The former mansion of the Blacks, and now the Potters, was noisy, crowded with people, and as light as it had never been before. Hermione winced at the flashes of light and fought down the urge to hide her head under the covers. What a pity that it was impossible to hide under the bed from her bleak present. The last thing she wanted to hear about this morning, which faded into a tragic afternoon, was a scolding from Harry, then from Draco, and the icing on the cake - from a portrait of her own husband. In situations like this, all three showed amazing solidarity with each other and brought down the full power of their care on the head of the suffering witch.
Yes, she got distracted by something and did not notice the dark curse flying at her. Yes, her entire chest was covered in scars received in past battles. Yes, she doesn't take care of herself at all. No, she doesn't want the medal "For Courage in Battle" posthumously. No, she is not tired of living. Right? She was fed up with their speeches. It would be better if they shouted, great Merlin!
Two hours ago, Draco dragged her through the Floo that connected the office of the Head of the Dark Curse Victims Department, who, in fact, Malfoy now was, to the living room of Chief Auror Potter, and handed her from hand to hand.
" What is it this time?" With one hand adjusting his glasses, and with the other hand sending his numerous offspring to the rooms, Harry demanded to know.
"As usual: contusion, temporary loss of magical abilities, inflammation, and energy shock of the second degree. It worked out this time. The report is already on Moody's desk."
Potter settled Hermione on the couch and handed Malfoy a bottle of beer. He listed her injuries in such a casual tone as if reading out a shopping list. Harry nodded equally dismissively. Hermione longingly watched the beer floating away and caught a crazy thought by the tail: did they become so cynical because they went through the war? But, after all, Luna also fought, and Neville, Ginny, and even Professor McGonagall. And Tonks probably wouldn't have become such a sarcastic infection as Hermione herself was now, if Tonks had lived.
They knew what they signed up for when they got hired by the Auror Department. And Draco also knew it wasn't a walk in the park that was waiting for him when he took his exams for the degree of Healer. He wanted to help his parents, who had been rewarded by war and Azkaban far more than he wanted to say aloud. It's like that. And there was no longer any premonition of the inevitable hanging over their heads. But life wasn't the same anymore. Okay, second-degree magical strike, nothing serious.
"You should still go to St. Mungo's," Malfoy said over his shoulder and sucked on his beer.
"Thank you generously, your St. Mungo's was enough for me before, after, and during the war. Then at least my friends visited me, brought me chocolate and get-well cards."
" Would you like a card? Now, I'll call James and Al, they'll draw you one," Harry suggested.
Hermione pointedly turned away. Her friends' stupid remarks hurt again and brought back unwanted memories.
Three years ago, in the midst of the hunt for the Horcruxes, when they were collecting misfortunes like the Dark Lord collected his trophies, Hermione woke up in 's, thinking nothing but the pain and fear after the experience. She did not remember how she got here and how she survived at all. Cruciatus flashes still exploded in front of her eyes, and her body trembled with phantom convulsions. Or, perhaps, the seizures were quite real this time around. Did Harry and Ron survive? Are the hunters on the trail? Severus would kill her when he found out. The latter scared her more than the prospect of another warm encounter with Bellatrix.
He begged, scolded, persuaded, and asked her not to take rash steps. Promised to help. He said that there was very little time left and that they were already almost there. But no, the Golden Trio needed to foolishly get caught by the Snatchers, end up in the Malfoy Manor and jeopardize the very meaning of the operation. Hermione groaned desperately. The last thing she remembered was that Binky, Snape's house elf, had intercepted her from Dobby and carried her off in an unknown direction. As it turned out, to the hospital.
There was some movement in the hallway. Hermione tensed, trying to find her wand, but she couldn't find it. She heard her husband speak. "What do you mean, "I am forbidden to enter"? I am her lawful husband, and while the Decree was not lifted, I do not give a damn about all your rules! Or are you waiting for the cheerful company of Death Eaters to visit, who will come here for her within a couple of hours?"
"Master Snape, listen, Madam Snape is in an unstable condition, it might be dangerous for her to move around."
"Our whole country is in an unstable condition, in case it has escaped your notice, Mr. Longbourne. Now, go away."
"You have no right..."
"At the moment I have all the rights that I may need."
The door opened and Snape entered the room very cautiously. His mannerisms did not fit in with the momentary flash of temperament that Hermione had the good fortune to observe. He carefully examined the frowning witch, walked up to the bed, and sat down on a chair.
"Are you going to scold me now? " Hermione mumbled instead of greetings. Snape narrowed his eyes.
"If my scolding had ever helped, I wouldn't have been trying to drive at least some sense into the heads of hopeless idiots for twenty years."
"Then why are you here? We failed, we lost our sword, we got caught, and now they are following us. Are the boys alive?"
"I am here because you are my wife and I am your husband. Oaths or not, to hell with the Decree, but I'd rather sit here with you than carry flowers on your headstone. What do you like, by the way?"
Hermione laughed nervously.
"You are unbearable. Violets and heather. But still?"
Severus looked into her eyes sadly and moved closer. "I will not say that you should have listened to me, you yourself know everything very well. Thanks to Dobby and Binky, you were saved. Potter and Weasley are n The Shell. I thought you needed medical attention and brought you here. You spent a day unconscious."
"Did your potions work wonders again?"
"How do you know?"
"Your white shirt is wrinkled and unwashed for a long time, you live on coffee these days, the healer calls you Master Snape, which means you work with him, and simply because you are you. And you can't help it."
Snape lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind his hair. And Hermione wanted to touch him, to remove those eternally tangled hairs from his face and for once in her life to talk normally, without reproaches, without exchanging strategic plans, and without caustic comments. Like husband and wife that they never became, like partners, like people who had something to say to each other.
Hermione dared to reach out and intertwine her fingers with his. He tensed but did not withdraw his hand.
"So, what is next?"
"We will return the sword. And we'll destroy what's left."
"His Lordship will not be pleased with the next meeting, and you will get all his rage directed upon yourself again. I don't know how he hasn't killed you yet."
"I am stronger than you might think, wife."
"Who are you kidding now, Master Snape?"
"And what else should I do know for both of us?"
"Still, if you didn't come to lecture me, then why are you here?"
"I came to be with you. Who knows when another opportunity will arise? In a couple of days, you will be left to your own devices, I will give you the necessary potions, and you will return to your "foster children", who are of no use either in battle, in the camp, or at Hogwarts, and I will return to my duties. I wanted to make sure you're okay."
"Severus, things will never be okay again with us."
"Be quiet, Granger, it's my job to be the pessimist for the two of us. And don't scare me like that anymore. I have no desire to worry about you like this anymore."
"We knew what we were getting into."
"But still."
"But now you also know how I felt every time you were summoned."
"One one, witch."
"Do you remember, you once said that you always dreamed of going to the Manchester-Liverpool match, like in your youth?"
"Why on Earth are you talking about this thing now?"
"If we win the war, then I will take you to the match."
"And buy me some cotton candy?" Severus replied sarcastically.
"Oh, believe me, I'll buy it if you don't stop being sarcastic."
And he smiled. Not with a wry grin that never left his eternally dissatisfied face, but as a person who wanted to hope. Hermione smiled back. They were wasting time, she knew about it. Much more productive and better now would be to look for a way out of this situation, but she did not want to think about anything. Even the thought of the thinking process hurt. She longed to have a silly conversation with the man who was more than just a man who had saved her life over and over again. She wanted to know him. And make plans for life, even if they were as trivial as going to football. A consolation prize for the desperate.
"Promise me to live, Severus. You always keep your word," she begged him in the end, catching him by the sleeve. He returned her pained gaze.
"Drink your potions and try to get some sleep. I will sit with you."
"Severus..."
"Drink your potions, Hermione. Everything is okay for now."
Hermione pushed the memory away and caught the eye of Snape, who was looking reproachfully at her from his portrait. He never kept his promise, and neither did she. Now she wanted to sleep, and he would look after her, as he always did. Something remained constant in the chaos of her life.
Hermione stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes.