A/N: Thanks a lot for all the reviews! They made me so excited that I decided to post early.
Enjoy!
Chapter 50: I Will Always Find You
Severus had been summoned two hours ago. Other than knowing when his forearm had flared with pain, Hermione had also heard the front door. He was not back yet.
Sitting in the Library, Hermione's mind was galloping everywhere but on the book that she was reading. She had been reading the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes. Sighing, she closed the book. There was no point reading if her heart wasn't there.
It was past midnight, the third day of the year had already begun, but she had yet to say a word to the stubborn, stubborn man. Other than being compelled to sit in the same space as herself during the thirty minutes of breakfast, Severus never showed up. Even in those minutes, no exchanges between them took place. He sat reading the Prophet or conversing with Mr. or Mrs. Weasley occasionally.
Enough, Hermione determined. She would not sit around sulking, waiting for him. She would herself go and talk to him, she would clarify why she had said what she had and explain about the Healing Charm. If he still didn't treat her better, she would not ever cross his path, figuratively. They would again be strangers. But Hermione would at least try one last time.
She decided to wait for him to return. Hermione left the Library and went to sit on the stairs. She wouldn't give him a chance to walk away from her today. She decided to catch him as he returned to the house.
A sudden knowledge of him being subjected to some unnamed painful curse was descending upon her, like it did many nights now. She prayed for his safe return. Being subjected to curses was not uncommon for Severus, it happened every once in a while on the nights he was summoned. And no matter how it irked Hermione not to bring the topic up with Severus, she knew she would only push him away if she ever opened up regarding it.
Hermione waited. First sitting upright, then slumping, then leaning against the banister and then drifting off.
UUUUUUU
The air in Malfoy Manor was bitter on Severus' tongue, cold and bitter. His mouth was drying and lips were chapped. The Dark Lord had been displeased with his lack of information. Severus ran a hand down his face and could barely suppress a wince. He was still panting from the liberal use of Cruciatus.
At least he could take a moment of rest before Apparating back. The Dark Lord was still in the meeting room, venting his wrath on the Lestranges. Severus could tell the reason was another attack on the Muggles rendered failed because of his intel to the Order.
"Good to have found you here, Snape." Yaxley's voice travelled across the Entrance Hall.
Severus cursed himself for dawdling in the Malfoy Manor. He pasted his customary impassiveness on his face before addressing the other man. "Yaxley."
"Rough night I can see," he commented.
"Quite." Severus would have liked nothing more than landing a punch on his former compeer's face. "Why did you not attend the meeting?"
"Was doing our Lord's bidding in the Knockturn," he replied with extreme pride and smugness.
"Ah, Borgin's artefacts, I presume?" Severus said casually, an attempt to find out more on the topic.
Yaxley smirked. "Now that Lucius is out of the picture, the Alley dances on my tunes." He dramatically clenched his fist in a show of power. "I have more men in there that one can think. A loyal army to the Dark Lord."
'Army'. The word rattled Severus. Were they training folks at the Knockturn Alley to fight from the Dark Lord's side? The Order already was short of those who could manage a confrontation. If the other side increased on manpower, it would be another defeat for the Order. "That is a wonderful advancement on our side, indeed," Severus feigned a smirk. "The plan must be quite intriguing."
"Fancy a drink?" Yaxley offered. "There isn't good company left here anymore."
"Of course, I can do with a drink or two," Severus agreed. He had a feeling he would have quite a lot to inform Albus tonight.
Yaxley led Severus to Lucius' study, up the ornate staircase. The heavy mahogany doors opened into an extravagantly furnished room that reeked of the Malfoys' black money. Severus inwardly snorted. He looked around at expensive art work, gold showpieces, hand painted portraits and a slew of books on dark arts—Severus had quite a few memories related to this room, one of them of his very initiation into the Dark Lord's coterie.
Yaxley occupied the chair Lucius once favoured, a show of the wizard's growing power and authority in the absence of the patriarch of the house.
"I see you have made yourself at home here," Severus glanced at the dozing Malfoy ancestry that was now hidden behind heavy draperies.
"Let's just say, I don't like their faces," Yaxley laughed.
Severus returned with a snort of his own. "I take it, Lucius is not leaving the company of Dementors anytime soon."
"At least not until the brat finishes the task given to him. Whatever that is. And I have not made a secret of it—I have no faith in him," Yaxley confirmed.
"Oh?" Severus feigned curiosity.
"He was never meant to finish it," the other man had a morbid gleam of obsession with power dancing in his eyes. "Of course, it was a punishment for Lucius' failures to begin with."
Severus ceased to comment upon it. In the past year, he had made the least progress with Draco. Though he knew the nature of the task given to him, he had not been successful in finding out his exact plan. He doubted the boy would willingly kill the Headmaster as his first kill.
"Grumby!" Yaxley called.
A house-elf popped in. Resembling the plight of all the elves owned by the Malfoys, this elf, too, was wearing a tatty pillowcase. His hands were burned and the flappy ears were twisted in unnatural ways. "Master." The elf bowed until his protruding nose touched the maple-wood floor.
"Bring us a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhisky. Quick," He ordered. When the elf disappeared, Yaxley leaned back leisurely. "You know, Snape," he picked up the marble paper weight that was laying idly on the desk, "I have been under-appreciated all this time."
"How so?" Severus played along.
Yaxley paused before speaking again, fiddling with the paper weight. "I have always been overshadowed by Lucius. My father had been overlooked against Abraxas Malfoy and died as a minor servant, a shame to our name. But I will prove my worth."
The elf popped in with the bottle.
"Let us drink to that," Severus offered.
"Yes," Yaxley smirked in self-satisfaction. "Where are the glasses, elf!"
"Grumby is bringing them right away, Master!" The elf squeaked in fright. But Yaxley was less forgiving than Malfoy. Severus kept his expressions even as Yaxley kicked the tiny house-elf with his dragon-hide boots. "Get the glasses, you useless waste of space!" The paper-weight in his hand landed directly at the elf's head before bouncing to the floor and cracking. The house-elf hastily popped away.
"Lucius' house-elves are just as good-for-nothing as him," Yaxley snorted and Severus returned the snort. When the house-elf returned with the glasses, Severus could not help but feel a tinge of concern for the elf's head that was bleeding.
What in the name of Merlin is happening to me! It was by far not the first time he had witnessed a display of cruelty with a house-elf. Lucius had been even more demonstrative in his treatment of the species. But suddenly, Severus was feeling...compassion? Hadn't he nearly dried himself of any speck of compassion decades ago? But somehow, it seemed that these days, many emotions he thought himself incapable of were returning to him, with an uncomfortable realisation that the reason was a certain bushy-haired witch who elicited those emotions from him!
His decision of maintaining strict distance between her and himself was for good. Or so he tried to convince himself.
"To my rising authority," Yaxley raised his glass.
Severus held his up, "And rightfully so."
They drank. Severus winced but tolerated the drink. He truly only ever drank when desperate enough. Though he could not deny being a frequent visitor to bars in his days as a Death Eater.
Severus finally pushed those thoughts away. He had a mission here. "Lucius was a thorn in our side."
"Yes," Yaxley put his glass down. "A thorn I have plucked and thrown away. When our Lord reigns, I will stand by his side."
"I sincerely hope the day arrives soon," Severus knew it would start the conversation he was looking for.
"Soon, very soon now," Yaxley laughed in his imaginary triumph. "We will soon take over the most prominent parts of the Wizarding Britain, my friend. Sooner than you can think."
"That news heartens me," Severus feigned a smirk. Albus would need to hear of it no later than tonight. "But surely, we are in need of a plan to prevent the coot's Order," Severus prompted.
"The Order will be worthless, the Dark Lord will bestow this duty upon you, old friend."
"I will be more than glad to lend a hand," Severus sipped from his glass, plans of sabotaging the mission already weaving in his mind. He could tell that the army at the Knockturn Alley had much role to play in their coup d'état. The Order would soon have to take an action and in a way that did not betray Severus' position.
UUUUUUU
Albus' chin was touching his chest, his beard pooled in his lap like layers of snow. The half-moon spectacles dangled dangerously from the edge of his nose, about to make a beeline to the floor.
"Albus?" Minerva prompted.
The old Headmaster jumped to attention.
Shacklebolt smacked his lips awkwardly. "If you are...tired, we can continue this conversation tomorrow."
"No, no, my boy. It is quite alright," Albus said with an effort to sound like his usual blithe self. "You will forgive an old man's...folly."
To this exchange, Severus did not play a part. He was focusing on the Headmaster. His state was deteriorating. The traces of his infirmity were visible in the bags under his eyes and the hollows forming in place of cheeks. Even if one ignored the subtle signs like the slight trembling of his gnarled hands, one could not overlook his continuous state of weariness.
Severus was concerned. With what Yaxley had told him, the Dark Lord's power was increasing and far reaching. Whereas their side was on the verge of losing their leader. Not to mention the futile Order meetings. It was clear to him without a doubt that if Albus left them in their current plight, they would soon find themselves serving the Dark Lord.
And still, nobody but Severus was privy to Albus' deteriorating health and impending death. The burden of this information troubled him greatly. Not even Minerva, Albus' successor, was made aware. He could only hope that Albus was at the very least preparing Minerva for her upcoming role. The Headmaster did give her a lead in the meetings, but only barely so. The Order was only a part of their side. Minerva needed to be aware and rehearsed with handling the petty spies in different Wizarding and Muggle communities, the secret agents in the international community, their international allies, their supporters in the Muggle Ministry, and especially their financiers. There were a slew of people helping them, but they needed to be managed and kept reassured about their progress. Albus kept them happy merely by his influence and amicable disposition, not to mention that most of these people owed Albus for his favours. But Minerva was not versed to these organisations or people. If Albus died before the war—which he most definitely would—their side would break under the burden.
Albus' manipulative and secretive nature was going to cost them dearly.
And then there was the issue of Severus aiding Draco in killing Albus. Merlin only knew how he would ever deal with that. Since Slughorn's demise, Draco had been somewhat subdued. But for how long, Severus knew not. If they somehow manipulated Draco to join their side, many things would be settled. But Albus was clearly not ready to trust the Malfoy heir.
"What do we do, Albus?" Moody was at a loss and highly dependent on their leader—like every member of the Order. Nobody took a step in any direction whatsoever without a clear order from their leader.
"Start finding out who is Riddle's men in the Alley and-"
"But it will arise suspicion, Headmaster," Severus argued. "Yaxley might just be plotting against me to test me. We need to tread carefully."
"Yes, yes," Albus sighed wearily. "Give me sometime, Alastor, Kingsley."
"We don't have long, Headmaster," Severus said, more that one meaning to his words.
In the flickering light from the dim, dull torches, Albus' features dropped. His weakness unnerved Severus. Shacklebolt, Moody and Minerva, though unaware of the extent of the situation, looked just as concerned. They were growing weak, precariously so.
After the others were dismissed, Severus remained in the Headmaster's office. Albus was sitting pensively in his chair, his hands laced together, resting on his stomach. As much as the jovial nature of his employer irked him, the lack thereof was agitating Severus. But he refrained from commenting on his health for now. They had more pressing matters to deal with.
"Must we start appointing more fighters to our cause?" Severus prompted. "If they have an army, we are in need of one, too."
Albus looked at him without moving his head. "We should not forget that we are very fortunate to have young wizards and witches who will support us when the time comes."
"Young wizards and witches?" Severus bristled. "Are you planning to send untrained children into the battlefield, Albus!"
"They are not untrained-"
"But they are children!" Severus slammed a hand down the desk. "Except the ones who had the meager experience of fighting against dark wizards—much to the Order's failure, the rest are no better than children."
"It is a bitter truth, Severus, that the most to fight in this war will be minors," the Headmaster said in a quiet tone. "This war had started with an attack on a toddler, and the one to bear the brunt will also be an adolescent."
"This war," Severus hissed, "Had started when a highly capable, young wizard had chosen a path that led to the doom. Not when a child was attacked and left orphaned."
Albus' dull blue eyes stared at him. "But you cannot deny that Harry will the one to bring an end to this war, Severus."
"I hope, Headmaster, you have a better plan than to send Potter in the middle of the war alone and unaided."
But Severus never received a response, and soon his employer's chin was again touching his chest, his mind having escaped far away from the conversation.
UUUUUUU
Severus Apparated back to the Grimmauld Place.
The murky, old House of Blacks only worsened Severus' mood. Half of his mind was still lingering on the image of the dozing Headmaster. When the world was in mortal jeopardy, their venerable leader slept in peace. More than he would ever admit, their current circumstances frightened Severus.
Whatever the Dark Lord was planning would, in a way, set the tone to the upcoming final battle. If the dark side was successful, the Order would lose even more people who would, in fear, proclaim their loyalty to the Dark Lord.
He needed a night's worth of rest to bring his mind to function properly and weave a strategy. He entered the house with a scowl in place. The corner of the walls were decaying in mould, the closed rooms served as a nest to the moths, the floorboards creaked and the house, in general, groaned. At least the portrait of the Black woman was covered. Small mercies.
Severus spent his days locked in the basement, if not outside running errands for the Order. The dingy excuse for a Potions Lab appealed to him more than the noisy parlour and kitchen. Occasionally, he visited the Library, but not at night, not since he had found Granger in there.
Granger. She was another reason why he kept to himself.
A week must have passed since that macabre argument had broken out between them. A week since he had firmly decided to maintain distance from the witch.
And his control was slipping threateningly. Severus had always prided himself to be strong-willed. But with Granger, none of his usual principles worked. It had been the primary reason why he did not want to stay in the same house as her.
And now, when he was on the way to his room, Granger sat before him, on the stairs. Her head supported against the railing as she slept. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been waiting for him.
Every morning, he avoided her at breakfast, but he was not unbeknownst to her stolen glances in his direction. That night in the Library when she had happened to be reading and Severus, too, had entered, he had turned away curtly before she could start a conversation. The fondness with which she has looked at him threatened him. Even after his terse words and blatant ignoring of her, she still hadn't relented.
Time and again, the argument reverberated in Severus' mind. Her reasoning of his actions, her defensive stance of his pathetic past and her unhindered, uncorrupted, selfless trust—she trusted him. While his mind hammered into him that whatever she had said that day was only out of her naïveté, he found himself wanting to believe her.
He had always been afraid to lose her trust if he came clean to her. But now, he realised, that she knew about him more than anybody else ever had, yet she looked at him with nothing but trust.
And no matter how stringently he wanted to follow his resolution to be away from her, the mere sight of this witch had Severus' mind relaxed after a demanding summoning and a worrisome visit to the Headmaster's.
He tried to muster the anger and annoyance that he had felt when Granger had berated Lily, but a betraying voice told him, not for the first time, that the altercation was not about Lily. It was Severus she was defending, the intention was not to affront Lily. Yet, he could not see what Granger wanted him to see. The mindset that he had held for years could not be altered in a day. He was not guiltless. And no matter what Granger wanted to prove, how could he ever believe that he did not wrong Lily? No. Granger was naive.
And then there was the question of some kind of Charm that Granger had invented. As much or little as he knew of it, Severus had a serious suspicion that Granger had invented it for him. Despite his displeasure and open disapproval of any attempt of hers to go out of her way for him, Granger had done just that. It rattled him too much. He did not want to become a hindrance to her, which he had. Her closeness to him would affect her negatively. Being concerned for his well-being and then inventing a Charm, wasting her time and energy in an effort that would benefit him m in any way...
Severus decided to avoid the sleeping witch completely. And gradually, gradually she, too, would give up on her quest and understand that associating with Severus would bring her no good, whatsoever.
But before he could walk away, he could not help notice how she was sitting in that cold hall, on the freezing stone steps, her small frame curled up to avoid the frigid January air. Telling himself that he was doing it only because Granger was here waiting for his return, Severus withdrew his wand and cast a Warming Charm on the witch. She sighed softly and relaxed in the fresh spread of warmth.
Moonlight poured over her coloured cheeks and nose, an effect of winter, Severus had often spotted on her. Her presence drew him like no other presence ever had, and recently, it was becoming an onerous task to keep her out of his mind. Her hair was bunched in a stringent bun, a quill stuffed in the tangle of honey tresses, a white feather resting delicately on her neck, and Severus suddenly found himself wanting to pull the feather out and let her hair loose and watch the curly fringes spill on her dainty face...
Get a grip on yourself! Severus reprimanded himself, stepping away before he lost all sense of propriety and did something to heavily regret later. I am more than a little inebriated. He turned away and ascended the steps with the stealth of a spy. Granger remained asleep. He couldn't afford to lose himself like that, especially not with this witch.
UUUUUUU
Hermione woke up with a start. She initially gasped at finding herself at an unfamiliar place before her senses quickly caught up with her. Severus!
Suddenly, she realised she could hear clicking of the boots retreating upstairs. Hermione quickly got up and looked up the stairwell. But all she could catch was a fading glimpse of Severus' billowing cloak disappearing onto the third floor landing.
Hermione opened her mouth to call out to him before snapping it shut. She could be easily overheard. The night threatened to end without a conversation again.
No. Not another night in this uncertainty.
Hermione clenched her jaw in determination. Even if she had to be annoyingly importunate, she would be. Hermione ascended the steps to the third floor, silently grouching about the extra exhaustion it caused her to balance herself on the crutches. But she would not let go of another opportunity to talk to him. If he was stubborn, she could too prove to be obstinate.
When she passed the floor where Harry and Ron's room was, her steps faltered. She would have to have a conversation with Ron, too, before the holidays ended. It was imperative. Even if her friend was still averse to her sight.
She shook her head and slowly continued up. What a sudden mess her life had become. There had hardly been such degree of personal chaos in her life earlier. Life had been boring, almost tedious if she excluded their yearly misadventures with possessed Professors, murderous reptiles, an army of Dementors, deranged Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. But personally, Hermione never had more than assignments and tests to bother about. Now, the year had barely begun and two of her closest people could not tolerate her presence.
Shaking her head again to dispel the thought, Hermione reached Severus' door. He'd clearly not appreciate the disruption of his privacy. Yet, boldening herself up to the standards of Gryffindor, she knocked.
He flung the door open with an intensity that narrated his disposition. In the dark of the corridor, she could hardly make out his features, his face backlit with dim lamps. Before he could deliver a sharp harangue to drive her away, Hermione spoke. "I need to have a word with you."
He stepped up into the light the moon granted and regarded her with a scowl. "Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this? This is hardly a decent hour."
"You seem to avoid me at any other hour, Sir," Hermione was very direct. "So I find this hour very much appropriate when no one else can overhear us."
He seemed displeased, clearly not wanting to talk, still very much angry, she decided. "Please, Sir. This is important. I need to clarify certain things-"
"I am not available for a conversation right now," he declared and closed the door on her face—something Hermione had not been shy to do many a times to him at Spinner's End. It peeved her, both to be at the receiving end and to remember how downright cruel she had been to him.
Owing to her stubbornness that was not unknown to the man, Hermione knocked again. But he did not open.
Hermione knocked again, "It is very childish of you to avoid a conversation like that, Sir!" She huffed.
That annoyed him enough to pull the door open. Still scowling darkly, Severus hissed, "This is childish, Granger!"
"Well, at least you opened," she said flatly.
"I will not condone this flagrant disrespect of my-" Then he stopped immediately. Hermione realised it was because he was about to deliver an order, unintentionally. "Miss Granger, I request you to leave."
"I will not take much of your time," her tone had gotten softer now. "You have been avoiding me since...that argument. It's important that I clarify a few things. I will not disturb you again, but hear me out now."
"Not today. Please." He huffed the word out irritably. Hermione caught a whiff of alcohol in his breath.
Oh. Maybe that was why he was so adamant upon sending her away. Perhaps this was really not the right time then...
"Fine, I'll- Alright," she relented. "I'll go..." Though she did not have compunction about finding him slightly drunk, he might grow uncomfortable revealing that to her. "Goodnight." She turned away.
But just as she did, a screech of the doorknob startled her. Hermione again turned towards Severus and gasped.
All of a sudden, he was leaning against the doorframe heavily, holding the knob in his firm grip, trying to squeeze the metal.
"What-" But before she could voice her question, the knowledge struck her—like it did every other time. Another muscle spasm was assaulting him. And if that knowledge wasn't enough, his stiff posture and clenched jaw were enough. Oh, no, hasn't he just returned from a summoning? How could she have forgotten about that. She felt guilty to be bothering him after a testing night.
"Sir," she very lightly touched his arm. "You need to sit." Remembering how he had reacted badly after one such summon at the Spinner's End, Hermione did not want to startle him at all.
Quickly, he concealed the betraying signs of pain from his face, so only his body language and Hermione's knowledge suggested his discomfort. "I am fine, Granger," he growled. "You must g-"
Before he could finish the command, she spoke, "You must sit."
"Granger," his control was visibly slipping, Hermione could hear his laboured breathing.
"Fine," she moved a step back. "I will go. Please go and take your potion quickly. I will not disturb you."
She knew all too well this obstinate man would not reveal any discomfort in front of her. And at this moment, his potion was more important than Hermione herself.
With his nostrils flaring—of anger or of pain, she couldn't tell—he shut the door again.
She sighed resignedly. Such stubbornness... Why was he so ashamed to show that he was just a human! Why so averse to let people know that like any other living being, he, too, felt pain!
Hermione leaned against the wall just outside his room. She decided to remain here until she knew his spasm had subsided. Severus had handled such episodes on his own more times that she could count. She had no doubt he would be fine with just a dose of his potion. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to just leave him alone. Even if that meant that she only stood outside his room. Maybe Severus didn't derive comfort from somebody's presence around when sick—like most people—but Hermione would still remain here.
Something broke inside the room, something glass. She jumped and leaned towards the door. Had he injured himself? But she could not hear anything more from inside.
She waited in apprehension. Minutes ticked by but his spasms did not abate. Hermione always knew when they did, but today, they did not subside. They assaulted him without clemency, punctuated by mere moments here and there. She checked her watch and gapped—they usually did abate in about two to three minutes.
He was still in pain. Hermione's heart was beating faster, she put her ear to the door again. Nothing. Has he fainted? The sudden doubt frightened her. Was it a more severe spasm than the previous ones?
Hermione knocked on the door. "Sir?" No response came, intensifying Hermione's fears. Not bothering to knock again, she directly opened the door.
"Sir, are you-" She broke off with a sharp gasp. "Severus!"
Hermione rushed to the man, now seated in an armchair, doubled over himself. His heavy robe laid discarded on the floor. His head hung and his face was obscured by the curtain of his hair. With one hand, he gripped the armrest of the rickety chair, while the other held his wand in a death-like vice.
"Sir-" She was cut off when glass crunched under her flip-flops. Blue liquid was pooling on the floor. The portion vial was broken. "Oh, no." Hermione stepped closer to him, "Do you have another?"
Other than his laboured breathing and stifled groans, Hermione did not hear any response. "Sir, do you have another vial?" She asked again, in vain. He was in too much pain to reply.
Hermione retrieved her own wand and cast, "Accio Severus' potions!"
Five different vials flung from the a cupboard to sit on the bed, but neither harboured the blue liquid that was required. "God," Hermione was at a loss. He needed help. Immediately.
Hermione summoned a chair for herself to sit in front of him. She could hardly do anything with her crutches occupying her hands. Before her, Severus still sat hunched over, not even moving slightly. The only evidence of his consciousness were his hands that were turning white of the firm grip.
He was in too much pain, she knew. And still, she hadn't heard a single gasp, a single groan—that alone told her that he was aware of her presence. And it pained Hermione—how he wanted to hide his agony and tuck it away where nobody could find it, where nobody could find him...
No, she couldn't waste time pondering. Hermione laid a calming hand on his shoulder, he flinched. "Sir- Severus, you don't have more potion left. But I know how to heal this. Just relax."
His head shot up. Heavily Occluded eyes glared into hers—eyes that had once struck her as dead, back at Spinner's End. But now she knew he was only Occluding. Yet, they frightened her, their black opaqueness threatened to purloin life away from him.
"No, Granger. Go-"
"Don't!" Hermione held up a hand before he could finish. "Are you out of your mind!" She exclaimed. "Let me help you."
"I...don't-"
"Oh, you do!" She cried in indignation of his inane protests. "Stop being so impossible! It's not a sin to feel pain, Severus!"
"You..." He couldn't complete as another spasm overpowered him. Yet, all the indication he gave was clenching his jaw. His eyes closed on its own accord as he tried to fight the pain.
"Let me do my work," she said seriously. "Lay back," she said softly, naturally taking up the aura of a Healer. "Just lay back, try to relax."
Hermione gently pushed him back by his shoulders, like Madam Pomfrey had taught her to handle an injured patient. It was far too difficult to push him back without even standing up.
"Severus, please, don't fight this," she requested.
When he did relent, she murmured a soft, "Thank you. Try not to move. It'll be over in a minute, I promise." He neither nodded nor shook his head in response and Hermione doubted he was even aware of anything other than his pain.
Hermione pressed her wand to his chest over the white fabric of his shirt. She took a deep breath to compose herself and concentrate before beginning to chant the Charm in a sing-song voice—an aria in latin that she had been taught in her training.
And then, for a moment, she had an inexplicable urge to release her wand. Hermione frowned, not understanding what was happening. Nevertheless, her wand slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor as if rendered useless in the endeavour. She suddenly knew what she had to do next, it came like the knowledge that she received every time Severus was in pain.
She reached out and joined their hands, the ones that bore the rings, the bands from the Dark Wedding. Her third finger entwined with his. She could feel the cold metal, inconspicuous to the eye. As the stones of the two bands met in the way magnets attached to each other, Hermione felt a connection, a connection of her magic to that of his. The strings of his magic tugged onto hers perfectly like a hook could tug a loop. It was a feeling she had never before experienced, but it was not unpleasant. It somehow felt the most natural to her.
She resumed the Healing Charm. Warm waves of magic was leaving her to make contact with Severus' body. Where her wand was earlier set on his chest, a pool of soft blue glittering light formed. Tendril-like magic began emerging from the pool, making the epicentre look like a blue sun the rays of which slowly met with Severus' bloodstream.
Hermione watched with attentive eyes as his jaw slowly unclenched. The laboured breathing gradually slowed to normal. Laying on the hard crest-rail of the chair, his head lolled on one side in evident relief. Hermione's magic worked on Severus' body until all the spasming muscles relaxed. Hermione felt invigorated. She vaguely knew it was another unexplored area of the Dark Wedding, but it did not feel dark or corrupted. Unlike how Healing usually left her slightly drained, working in tandem to his magic, she felt energetic instead.
Her magic met with years of spell damage—something neither Severus' potion nor Hermione's spell could undo, but it provided temporary relief, just like the potion would have. For the first time, she could explore another person's magic, pulsating against hers in a tender rhythm. His core was a melange of strong, inherited magic, tangled in ligatures of frigid, devious, dark magic that was not his but was clenching him, obstructing him. The Dark Mark, Hermione recognised, shuddering to touch the gelid tendrils.
When she finally released the spell, Severus had eased up. He was asleep or rather sedated by the Healing. His chest rose and fell in a natural rhythm. Hermione did a quick Diagnostic Charm to reveal his vitals to be normal and sighed in relief.
She slowly retrieved his wand from his now loosened grip and put it on his bed. She gently eased his other hand, too, from the arm rest, examining his white knuckles closely. His white shirt clung to his body with sweat. Hermione leaned forward and opened the first button to provide relief from the bounding tightness.
Had nobody ever showed him the bare minimum of care? Told him that it was not a sin to show that he was hurt? Her eyes were stinging. Not even a groan, how harshly had he trained himself to stifle those very reflexes?
And soon she was sobbing because this man before her might never have. Because this man did not care about himself. Because this man did not let anybody care for him. Because nobody had ever cared for him. Because Hermione had come to care too much for him. And because it pained her to see him in pain, battling from an ailment there was no cure for.
She conjured a soft washcloth. She gently wiped it at his sweaty face and neck. Gingerly, she took each of his hands into hers one by one and wiped the clammy palms. All the while, tears blinded her. They were the very rudimentary Healer's duties but she doubted him to have even condoned them, had he not been sedated. Hermione slowly eased his cuffs and wiped his forearms. The Dark Mark stood black against his pale skin.
This Mark that ruled his life. This mistake that he was still atoning for. Every day. If only somebody had shown him a little kindness, a little light, the right path, he wouldn't have taken the Mark. Severus would have been a free man, a happy man. Hermione's shoulders shook. If only she had met him all those years earlier... How she wished she had.
She wiped her tears away only for more to roll down. Hermione stood up and cast a Freshening Charm on him to provide more comfort. A series of more spells had his boots off, his legs propped on the chair that Hermione was earlier occupying and the back rest of Severus' chair tilted so that he was partially reclined. There was only so much she could do to provide him comfort on two rickety chairs. She summoned a cushion from his bed and gently propped his head on it. Another Accio and she draped his warm robe over him. Hermione kept his wand and a goblet of water on the coffee table right in his line of sight.
Stepping back, she looked at Severus. Light from the lamp danced on his pale face, his closed eyelids, his pursed lips. Hermione's fingers laced through his hair and slid down the side of his face. Where the hair parted on his right temple, an old scar marked his skin. She lightly traced the pad of her thumb over it, feeling the etched V-shaped silvery pattern. No, she couldn't even begin to guess what had befallen him to receive that scar.
When was the last time he had slept without a worry? The last time he felt free and content? And in that moment, Hermione hated every single person who had troubled him, controlled him, tormented him. She hated Voldemort and the Headmaster alike in that regard—if one tortured him, the other sent him to that torture.
Hermione gently cupped his cheek, a day old stubble grazed her palm. Could nobody see the person she saw in him? Nobody bothered to? But even if nobody else could, she saw him, she saw Severus. The man who laughed and talked and cared. Whom only she knew. And she never wanted to let him go.
Her fingers lingered on his cheek and he almost imperceptibly leaned into her touch. Suppressing her urge to brush her lips on his forehead, Hermione instead bent down until their foreheads touched. "I see you, Severus. I will always find you."
A/N: So, how was it? And if you think this was something, you are going to be in for a shock in the next chapter.
Super eager to hear from you all!