Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 11: Healing

"Miss? Headmaster asked me to bring you this while you wait," Dobby announced, appearing so suddenly in the room that Hermione jumped in her seat, nearly sliding to the floor.

Snape had barely left the room before she'd collapsed into a seat, utterly spent and quaking knees unable to support her. But she'd been so on edge that sitting still had been a challenge. Now, she welcomed the interruption, even if her heart was still racing from the start.

Dobby rushed forward to place a basin of nearly transparent, pearly pink liquid before her on the small round table in the Head office. The contents lapped lazily against the sides of the bowl in gentle waves. A cloth was extended before the house-elf as he smiled widely, happy to see her.

Immediately, she submerged her bloody hands, needing the stains gone immediately. The soothing fluid quickly dissolved the blood yet remained unnaturally clear. Magic. Snape's or the house-elf's, she didn't know, but she was grateful all the same. Accepting the soft fabric, Hermione dipped it in the liquid and scrubbed her face and neck too, relieved to remove the evidence of recent events and distract herself as she waited.

Having the house-elf provide a legitimate distraction also made her attempts to ignore the probing questions and speculation from the former headmasters and headmistresses easier. Loudest of all, unsurprisingly, was Phineas Black. From what Hermione heard him saying, he had indeed been spying on their progress and was eager to have a recounting of the morning directly from her. Fortunately, Dumbledore was missing from his frame, so she didn't feel obligated to answer any of them.

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione said sincerely, handing the cloth back. He snapped his fingers and both the basin and soiled fabric vanished.

"Sir will be back soon. Does Miss need anything else?" he asked squeakily, eager to help.

Hermione was a bit surprised that he didn't sound as suspicious of Snape as he had over the summer. Something must have changed in recent months. She was even more surprised he'd trusted Dobby enough to send him to her now. It was a risk, since no one should know about her presence in the castle. The events that morning at the Ministry had made it perfectly clear what was at stake for her as a Muggleborn. Not to mention, if anyone found out about her, they might discover Harry.

"No. I'll be all right," Hermione promised. It was a lie, but fortunately the elf didn't call her on it. Would any of them ever really be all right again? She seriously doubted it as she caught sight of Ron's blood still staining the borrowed clothes she donned.

Dobby didn't linger, just bobbed his head and scurried out the door. Unable to stand seeing the remaining evidence of that morning, Hermione pointed her wand at herself and cried, "Scourgify!"

With the blood gone, she felt slightly more like herself, though a sensation of being grimy and gritty remained. It was always like that with Cleaning Charms. They'd remove the visible evidence, but only a shower would really do the trick.

When her stomach growled, reminding her that she'd been too nervous to do more than pick at her breakfast that morning, she wished she had asked for some food. They only had a few meals worth packed in her bag, carefully prepared by Kreacher now that the elf was completely devoted to Harry. Food was just one more thing they were going to have to figure out if they really were staying at the castle. They couldn't very well raid the kitchens or join the others in the Great Hall, after all.

Should they stay? Now that she was here, she couldn't decide if shock had been motivating her or if some of Harry's traditional recklessness had rubbed off on her. No matter what they did next, it would be dangerous. Had it been the comfort and familiarity of Hogwarts that had beckoned so strongly to her?

Perhaps, if they did remain, she could make an arrangement with Dobby to sneak meals into the Room of Requirement. He'd be all for helping Harry. Though she'd have to make sure he never mentioned her alliance with—

Snape.

He entered then, giving her a once over before offering a clipped nod of greeting. He strode purposely over, placing five phials down in front of her, then took a seat opposite.

"This will help dull some of his pain, but it will not block it out entirely," he informed her, diving right in as he pointed at the pale blue potion first. "You will have to reopen the wound and pour this directly upon the area of missing tissue as quickly as you can. Then you will need to use a spell," he continued briskly, motioning to the second potion as he spoke, a glass containing a shimmering orange potion with strands of red twisting and weaving throughout like streamers in the wind.

Reopen the wound.

Hermione felt queasy just thinking about doing that to Ron. How could she hurt him worse? How would he forgive her if she didn't?

"Granger, can you handle this?" Snape asked critically, frowning as he judged her.

She knew he found her lacking. Probably, he thought she was too soft to do what was necessary. But he must have some admiration for her, since he'd said she should have been a Slytherin. She wasn't. Hermione was a Gryffindor, through and through. This task required grit and determination, not cunning and duplicity. And Gryffindors were nothing if not brave. There were times when the ends justified the means, and this was one of those cases.

"You know I can," she said, resolve making her sit up straighter and look over the remaining potions.

Two she recognized. One was a Blood Replenishing Potion, the phial significantly larger than the others. Probably because he'd correctly gauged Ron's loss from the amount covering her. Another was a Strengthening Solution, the turquoise shade a brilliant colour. But she didn't recognize the final potion.

"Good," he said swiftly, not questioning her resolve further.

"What spell will I need to use?"

"Trace over the wound, and say VUL-ner-ah sah-NEN-tour." She watched him carefully, mimicking his wand movements. "Repeat the spell," he instructed.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she repeated dutifully, dreading what was to come. Snape nodded approvingly.

"Were you injured at all? You can practise on yourself if necessary," he suggested. "The spell can be used on any wound that bleeds."

"It was all R-Ron's blood," she said, stumbling over his name as she recalled the thick, crimson river gushing from his arm.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No cuts, but…my ankle. I sprained it," she answered, breath catching as he kneeled, easing fluidly to the floor beside her and holding his hand out for her foot.

The sight fully eclipsed her memory of Ron's trauma. Cautiously, she lifted it, gasping when his calloused hand gently wrapped around her lower calf, holding it secure. Soothing warmth spread through the area as he quietly murmured, touching the tip of his wand to the swollen and bruised area.

"And now?"

Hermione slowly rotated her foot in a circle, conscious of Snape's hand still enclosing her leg. There wasn't even a trace of the sharp needles and throbbing that had been there before. "Healed," she confirmed.

Snape exhaled loudly, regaining her attention. Had he been concerned? Was that why he'd sent Dobby? She'd figured he just didn't want to see her break down when he returned or have her leave stains in the room that might betray her impromptu visit.

"Silence the room in case he screams," Snape instructed, getting back to the matter at hand as though they'd never stopped, "regrowing a muscle takes less time than a bone, but hurts nearly as much."

"He lost a great deal of blood earlier," Hermione ventured, wondering if she should administer some of the Blood Replenishing Potion prior to cutting away the fresh skin on Ron's arm.

"If you give him a Blood Replenishing Potion first, he'll just bleed more while you're working on him," Snape said succinctly, following her line of thought easily enough.

"What should I have done?"

"A localised Stasis Charm," he said gravely, only the barest hint of censure leaking into his tone.

"Of course," she murmured, mentally smacking her forehead.

It was one of the very first spells they'd ever learned. It was often used on potions. Madam Hooch had used it on Neville in first year during the second flying lesson when he'd fallen and broken his leg. Even Professor McGonagall had used it on Seamus last year when they'd been practising human transfiguration and he'd made a mistake.

She should have known better. The spell could halt blood flow for a prolonged period of time without resulting in tissue damage or death. If she'd done it, all Snape would have needed to do to help her was teach her the spell the Ministry used when someone was Splinched. But she'd used Essence of Dittany, and that had essentially cauterised the vessels, rendering the spell useless.

"Berate yourself later and learn from this mistake. For now, focus on what must be done. Afterwards, you can give him the potion – the full amount, and he will need the Anticoagulant Potion in case of clotting. The muscle will be weak, so tomorrow, once the growth has finished, give him the Strengthening Solution. It should allow him to use the arm immediately, though some soreness may linger for a few weeks."

"I understand."

She could do this. She had to. For Ron's sake, she would.

Hermione didn't make it halfway to the door before Snape stopped her. "Granger, why did you come to me?"

"I needed help," she answered simply, frowning as she met his searching gaze. Those fathomless onyx eyes took her measure, and she wondered what he saw.

"You could have gone to any in the Order for it," he reminded her pointedly.

Yes, she could have. But the truth was that she hadn't thought of them. She'd only thought of Snape. But she could never say that to him. Somehow, she thought he might recognize the truth without her saying it anyway. Even without Legilimency.

He frowned, the creases in his forehead a familiar sight from years of watching him teach.

There wasn't another person alive that would willingly trust Snape. The Order certainly wouldn't. And she doubted Voldemort or his ilk even knew what trust was. Yet Hermione could say that her trust in Snape was incontestable.

Holding up the potions, Hermione repeated, "Thank you, Snape."

Hermione hurried back to Ron, relieved that afternoon classes seemed to have begun and most of the upper level halls were relatively empty.

"Did you get what he needs?" Harry demanded worriedly, meeting her when she darted into the room.

"Yes," she breathed, nervous energy drumming through her veins as she mentally prepared for what she needed to do.

"Did Madam Pomfrey see you?"

"No. Luckily she wasn't there," Hermione answered honestly, feeling not the slightest qualm about keeping the full truth from him. "This is going to be difficult. Silence the room for me?"

Hermione had barely thought about needing a table to put the potions on before one appeared. By the time she'd laid out the potions, Harry was back beside her.

"What are you going to do?"

"I need access to the damaged tissue if he's to regrow the muscle," she said flatly, barely sparing him a look.

"Access…you don't mean…?" he asked shakily.

"That's precisely what I mean," she answered crisply, positioning Ron's arm so the mutilated area was exposed and facing her.

"Hermione —"

She didn't wait to hear his protests, just raised her wand, aimed, and cried the necessary spell. "Diffindo!"

"AHHH!" The scream filled the room, surging forth with a new wave of gushing blood. Without effort or resistance, the skin of Ron's upper arm had peeled back to reveal the missing tissue hollowed out of his upper arm as though with an ice cream scoop.

Ron thrashed on the bed, awoken with a vengeance as he twisted and writhed, pain a swarm of fire ants crawling over his limbs. He fought Hermione's hold, and she nearly dropped the contents of the potion as she tried in vain to restrain her friend.

"Hold him down!"

His one good arm swung uncontrollably, while the other hung limply, spilling precious blood that he could ill afford to lose onto the ground and bedding.

"Harry!" she cried, breaking him from his disbelieving stupor.

"Sorry, mate, but you'll thank me for this later," Harry muttered, hauling back and clocking Ron right in the jaw. Ron slumped back, clearly unconscious as all noise cut off abruptly mid scream.

Hermione was stunned, not having expected Harry to try such a tactic, but she quickly moved to do what was needed before Ron lost any more blood. Harry then helped her hold Ron's mouth shut while she massaged his throat to get the Blood Replenishing Potion and Anticoagulant Potion into him.

She worked on autopilot, tending to him then cleaning the resulting mess without a word. It was easier to do when she wasn't thinking.

"I can't believe you did that," Harry finally said, unable to hold the words back any longer now that the gruesome task was done.

"We all do what's necessary, you more than anyone should recognize that," she said stiffly, fearing censure. She shouldn't have. Harry understood difficult choices more now than he once did. He'd lost too many people not to.

"Yeah," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face roughly. "I guess you're just a bit scarier when you reach that point. Not sure I could have done it."

Harry might not always be able to do the difficult deeds, but at least he surrounded himself with those willing to make the sacrifice. He'd never survive if he didn't.

No one spoke for a long time, each lost in their own musings. The silence was heavy, but not oppressive. More like a thick blanket on a winter day than an unwanted burden.

Hermione welcomed the peace to get lost in her thoughts, recalling at once her most recent interaction with Snape. When he had tended to her ankle, she couldn't help but recall the way he'd seen to her pleasure over the summer. He was so gruff and abrasive verbally, while his touch was soft and gentle as velvet. He was a conundrum.

But even as she welcomed the opportunity to get lost in her own thoughts, she could almost see Harry's growing darker with every passing minute.

"Do you want to talk about what the locket said to you?" she asked tentatively, willing him not to snap at her. She never knew whether or not his temper was in check after a tense situation. And right now she wasn't sure she could take him unloading on her. Her nerves were raw, ground from a trip through a meat processor.

"Not really." The clipped tone conveyed all she needed to know. The only person with any hope of getting through to him right now was Ginny. But she was currently in class.

Hermione had a feeling the temptation to see the fiery witch was going to become a problem before too long if they did stick around.

They should probably set up some ground rules about remaining hidden. It was imperative that no one learn about Harry's presence in the castle. Of course, if she was using his cloak, he'd be forced to stay put….

"I'm going to get some books on the Hogwarts Founders tomorrow," she announced, wondering if she could get away with a pit stop to the Head office as well, "probably a few history books as well. Do you think you'll be up to searching for clues if I bring them back here since you can't come with me?"

"I know I have to stay here," he grit out, annoyed that she had slipped the little reminder in, "but I thought you wanted to do the research."

"You're more familiar with You-Know-Who than I am," Hermione countered. Perhaps this would help keep him occupied. Not to mention providing Harry a chance to relay additional insights he'd initially cast aside as irrelevant. Who knew how much he had flitting through his mind that might rise to the surface and aid them with the proper prompting. They'd be able to work out the clues he had sooner once they were using the right tools.

"Ron's not awake. You can use his name," Harry muttered, still annoyed that Ron had been insisting they stop saying Voldemort. He'd been so adamant when they first got to Grimmauld Place that Hermione and Harry had quickly relented.

"I'd rather not," she said crisply, thinking back on how Snape had reacted to it as well. More than ever, it felt as though the name and the Dark Mark were sentient. No sense tempting fate more than they already had that day.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, agreeing, "Sure. I'll make a list of possible hiding spots too. We can check them out one at a time."

They lapsed back into silence, occasionally checking on Ron. It was actually possible to see the divot in his arm shrinking. Hermione could also see the sheen of sweat and extensive flush covering his body as he twitched and jerked periodically. Faint hisses escaped his clenched teeth, and a burgundy smudge marred Ron's chin where Harry had punched him. She wondered if, like earlier, he'd momentarily forgotten he was a wizard. A Stunning Charm would have had the same effect.

Eventually, Harry retrieved the Marauder's Map from the pouch he wore around his neck. He hunkered down in one of the cushy, red armchairs provided by the room to stare fixedly at it, and she knew he was watching Ginny's dot. That map would be a problem if she really did decide to drop by Snape's office again. Something she'd better keep in mind.

Leaving him to it, she was relieved when a bathroom materialised in the Room a second after she thought about needing one. The temptation of a hot shower called to her after the experience of getting Ron's blood on her for the second time that day.

Ron was awake by the time she exited the small room, sitting up and speaking stoically to Harry. The bag of packed sandwiches she'd pulled out earlier was flattened, the boys obviously having demolished the lot of them while she'd been getting cleaned up. Two more cots had appeared as well beside Ron's.

"How are you holding up?" Hermione asked eagerly, going to check his arm.

"We all got out. The locket is destroyed. Give me a couple days and I'll be ready to celebrate," Ron said mockingly, though the half smile he gave her was at least relatively sincere. Then he winced and pulled free when she tried to bend his arm at the elbow.

"I'm sorry," Hermione ventured, never having wanted to hurt him. Particularly after he'd been so focused on protecting her. "That man had my arm, then I tripped and —"

"'S'll good," Ron interrupted. "Been hurt worse playing Quidditch," he said, forcing a lightheartedness to his tone. The last was debatable, but she appreciated his effort to downplay her culpability. At least until he winced again while trying to get settled back into bed. His arm was still all but useless.

Harry moved to help him, which was probably for the best. Ron would have likely resented her assistance, viewing it as a blow to his masculinity or some such rot.

It didn't take long for Ron to fall back asleep after that, probably a lingering effect of the pain, and potions, and blood loss. Harry was out too not much later.

Hermione wrestled with the choice for all of five minutes before she found herself under Harry's cloak, the nicked map in her pocket, and retracing her steps to the Head office.

Snape was there, alone, when she entered. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for her return. It was a fanciful notion. The reality was, he likely only wanted to know if she'd been successful. No. Probably, he'd simply been working. Running a boarding school for magical students, while also following the insane decrees of an evil despot, was a round-the-clock gig.

He didn't immediately look up from the paper he held when she entered, seeming to know it was her despite her transparent state. Hermione hesitated in the middle of the room, slowly pulling off Harry's cloak, not quite sure what to say.

Snape saved her from the uncomfortable silence, finally looking up and prudently asking, "How long will you be here?"

"Indefinite," she answered, judging his reaction.

Snape looked shocked, suspicious, apprehensive – but not actually opposed to the notion.

"Is this necessary?"

"No? Possibly? We didn't have any good options, but this felt right," she answered honestly, fighting the urge to squirm beneath his intense scrutiny.

The portraits were back to muttering loudly. Snape shot a glare over his shoulder, and most of them quieted quickly. All except Phineas, who couldn't seem to resist saying, "Just can't stay away, apparently."

Snape ignored the obvious innuendo. Hermione did as well, though her cheeks felt incredibly hot. Yes, she'd come here for Snape, but not for what the Slytherin was implying.

"Make certain Potter isn't caught," Snape ordered, leaving no room for doubt that this directive was not up for debate. As if she didn't already know as much. Even Harry was aware. He'd never have let her roam the castle without him if he'd thought he could take the risk.

"I will," she vowed anyway.

After all, he'd be implicated as well were Harry to be discovered here.

Though he might have also issued the reminder as a diversion, given the previous topic.

"We'll need food while we're here. I was thinking about Dobby since you sent him to me earlier," Hermione mentioned awkwardly, hoping he'd not be angry that she was asking for yet another favour.

Snape grunted, glancing at Dumbledore's nodding portrait before agreeing, "Yes. I will speak with him and impress the need for discretion. He has done quite well so far."

"Thank you," she said, feeling more confident about her decision to hide at Hogwarts.

"You broke into the Ministry today," Snape said tonelessly, laying the Evening Prophet on his desk and scooting it towards her until she could read the headline for herself.

A picture of Harry was off to one side, clearly labelled as Undesirable Number 1. Beside it, a headline declaring: Ministry Break-in to Halt Conviction of Magical Theft. So they were publicising that it had been them. She knew Harry had been recognized, but even if he hadn't, they probably would have accused him anyways. They'd been pinning every unstopped "crime" on Harry lately. Scanning what she could of the front page text, Hermione understood that the trio, led by Harry, was being blamed for attempting to free those rightfully accused of stealing magic because he wished to see anarchy and chaos bring down their society.

"Who knew three teenagers could have such lofty ambitions," Hermione murmured weakly, wishing she could discount the possibility of anyone taking the news seriously. But she'd already witnessed the wizarding world's attitudes toward what was printed. For over a year, they'd taken everything that wretch Rita Skeeter wrote as gospel. This would be no different. The public was afraid, and they'd look for any answer that was being provided, regardless of how illogical.

"You think this is funny?" he asked darkly.

Knowing Snape was about to berate her for foolishness, and remind her that there were far more important things at stake than freeing a few innocents, Hermione headed him off, blurting, "Umbridge had one of the Horcruxes."

"You were successful in retrieving it?" he asked, sitting forward intently, attitude abruptly changing. Dumbledore perked up in his frame as well, his blue eyes sparkling noticeably.

"We were," she confirmed, feeling another hint of hope that they might actually be able to pull this whole thing off.

"That was a dangerous gamble. Potter's idea, I take it?" he asked rhetorically, as eager as ever to attribute all blame to Harry.

"It all worked out in the end…thanks to you," Hermione said sincerely, looking anywhere except at Snape. For the first time she realised that nothing about the office had changed. He'd made no effort to make the space his own. As though he knew this appointment was temporary. It was a dark thought.

She stared at his desk as she moved to sit in the chair before it, inviting herself to stay.

His next words made her instantly regret the decision.

"Don't rely on me to save you from all the ridiculous scrapes you're bound to get into."

Hermione swallowed back a number of defensive arguments she immediately wanted to make, glaring at the wizard across from her. He was watching her intently. So much so that she realised he was deliberately provoking her. Why? Was he determined to have her admitting why she'd come to him for help? Why she wanted to be at the castle?

She didn't really have an answer to that. At least not one she could put into words.

"Why not? That's precisely what you've been doing for years." The words escaped her before she'd fully processed the significance of the thought.

"Because Albus ordered me to," he replied in a measured voice. The slow, drawn out sound delighted her senses, taking her back to his room when he'd curtly informed her that she thought too much – just before he'd kissed her.

A pointed cough from the back wall broke her free from the wild imaginings. Apparently Dumbledore disagreed as well.

"I think it's more than that," she dared to argue. Was it because he was truly a good man beneath the thorny exterior he wore like armour, or was there more to it?

"Then you're a fool. Little better than a simpering dolt," he said harshly, lashing out.

He had a habit of deliberately driving people away when they got too close to viewing his vulnerabilities. She'd watched him do it with the other staff, and during the summer she'd stayed at Grimmauld Place, she'd watched him do it with other members of the Order. Now he was doing it to her. Well, she wouldn't be deterred so easily. Years of handling Harry and Ron's tempers and mood swings had primed her for the challenge.

Hermione opened her mouth, prepared to call him on the lie, but his look warned retribution if she dared mention more. Wisely, she didn't.

Even knowing his current prickly mood, spikier than a cactus, it still threw her when his eyes abruptly narrowed, and he asked, "Did it not occur to you that the easier method to obtain the Horcrux was to invade Umbridge's home?"

"No," she breathed, stunned by how much simpler that approach would have been.

Umbridge would have been alone. Breaking protective wards was a topic she actually had studied, so they would have been able to get into her home. With three against one, it'd have been easy to catch her off guard, then modify her memory after the fact. They could have been in and out without alerting the whole wizarding world that they were on the run together and getting up to something.

It wouldn't have put the Weasleys in danger, yet again. After all, Voldemort hadn't been aware Ron was with Harry, and not sick with Spattergroit in the Burrow's attic.

That was something she'd need to speak with Ron about tomorrow.

"Perhaps next time you will endeavour to take fewer unnecessary risks," Snape said caustically.

"I'll be sure to run our next plan past you for approval," she retorted stiffly, resenting that he made her feel about twelve years old all over again.

"Haven't I already said I won't help you?"

Yet, as she'd pointed out, he kept helping despite himself.

Needing to give him a reason to want to help, she found herself abruptly announcing, "The potion worked."

"Then it was worth it?" he asked carefully, something deeper behind the question.

"You know it was," she answered, breath hitching slightly. Tension simmered in the air, an uncurrent filling the room. Were they about to discuss the fact they'd shagged? As soon as the idea occurred, she rushed to ask, "How have things been for you here?"

She just couldn't talk about it with Snape, not when he'd already shown how barbed his tongue was this evening. Perhaps another time it'd be easier.

But she could also tell he wasn't happy with her question. Not that she blamed him. She was beating around the brush, and he hated when anyone was less than forthright with him. He played enough word games as a spy.

Or maybe he didn't actually care about that at all. Maybe the real issue was that she was reminding him of a sensitive topic. The way his fingers flexed then clenched until the tendons strained suggested she'd have been better off asking literally anything else in the world.

"Haven't you heard? My appointment was met with a riot of cheers and applause," he sneered, sarcasm thick as molasses. "I'm aptly suited to hold the fate of future generations in my hands."

Hermione thought again of the first year Muggleborns currently in Azkaban. She knew at once he'd known nothing about it until the deed was already done. Otherwise, he'd have risked everything, giving himself away in the process, had he known beforehand. Snape was nearly buckling under the weight of the burden he was carrying. The aftermath. Possibly something more – no doubt this year had gotten off to a rocky start afterwards. And the students had only been in school for three weeks. His relationship with her fellow Gryffindors had been contentious at the best of times.

"Becoming Headmaster was my life's ambition," he added, lips curling into a smile that held not a trace of warmth.

"I don't believe you," she said frankly, unable to bite the words back in time.

"Why must you always call my bluff?" he asked seriously, startling her with his candour.

Bravely, Hermione answered honestly. "Because you aren't the bastard you pretend to be, and I want you to know I'm aware of the truth."

"Don't delude yourself into believing I'm some dark hero," Snape sneered, seeming offended that anyone would dare attribute a good deed to his name.

"I think I'm starting to see precisely who you are." She immediately regretted making the observation because he looked absolutely furious. His palpable anger didn't make it any less true. Though she was left to wonder why he was so upset by her comment.

What was happening to make him either doubt his own goodness or put him in such a foul mood?

"Go to bed, Granger," Snape ordered, shutting down anything she might have otherwise considered adding. "I have work to do, and your presence is a distraction."