Mid-July: 1979. Two of Hogwarts most prized graduates, fresh out of their last year, made a path down the main grounds; a traditional wedding was to be had. Sirius and Lupin were smiling faces in crisp dress robes. They sat in the front row of the seats. Sunshine draped everyone in a golden veil. A vision in off-white, Lily (almost Potter) strode down the grassy walkway. James' hair was combed and wavy. Both of them looked like halves of each other; their smiles were surreal.

Outside the gates, Severus shivered in his thick black robe, and disapparated.

SS

Snape jolted awake; his neck was sore, his book had fallen to the floor. His stomach rumbled. Except for more ragged breathing, Hermione lay motionless. Walking away from Hermione's beside, he decided to find some tea. Out in the sitting room, Severus strode to the heavily curtained windows. Of course, they were charmed; they were in the dungeons after all. Nevertheless, they were charmed to show the weather outside, if Snape so chose to peer out them. Light grey clouds hung over the grounds; there was a light drizzle. Turning his back to the window in search for tea, Snape realized he had not emerged from his quarters in almost three weeks. He only had so much food and drink in his quarters; though there was enough for perhaps another two weeks, he might as well send for something.

However, Snape did not particularly like the idea of leaving the dungeons. Granger was one thing, but he didn't want to face—

A heavy-handed knock sounded at his door. He whipped around. "Severus," the stern voice of none other than Minerva McGonagall forced its way through the door. "Severus Snape, I know you're in there--" Snape quietly, angrily approached the door.

"Yes, Minerva?" He hissed.

She adjusted her spectacles and tucked a piece of hair into her bun, "The Prophet is here, they--" Snape made a move to close the door; Minerva caught it.

"Severus," she gave him a stern gaze, "whether you like it or not, you're a war hero--"

"Don't use that sort of sentimental rubbish on me--" Snape's gaze was just as harsh as hers.
"Because of you, Severus," McGonagall cleared her throat, "countless lives have been saved--"

"And what of Granger? I was supposed to get bitten! I was supposed to die! Not live with, with all this--" He bellowed. Realizing his sudden outburst of uncontrolled emotion, he gripped the doorframe to steady himself.

McGonagall's face pulled into a small smile, "I really don't know why you weren't in Gryffindor, Severus…"

The younger wizard gazed outstandingly at the older witch; he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am not a temperamental, sentimental--"

"I meant: you exemplify an outstanding amount of bravery--" Severus grunted and tried to close the door again.

"Wait," McGonagall demanded, a firm grip on the door handle, "How is Miss Granger?"

Severus sighed. "She's on a strict regimen of potions--"
"Is she okay?"

Severus blinked, "She's on a strict regimen of potions…"

"Severus, you know that's not what I meant. How is she, emotionally; does she have nightmares? Anything unusual? Does she know yet?"

"I—We haven't talked--"

"But she's been awake?"

"Only for a few minutes," Snape admitted.

"Is she getting better?" McGonagall inquired more sternly.

"She is on a strict regimen. It may be for months, perhaps years, until she is able to heal completely."

McGonagall tapped her foot. "Well. Well, that is to be expected, I guess. Thank you. And Poppy says to thank you for giving up your guest quarters--"

Snape nodded.

Embarrassed by having to suck up his pride, Severus cleared his throat, "Minerva," he called out the door as she walked away, "is there anything to eat…?"

HG

When she woke again, Snape was back in his seat. He glanced up, then back down at the page he was studying. Finishing a neat bite of pot roast, he said, "Your friends, Potter and Weasley--" Hermione tried to sit up.

Snape gave her a look of aggravation, "…Potter…is in the hospital wing. He is injured but alive."

"And Ron? What about Ron?" Hermione's heart swelled in her chest; of course she'd always felt something for the awkward redhead, but she'd never felt an anxiety like this.

Snape took a large intake of air.

"What?" Hermione breathed.

Snape gently placed his book on the arm of his chair and stood up, "Miss Granger, do you remember the night of the battle at all?" Severus stepped gingerly to her bedside; he still towered over her, though his worn look pulled his intimidation thin. A thin line appeared between his brows.
"N—no. Should I? There was light—a lot of light. And then," she looked down at her bandaged arm. It ached, she winced.
"I—Miss Granger. Do you know why you jumped in front of me?" Snape was, internally, desperately searching for something: something to tell him he was not worthless, not unwanted…But why did he even care?
"I--" Hermione's brow furrowed, "Ron--" she breathed. "Ron was hit by a—a curse. I tried to get to him to shield him. I--" Her eyes were wide as quarters; she blinked, not knowing what to think of it.
"And then, then you were there and--" she swallowed, "Your neck. What happened to you?"
Severus blinked, "It's fine. Barely a flesh wound." They exchanged a look. A look one might describe as meaningful; a look of great despair about to happen. A look of too many words and not enough explanations. "I am sorry, Miss Granger, for the loss you have received, and that your wounds may be seen as fruitless becau--"
"No. No. You don't mean—you—I--"
Hermione desperately tried to bite back tears. Her voice was hoarse and her body ached. She wanted to roll over and suffocate in her sheets. Snape bowed out of the room before she could say any more. He did not know what to think, what to say. Did he want to console her, to aid her anymore? He had helped her out of gratitude and duty; she saved his life. But it was not him she wanted to save. Should he care for her anymore? She could easily be put up in the hospital wing; in a proper hospital, even. But there were still the potions. Damn. Severus strode to his room, shakily slammed the door, and sunk on to his bed.

HG

Ron: headless and walking towards her. Ron: twisted and contorted, trying to kiss her. Ron: helpless with his wand, facing imminent mortality. The wand spun out of his hand. There was no masking the terror on his face. The redhead crumpled to the ground, bloody, stiff. He was kicked to the side. Ron: his body torn in two. Black eyes; black eyes swimming in terror and confusion. She saw the last of the light in those black eyes.

Hermione coughed; she rolled onto her side. She yowled in pain; her arm seared like it was on fire. The sheets she lay on felt different, thicker, darker. Or perhaps it was the lack of light in the room. There were more pillows surrounding her head. She was hot, sweating. The pillows smelled like a mixture of potion ingredients and oils. There was a cool grip on her uninjured shoulder; she writhed, trying to disappear in her sheets. "Drink this," a deep nasal voice said behind her, "it will help calm you down." The voice was cold and constrained. Hermione peeked over her shoulder. Snape extended a sniff arm towards her; he held a slowly steaming glass of indigo liquid. She received the glass and gingerly drank the liquid. Looking at Snape more closely, he appeared more pale, more sunken. Though his dressing was still the impeccable, crisp black outfit, he did not fill it out as well.

"These aren't your guest quarters," Hermione stated, looking around at the substantially larger and finely furnished bedroom.
"Good observation, Miss Granger," Snape said testily. "If you must know," he said through gritted teeth, "these are my rooms. In your sleep you became violently sick, and--"
"What day is it?" Hermione asked, after she had finished the glass. Her arm felt tingly, but it did not hurt.
"It's the morning of July 15th--"
"It's been a—a month since I was last awake?" Hermione's head swam.
"Not entirely, Miss Granger," Snape stood still where he was.
"Well?" Hermione grew suddenly impatient; sleeping in bed all day would do no good.
"Well what?" Snape snatched the glass out of her hand.
"I—sorry, sir. Just…Is there any news? How's Harry? How are the others…?" Her voice receded.
"Many have recovered and gone home," Hermione searched his face for anything; Snape kept a cool distance. Though he was not warm the last time they spoke, there was something there. A hint of compassion, perhaps. She didn't know; he was colder now.
"Mr. Potter has retreated to the Weasleys to recover--" Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. There was a loud crack. Snape turned his head; under his high stiff collar there was a dark scar. "Right there, thank you," Snape stiffly directed the house elf.
Turning back to her, he summoned a robe, "You have been under the Corpus Dormio charm, Miss Granger. It may do you well to walk."
"You kept me under that for a—a month?! How dare you. I could've lost brain activity and--" Hermione slipped on her robe and swung her legs to the side of the bed. Rising up too fast, her vision swam. Her knees buckled; a strong hand caught her at the back and waist.
"You are still too weak--"
"I'm not weak, I just got up too fast--" She almost shouted; leaning on the bed, she shooed away his assistance.
"It would be appropriate for you to get up to gain your strength--"
"I'm perfectly fine, thank—you—very--much!" Hermione scowled at the man. She coughed and wheezed.
"Well, Miss Granger," Snape said so coldly it could have frozen the sweat on her face, "if you must know, you were on close watch the entire time you were under the charm. And since you are much too well, I will withdraw my assistance now. I do have my own life and would greatly appreciate to have it back. If you would like something to eat, you may find your way to the sitting room. Then, you may do as you please and contact the Weasleys, I am sure they would adore to have your insufferable company back. And, as the know-it-all you are, I am sure you can seek the ingredients and instructions to brew your own potions!"
Hermione opened her mouth, but Snape had already swooped around the door and slammed another. Not knowing what to do, knowing it would be right to apologize to the man who had given up his time to care for little more than a stranger to him, she pounded a fist onto her pillow; Snape's pillow. "In—suff--er—able—you—are--" She snorted. She looked around; a painting of a Muggle picture hung on the wall: Merlin. It must have been charmed, because it winked at her. Hermione snorted again; she did not take Snape as the type to appreciate Muggle fables. To her left, a stack of letters sat neatly on the bed stand. In scratchy, swooping handwriting, her name was scrawled. As she reached over to the letters, her stomach grumbled. She sighed. Perhaps she should suck up her pride and get some food; dare she? And anyway, she could request to go back to the Weasleys before the day is over. She would never have to see Snape again.
Setting her feet back on the ground, she slowly made her way towards the door. Opening the door, she discovered a stone hallway, the same one she walked upon the day of the battle. The stone was cold beneath her feet; it felt good. She heard a strange, high pitched ringing in her ears; she decided to lean against the wall. Her vision became fuzzy again; before she knew it, she vomited. She groped for the wall, now she was really going to have to suck up her pride.
"S-s-sir--" she called, barely audible to herself. Before she could say anymore, she crumpled to the floor and began seizing.