Chapter 3

Her patronis found Harry Potter at the Weasley Burrow, and he rushed to her side. There was no doubt in either of them that their potions master was indeed fighting for his life. He once told them all, that he could put a stopper in death. The snake was a favorite weapon of Voldemort. Certainly, he had seen it used against others. It made sense that he would know his life was in constant danger from it, and make preparations. Snape had created Nagini's anti-venom. Perhaps he had taken some potion of his own design. To safeguard against the bite and blood loss that would kill him in moments. Perhaps it was why he had survived to this point.

She explained Snape's movements when he arrived. Harry sat silently with her for a few hours but left soon afterwards. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be by in a few days to relieve you." Harry gently brushed her cheek, scolding her for not caring for herself and left.

Days passed. Harry had come as promised and she had taken a few days to rest and think before returning to her post. At her parents' home the image in the mirror was not one she would call healthy. Hermione was still too thin and her eyes dull from lack of proper sleep. Her hair had been kept in a tight braid and lost its luster. She lifted her fingers to her face. Her complexion was sallow as if her despair had soaked into it. How long could she keep this up? Hermione wanted desperately to leave and find her parents to restore them. She knew they were well and healthy and so Snape had taken preference. Telling herself that it would only be for a few more weeks. Hermione always wore her muggle clothing in an effort to be closer to them. Waiting for the day they would all sit around the dining room table laughing once again.

Hermione felt so strange in the muggle home. Despite the moving photos and Hogwarts drawings, the room she had grown up in felt like it belonged to a stranger. She had tried to sleep in her parents' room but had nightmares of losing them to death eaters. Hogwarts was in ruins, and she couldn't return there just yet. The battle was still too fresh and painful. Even Grimmauld Place had difficult memories.

Hermione was no longer a child, but a soldier. She had killed to protect the people she loved. She had known hunger and terror and desperation. Staying there only accentuated the difference between who she was, and who she was now. With her future in the balance.

Hermione felt anxious to go back to the hospital, knowing she was in danger here. Not from death eaters, but from her trauma and grief. That was the real reason why she preferred her uncomfortable chair next to Snape. When she was at St Mungos she had a purpose. She was in control and could forget about everything but taking care of him. Tears threatened her eyes as she sat on the couch trying to read, but she would not let them fall. If she began to cry, she wouldn't stop. There were so many tears that needed to be shed for all they had lost in the war. Hermione could grieve eventually, but not now, not yet.

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Snape's struggles still showed clearly on his face, but she took it as a good sign he was still fighting. As it grew dark his eyes stopped twitching and he seemed to rest peacefully. Hermione sat watching long into the night with his hand in hers and the door locked. She need not leave him now for anything. His room had a full lavatory and the Hogwarts house elves, sent by Minerva, came with food, books and anything else she wanted. Her fatigue caused her to lay her head down once again on the mattress, his hand still in hers above her head, and fell asleep.

When morning came, she was awakened by an odd sound. As if a mouse had decided to make a nest in her hair. The sound of a slight rustle of the sheet. As she raised her head, her groggy eyes searched for the cause. She spotted something miraculous. Her eyes flew open, and she stared at the two fingers in front of her twitching.

Instantly awake, she took his hand and brought it to her cheek, the fingers still moving. It was real. She suddenly realized they were moving in a measured pattern. He was trying to prove these were not just random gestures or response to stimuli. He was aware and controlling what his hand was doing. Hermione looked desperately at his face to see some spark of life. To her sadness there was none. His face was blank and lifeless again. What little strength he had was directed to his fingers, still moving with purpose.

Hermione held them in the palm of her hand reverently. She blinked to clear the water from her eyes. This was no time for tears. She had to make notes of everything that happened. She went to stand from her place next to his bed to get her notepad, when the motion in his fingers changed. She froze realizing he did not want her to move. His nails, which had grown a bit long, had captured her hand. Not strong enough to cause pain but enough to get her attention. She sat back down and stared at his hand. "What is it sir? What can I do?"

His index finger began to rub across her palm in a strange way. Hermione looked at it, willing herself to understand. It was a pattern of some sort. She watched intensely as he repeated it. A line, a line, and then a line to connect them. What could it mean? Again, he wrote, a line, a line, then one to connect them. "Professor, I don't understand. Are you trying to draw a picture? Does it stand for something? A number? A letter? The letter I? No, H!"

His fingers laid flat against her palm, then began to write again. She read them aloud and he continued. O, W, L, O, N, G. The finger stopped and she considered what he was saying. How Long? Did he mean 'How Long' since the battle? How Long until his recovery? "Sir? How Long? Do you mean How Long have you been at St. Mungos?" His fingers flattened across her palm. She was afraid to tell him. "Well, Sir. You nearly died. It has taken more than three months for you to recover this far." His finger began again. D. E. A. D. "Dead, sir? Who…." As the lightbulb went on in her head Hermione could kick herself for being so stupid. "Voldemort is dead sir, for good this time." His fingers splayed out and trembled as if he had just let go of something heavy. "The Aurors are chasing the rest and slowly bringing them in. "We lost quite a few sir. Remus Lupin, Tonks, Fred Weasley, many more. Fifty in all. Adults and students." His fingers formed a feeble fist.

Hermione felt his despair now as deep as her own and quickly countered it. "Harry. Harry is alive sir, he's alive." Snape's fingers curled around hers and squeezed gently. "Professor, everyone in the wizarding world is waiting for you to wake up. Harry and I took your case to the wizengamot. You're free sir! You won't have to face any charges. You don't have to be afraid of Azkaban. In fact, Headmistress McGonagall want's you back in class as soon as possible. Kingsley even said you were to get the Order of Merlin." Hermione tried to laugh, but only a nervous titter seemed to come out.

She was breathless with joy. "I need to fetch the doctor, and Harry and I must tell the others." His fingers curled around her hand weakly again. "Don't worry sir. It won't take long. I'll be right back." He would not let go of her. "What is it professor? Don't you want me to tell them?" His hand flattened out again and his finger began to draw. "N. O. N. O. N.O." Hermione was confused as to what to do. Her loyalties were with Harry and the rest, but she couldn't go against his wishes. "Okay sir. I won't tell the others for now, but can I go fetch the doctor? You need to be examined." Y. His finger stopped, fatigue was setting in. "I'll be right back. I'll grab the first one I see and be right back." Hermione was hesitant to leave him, afraid the miracle would end, but she needed help.

The door banged open loudly as she flew down the hallway to the nurse's station, calling for a doctor. Hermione didn't bother to count the number of eye rolls she noticed. They were all annoyed with her demands and quick retribution. "WHERE IS THE DOCTOR ON DUTY? I NEED HIM NOW!" They looked to each other deciding whether they should put any effort into telling her. "IF YOU THINK I WAS AN IRRITATION BEFORE, JUST GIVE ME TEN SECONDS! I WANT HIM HERE NOW OR I'LL HEX THE LOT OF YOU!"