previously black against his sallow complexion, was now almost completed faded.
"Gods, it's true." The desperation in his voice nearly shattered her.
"Yes, professor. Just rest. You don't have to do anything now. Please, sleep."
With the faintest of smiles on his lips, he did just that.