Hermione sputtered as the dust infiltrated her lungs upon landing. She managed kept a tight grasp on the wand that levitated Snape. Startled gasps sounded at their sudden entrance and the debris cleared enough so that Hermione saw several students huddled in beds, upright and panting.
Skirting around them, Hermione abandoned all respect and beat on Madame Pomfrey's door, despite the hour. It took merely minutes—she was used to this—before she emerged, disgruntled but otherwise alert. She took in the predicament in front of her and before Hermione had managed to open her mouth, Pomfrey transferred the levitation to her own wand and settled Snape in a private sector.
As she pulled the curtain tight for privacy, she murmured, "Get the Headmaster," before disappearing behind it.
Hermione needn't be told twice. It wasn't until she was halfway there, stumbling over her own frozen limbs, that she surmised the Floo would've been a better idea, but she'd already come this far. She spent several moments rattling off the dozens of candies the Headmaster was keen on setting as his password before striking luck with, "Pumpkin pastries."
She burst through the door, and momentarily wondered where respect had fled to that night before she set eyes on the Headmaster and all but the present was ignored. He sat fully robed, brandy in hand, seemingly awaiting a visit but when his eyes widened at the sight of her, she guessed it wasn't her he'd been expecting.
Without missing a beat, Dumbledore rose, wand aloft, and murmured, "Severus?"
Hermione clutched her heaving chest. "Hospital Wing," she panted.
Dumbledore nodded and ushered her to the Floo and for the second time in the span of twenty minutes, Hermione felt the world around her swoop. The first thing they were aware of as they landed was Pomfrey's vehement cursing, and it filled Hermione with a formidable dread. She allowed the Headmaster to rush before her, but kept close to his heels.
Pomfrey had disrobed the Potions professor and was now roving her wand over his abrasions like a metal detector searching for gold. The wounds had stopped bleeding but the cuts were so deep, Hermione vaguely wondered if they'd nicked anything vital.
"Was it you who found him, Miss Granger?" Pomfrey spoke up suddenly, not taking her eyes off her patient.
"Err—uh, yes, it was." Hermione waited for the verbal lashing that usually accompanied being out of bed past curfew, and was thus surprised at Pomfrey's reaction.
"Essence of Dittany, I'm guessing?"
Hermione nodded, but then realized the Medi-witch wasn't looking anywhere near her and muttered, "Yes, it was."
Pomfrey nodded and at this, she raised her eyes. "Good work, girl."
Hermione fought the inappropriate swell of pride because, while she may have stopped the bleeding, it didn't change the fact that the man in question was still lying before them thoroughly unconscious.
It was Dumbledore, instead, who took to the subject of her disobedience. When he saw there was nothing to be done other than the Medi-witch's mending, he conjured two chairs and ushered Hermione into one. "Why, pray tell, were you out of bed at such an hour, Miss Granger?"
From Snape, it would've been an admonishment but from the Headmaster, it came as genuine concern for her acting out of character.
"Oh," Hermione murmured uncomfortably, "I don't know, I…couldn't sleep." She chose her words carefully, but Dumbledore read through the lines anyway.
"You're talking of the night terrors Severus has warned me of," the Headmaster murmured benignly.
Hermione set her jaw and made a mental note to have it out with Snape once he recovered, but resigned herself to merely nodding. "That'd be them, yes."
Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "Severus is under the impression that the night terrors were slowing considerably. Is he wrong with that assumption?"
Hermione shrugged. "They had been…until recently."
An unspoken thought passed between them, and Dumbledore quickly made the connection. "Ah, yes," he murmured sadly, "the infiltration of the Ministry."
Hermione nodded. She turned to Dumbledore then. "He was called to a mission, wasn't he? You were waiting for him to report back to you."
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "The amount he's been summoned lately, I should've expected something was up. I can only imagine what went wrong to have resulted so disastrously."
Hermione nodded, watching Pomfrey wearily. The Medi-witch was slowing; methodically, she was applying a salve of some sort, undoubtedly brewed by Snape's own hand, onto the wounds that were torn into his torso. His breathing was shallow, and all too irregular to comfort any of them.
And so, an hour passed. As did another half. Hermione's head was drooping, and it was nearing time for classes, when a deep, shuddering breath sounded from the gurney. Instantly, all thoughts of sleep were driven away and Hermione and Dumbledore were on their feet.
Snape lay gasping for several long seconds before his eyelids fluttered. For a moment, he seemed thoroughly uncertain of his surroundings. He made to sit up, but Pomfrey clamped a hand firmly to his shoulder and pushed him back down.
"Don't you dare," she snapped. "You'll lie here until I tell you otherwise."
It was a testament to how truly out of sorts the surly Potions professor was when he merely obeyed her command and kept his silence.
"Severus?" the Headmaster questioned gently.
Snape's gaze landed on Hermione and lingered for a moment before settling on Dumbledore.
"She isn't safe," he breathed. "Arm the castle. They're coming."
Author's Note: So sorry it took so long, and so sorry this one is so short. It's finals week, and University leaves nothing in the realm of free time. If you review, I shall love you.