BY ANY OTHER NAME

Variations of a Theme

PART 4

When Severus woke he felt the warm embrace of soft cotton cocooning him from all sides. He let out a tremulous sigh, allowing himself to sink further into the cushioned surface. He lay there for a moment, allowing himself the pleasure of slowly waking before opening his eyes.

He blinked slowly, the room swimming into his vision. He was in a white room. It looked like a hospital, but his was the only bed in it.

He realized then that his face was hurting less. It throbbed dully, as if to remind him of the abuse it had gone through, but it no longer burned or wept. His fingertips crept up cautiously to feel the unharmed skin around his wounds and they met the textured surface of muslin. He had been bandaged.

"He's awake."

Severus lifted his head slightly to see Albus' concerned face peering back at his.

"Why hello, Severus."

Albus' portrait was propped onto a chair at Severus' bedside. Severus weakly reached out, hand trembling until it had finished the short journey to the picture frame and then experimentally tapped on its surface. He wasn't dreaming. Where was he?

As if sensing his question, Albus said, "You're in a private wing of St. Mungo's. We got you transferred here last night."

Severus' eyes unfocussed as he tried to recall what had happened the night previously. It was all a bit of a blur to him, he couldn't remember much distinctly…

"Should I get the nurse?"

The sound of Hermione's voice brought everything rushing back and Severus jerked in the bed, struggling with the blankets so that he could twist around and see her. The violent movement startled her and she took a step back.

"Calm yourself, Severus," Albus said sternly, but to no avail. Severus had been gripped with a sudden, giddy excitement and he feebly tried to push himself into a sitting position.

She rushed over to the bedside and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. He calmed down immediately, eyes boring deeply into hers, unable to look away. Slightly unsettled, she nevertheless gently pushed him back until he was lying down on the bed. When her hands straightened and smoothed out the blankets, they skirted the underside of his jaw and he instinctively rubbed his face against her. She fought down a shiver of conflicting repulsion and desire. He looked at her searchingly and she found she had to look away.

She felt like he had thought she would, only warmer. The fleeting touch was already slipping from his memory and he wanted to touch her for longer, feel what her skin was like, how she tasted, and if she still smelt of his roses. He wanted to say, you came, but had to content himself with his silence.

She had retreated to the other chair beside Albus', unconsciously rubbing her hands together and lost somewhere in thought. Severus could see the small peak of a nipple through her shirt and knew then that he still had some electric control over her nerves. Was that what was bothering her? What was she thinking?

She murmured something to Albus' portrait about the school and left the room. Severus watched her go balefully, but settled back down onto the bed in peace. She had come. She had found him and taken him away from his room. She had helped him when Minerva would not.

Surely, she would have to come again.

"I know you must feel as if you were deceived… "

Albus trailed off when he saw the venomous look she gave him. Hermione sat tensely in her chair, ignoring the cup of tea one of the house elves had brought. They were sitting back in the Headmistress' office. Hermione had finally agreed to take up Deputy Head duties while Minerva was ill. It looked as if she would have to hold the position for a while yet.

"… but surely you know that it was neither of our intentions. We had no idea of what he managed."

"I don't blame either of you for anything," Hermione said stonily. Albus arched an eyebrow as if to question whether she truly meant that or not. Hermione, seeing this, sighed and slumped further back into her chair.

"No, I really don't. But I suppose I do feel slightly betrayed. It'll pass, though. You've no need to worry."

"He's sickening to see you."

Hermione looked away from Albus then, shaking her head softly. "I can't."

"You can't forgive him? You know he didn't really know what he was doing, and in the end he knows no other way… "

"I know, and I've forgiven him everything a long time ago."

Hermione looked down at her hands, her face burning in shame. "I just can't bear to see him."

Severus had been the very picture of cooperation, and the nurses and his assigned Mediwitch were always in a good mood when they had to care for him. Although he was perfectly docile and obedient when they treated or tested him, he was constantly buzzing with an overwhelming excitement. Every time the door to his room opened, his head would snap up and he looked on expectantly.

He was waiting for Hermione.

Care packages had been sent from the school to his private room, and in the beginning of his stay the nurses seemed to bring one every other day. Soon he had all of his pictures back up on the white walls. He almost had everything now with which to occupy himself. They had even given him a room with a large window that overlooked the private grounds of the hospital.

Then the roses came, but they were delivered by the same cheery nurse who changed his bed sheets and cleaned his face. When Severus placed the customary petal into his mouth to suck and chew upon, it was with a curious mixture of disappointment and surprise. He had been so sure that Hermione would have made sure to deliver the roses personally. He had been expecting to see her with them and had waited patiently for their arrival.

Severus looked out of his high, lonely window and it was only then that he remembered and contemplated the look of repulsion that had passed her face.

Before long, though, he found himself rubbing his beloved petals against his face and lost himself to the world of texture and feeling once more. Surely, some emergency must have kept her at the school. Surely, she had sent these ahead of her as a promissory note of her return. Surely, she would come for him.

The roses continued to come unaccompanied, but Severus could only find himself feeling happy for having them there. He might have again been confined to an existence within one room, but he held the burning knowledge that his life was not a secret. That he had someone who knew him and would send for him. The roses could only be a dutiful reminder of such a promise.

It was when winter melted into spring and Severus watched the world reawaken from his window, that he realized she was not coming.

His head fell against the cold glass and he shut his eyes.

Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed by an oppressive, black depression. It seeped into her skull like cold, dark water and trickled down to her very stomach, gnawing and consuming. It was a tidal force that quickly enveloped her and she felt unwanted tears stream from her eyes and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

"Professor?"

Hermione could only release a guttural groan in reply, head falling forward and grinding into the wooden grain of her desk. Her hands had contorted into claws and she felt as if something was screaming inside of her.

"The professor's unwell! Get Head Matron!"

"No… " Hermione managed to gasp. "My office… Help me to my office… "

Her classroom descended into chaos, and finally one of the students had the presence of mind to go grab another professor. Professor Sinistra quickly summoned Hagrid and then barked at the panicked third years to maintain order. Hagrid gingerly picked up Hermione and carried her to the Infirmary, despite her protests that she wanted to go to her office.

It was from Snape. Hermione could tell right away that the sinking blackness had come from him, but the curious thing was she also sensed it hadn't been intentional. The sensual dreams and chills she used to receive had vanished completely once he was in St. Mungo's, and he had been easier to ignore then. In the beginning she now and again felt an excited tickle at the back of her head, but those grew rarer as time passed.

This drowning sense of desperation and utter dread was coming from a deeper place. It was something he wasn't controlling and had overflowed to her.

Hermione allowed herself to be placed into a bed and curled up on her side, burying her face into the pillow. The bitter tears that the pillow drank in were hot with a miserable guilt.

Severus had grown listless and catatonic.

He had become a faded shell of his normally alert and rapt self. The nurses had begun to worry so much that they had brought the Mediwitch in to examine and test him. When they determined he was not sick, they grew concerned. They wrote letters to the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts listing his condition and sudden change in mood. She never replied.

He no longer looked at his pictures. The normal hunger he had for sensory things had all but abated. They brought him fresh roses, but the flowers would dry and rot away untouched and uneaten. He did nothing but sit in his chair and stare in the general direction of his window.

His depression was so great that he refused to eat and grew thinner. His bones, already prominent, now cut sharply from out of his face and limbs. They had to feed him nutritive portions to try and keep him at a healthy weight, but despite their attempts he was still wasting away.

"What's gotten a hold of you, Severus? What's suddenly made you decide you don't want to live?"

His regular cheery nurse looked at him with a touching concern and affection on her face. Severus acknowledged her by turning his mournful gaze towards her, but he made no other indication that he heard her.

What could he tell her anyway?

Severus closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the blackness. The only thing he could do was to try and reach the perfect state where he could feel, touch and sense nothing.

Hermione had been a slave to the all-consuming, black depression and had barely eaten or done anything the whole week. Crippled by such utter dejection, she had been unable to do anything but sleep and try to forget she was alive.

She had been toying with a thought the whole week, cursing herself for considering it, but slowly reaching the point where its fruition was inevitable. She was now at the point where she was living out all the burning shame and guilt she felt so that she could complete what she must to survive.

Slowly propping herself up on her bed, she crawled out from under the sheets and fell gracelessly to her floor. Wincing in pain, she rubbed her stinging elbows and continued to crawl until she made it to her closet.

She looked up at the hanging robes and reached upward. The tail end of a length of black ribbon waved happily back at her. Curling her fingers around it, she gave it a tug and a dried rose tumbled down to land in her lap.

It bounced against her, spraying dry petals and releasing a sweet, spicy perfume that had plagued her fingers since she first touched it.

Hermione groped blindly beside her until her fingers curled around the wooden shaft of her wand. She didn't know why, but her vision was already flooded with tears. If she had allowed herself that moment to think, she would have heard her mind whisper, I'm sorry.

"Incendio."

Severus felt something snap within him. A momentary rip and then the feeling was gone.

He opened his eyes, leaving one blackness to enter another. The horrible feeling of emptiness pervaded him and he exhaled slowly, his lungs deflating and unwilling to breathe until they absolutely had to.

Her magical presence was gone.

She wasn't coming.

His hands pushed experimentally against the armrests of his chair. He didn't weigh much, but he hadn't moved in so long that he stumbled. Catching himself, he went slowly, rising out of his chair and then walking towards his window.

His fingers brushed against the glass, leaving a smeared proof that he had once lived. It was spring. The small flower garden on St. Mungo's grounds had bloomed. There was even a rose bush. It wasn't in full bloom yet. Roses take time.

Severus undid the latch on his window and pushed it open. The sudden gust of air sent chills down his spine, caressing his tortured face and stirring his hair. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and sucked in. He could taste sweet, cold air and it felt as if he could be carried away by the wind.

Opening his eyes only so much that he could see sunlight through the curtain of his lashes, he allowed himself to tilt forward, forward, until he had plunged right into the spring sky and the ground hurtled forward to meet him.

Hermione had never run as fast as she did through St. Mungo's hospital to the patients' recreational grounds on the other end. The letter that had arrived via owl post was clutched in her hand, the ink still wet and smudged by her fingertips.

When she saw the small sea of white and green uniforms she found herself slowing down, her heart racing in her ears, as if she were moving under water. Time itself seemed to slow down and it took her an eternity to finally round the corner to see him.

He lay broken amongst the rose bushes, like a crumpled bird.

She fell to his side, kneeling on the dirt ground amidst the spray of leaves, twigs and petals. When he looked up at her she wanted to avert her eyes in shame, but looked steadily on because it was what she owed him.

He did not smile, but something around his eyes softened. He lifted his head feebly and she cradled it into her lap. She cradled his jaw and made sure his eyes were trained on hers and he couldn't look down to see the punctured, jagged mess his ribs were. When he breathed she could hear a faint whistle.

Her fingertips tenderly stroked his face and his hair. He looked at her as if knowing the gesture meant nothing. His eyes were a little sad, but overwhelmingly resigned. She wished she could say something to make her presence less hollow, but could think of nothing. There was something blocking her throat, preventing her from speaking. It tickled slightly and made more burning tears spring from her eyes.

His hand reached up and pulled at the front of her robes. She bent her head down to come closer to his. What was it? What did he want?

"I'm here… "

His fingers reached for her bottom lip and then pressed a rose bud against them. It was young and unready, petals curled tightly into a small fist, plucked before it could have the chance to bloom and mature. He deposited it on her tongue before allowing his hand to slip back to the ground. She took it in, chewing slowly.

His eyes held something in them then that looked more like her redemption. He allowed his head to sink further into her lap and his eyes fluttered closed. He suddenly shuddered against her, dark blood bubbling up from his throat and seeping out of his mouth.

It stained against the material of her robes like dark, red blossoms.

She took his limp hand in her own and pressed it against her face. Through their intertwined fingers she was overwhelmed with the coppery perfume of blood and the spicy musk of roses.

EPILOGUE

Hermione ran damp fingers through the bushy mane of her silver hair, attempting to smooth down a stray lock. She wiped along the crease of crow's feet along her eye and then shook the excess water from her hands. Reaching for a towel, she briskly dried herself.

Walking back to her room she had the ticklish sense that something was different. Unable to pinpoint what exactly was bothering her, she paused and stood still. What was it?

Raising a finger to her nose she sniffed gingerly and smelt nothing. At first she didn't quite register the absence, but once it sunk in her eyes widened. She sniffed again, this time greedily drinking in the air around her entire hand.

The smell of roses was gone.

Stunned, Hermione sat down heavily in her bedside chair and then brought her hands up to eye level. She brought them close to her nose again, still unwilling to believe. The lingering, ephemeral ghost of sweet spice had disappeared completely from her hands. The haunting perfume that had clung to her for so long had finally dissipated.

Hermione felt a sudden overwhelming sense of relief that was tinged by a faint note of guilt. The constant reminder of her painful shortcomings had disappeared and she wouldn't have to be plagued with the thought of it again.

But, sitting alone, Hermione looked at her freed hands and realized that she would miss the roses in their absence.

END

A/N Hope you enjoyed the ride!