This story has been a bit of a plot worm in my brain for years; I really enjoy examining the breakdown of relationships and a darker Hermione setting is the perfect place to do it. There will be Draco/Hermione romance and Severus/Hermione action too, with an utlimate 'happily ever after' for only one of the pairs.

The Great Hall had become something unrecognizable, a grim place where mourning clung to the air like a thick fog. Bodies were lined up in neat rows, each one hidden beneath sheets that did little to disguise the stillness underneath. The battle's echoes lingered, mixing with the sharp smells of smoke, blood, and dust. Hogwarts had survived, but at a cost that no one could ignore.

Hermione stood by the entrance, her gaze fixed on the line of bodies. She knew every one of them—some more than others—but they were all threads in the fabric of her time at Hogwarts. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could somehow hold the pieces of her world together. The numbness that had carried her through the battle was fading, leaving behind a raw, aching emptiness. It felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.

Ron was beside her, pale and drawn. His left arm hung useless at his side, the bandage around his shoulder soaked with blood and grime. He was frozen, his eyes locked on Fred's body. The shock had numbed him, left him struggling to understand what had happened.

"We need to help," Ron muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, like speaking too loudly might make it all too real. He glanced at Hermione, hoping to find the resolve she always seemed to have.

Hermione nodded, though it felt like her body was moving on autopilot. She should be doing something—anything—but her mind was fogged by grief and exhaustion. Every step she took seemed to drag her deeper into the reality of what they had lost.

"Ron," she said, her voice trembling. "We need to find Harry."

Ron blinked, as if only now realizing that Harry wasn't with them. He nodded, and together they began to move toward the center of the Great Hall. Harry was there, standing with Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt, locked in a tense conversation.

Harry's face was drawn, haunted, with a look in his eyes that Hermione had never seen before. He was speaking quickly, urgently, his fists clenched as he tried to make McGonagall and Kingsley understand.

"We have to get Snape," Harry was saying, his voice rough with emotion. "Dead or alive, we have to find him. He was on our side."

McGonagall's expression was conflicted. "Harry, I understand how you feel, but Severus Snape was a Death Eater. He—"

"He was Dumbledore's man," Harry interrupted, his voice rising. "I saw his memories. Dumbledore trusted him. He did everything—everything—for the Order, for us. We have to find him."

Kingsley exchanged a look with McGonagall, his brow furrowed. "Harry, we know Snape did some things that helped our side, but he also... he did a lot of things that were unforgivable. We can't ignore that."

"But you didn't see what I saw," Harry insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. "He loved my mother. He was protecting me because of her. He kept me alive—he kept us alive. We have to find him."

Hermione stepped forward, unable to stay silent any longer. "Harry's right," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Professor Snape was working with Dumbledore all along. He was trying to protect us. He deserves more than to be left for dead."

McGonagall's face softened, though her eyes remained troubled. "Harry, Hermione... I want to believe you, but you must understand—there are many here who would see Severus punished, regardless of what he may have done for the Order. He killed Albus."

"Then we'll do it ourselves," Harry said, his jaw set with determination. "We'll find him, and we'll bring him back."

Kingsley sighed, glancing around at the chaos still unfolding in the Great Hall. "Alright. But be careful. The Death Eaters who are still out there won't hesitate to kill anyone they find."

"We know," Harry said grimly. "But this is something we have to do."

With that, the trio turned and left the Great Hall, leaving behind the sobering sight of the dead and wounded. The corridors of the castle were eerily silent, the only sounds the occasional creak of ancient wood or the soft rustle of a passing ghost. The castle itself seemed to be in mourning, its once vibrant energy dampened by the weight of the losses it had witnessed.

As they made their way outside, Hermione felt a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. The grounds were littered with debris from the battle, the bodies of fallen Death Eaters and supporters lying where they had fallen. The sight made her stomach churn, and she had to look away to keep herself from being overwhelmed.

The Shrieking Shack loomed ahead, its weathered wood and sagging roof a testament to the many secrets it had held over the years. The wind whistled through the cracks in the walls, carrying with it a sense of foreboding that made Hermione shiver. But they had no choice—they had to find Snape.

They pushed the creaking door open and stepped inside, the darkness swallowing them up. The air was thick with the scent of decay and old wood, the silence oppressive. Harry led the way, his wand alight, casting long shadows across the floor.

It didn't take them long to find Snape. He lay on the floor where they had left him, his black robes pooled around him like spilled ink. His face, usually so stern and composed, was ashen, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. The wound in his neck where Nagini had struck was horrific—ragged and deep, the flesh torn and mangled.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his body, unsure where to begin. She had seen death before, but this was different. This was Snape—the man who had tormented them for years, who they had thought was their enemy, only to discover that he had been their protector all along.

"Professor Snape," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Can you hear me?"

Snape's eyes flickered, a faint sign of awareness. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a harsh, gurgling rasp.

"Don't try to talk," Hermione whispered, her fingers moving to check his pulse. It was weak and erratic, but it was there. "We're going to get you help."

Harry knelt on Snape's other side, his face a mixture of determination and sorrow. "We're going to get you out of here," he said, his voice low. "You're not alone, Professor." His hands were pressed to the bite, the curve of Snape's neck into his shoulder.

Ron, who had been standing back, his face pale with uncertainty, finally spoke. "We need to move him, get him to Pomfrey."

Hermione, pulling herself up off the ground, raised her wand and muttered, "Levicorpus." Snape's body lifted gently off the ground, suspended by invisible hands, Harry's still pressing into the wound.

"Be careful," Hermione said, more to herself than either of the boys. "Don't jostle him too much."

Harry's face was set in concentration as they guided Snape's floating form out of the shack and back toward the castle. The journey seemed to take forever, each step fraught with danger as they navigated the debris-strewn grounds.

When they finally reached the castle entrance, Kingsley was there, waiting for them with a grim expression. "Madam Pomfrey is in the hospital wing," he said without preamble. "I've cleared the way for you and ensured there's an empty bed."

The door to the hospital wing was closed too when they arrived, and Ron burst inside a few feet ahead of them. He startled Madam Pomfrey, who was tending to one of the wounded students.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Ron gasped, "It's Professor Snape. He's alive, but he's been bitten by Nagini. We need your help."

Madam Pomfrey froze for a moment, her face a mask of shock. "Severus? Alive?"

"Yes," Hermione responded, already moving the grey Professor towards the only empty bed, "But he's barely hanging on."

Madam Pomfrey's expression hardened into one of fierce determination. "Of course. I knew... I always suspected he was on our side, you know. The way he set detentions, the way he looked after those Slytherins... And as a child, he was..." She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts.

Negotiating Snape's lifeless form onto the bed wasn't an easy task, with Harry's hands still pressed firmly into the wound. Madam Pomfrey was already running diagnostics and using a charm to cut off his outer layers as he finally, softly landed. Hermione felt like she could breathe again, finally, as Ron reached out to pull her towards him.

"Is that Nagini's bite under your hands, Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked, her voice resigned and her skin paling even before Harry nodded in response. She sat, quite suddenly, on the end of the bed. "Then Severus will die. I have no anti-venom. He had some, but he is the only one that can retrieve it, I fear."

Hermione's mind was racing. As soon as she realized where the anti-venom might be, a sense of urgency gripped her, and she bolted out of the hospital wing without a word. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted through the empty corridors, her mind focused entirely on one thing: getting to Snape's private stores in the dungeons.

Ron shouted after her, his voice echoing down the hall, but Hermione didn't stop. She knew the castle better than most—better than Ron, certainly—and she wasn't going to waste time explaining herself. There was a route she'd discovered in her sixth year, a secret passageway that had saved her countless trips back to the Gryffindor common room after late-night study sessions in the library. It would take her quickly down to near the entrance hall, bypassing the main corridors where the floors were still littered with debris and the occasional fallen enemy.

She slipped through a hidden door behind a tapestry depicting a particularly gruesome duel between two medieval wizards, her movements quick and practiced. The passage was narrow, the walls closing in around her as she descended into the depths of the castle. Her wand lit the way, casting a dim glow on the rough stone walls. As she moved deeper, the air grew colder, and the silence more oppressive.

Blocking the exit to the passage, Hermione found something large and unyielding. Her heart leapt into her throat as she aimed her wand at the obstacle. The light revealed the massive, twisted form of a troll, its head caved in, lying dead across the narrow path. The sight of the creature's bloodied, lifeless body made her stomach churn, but there was no time to lose.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione clambered over the troll's body, squeezing between its girth and the ceiling, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed herself onward. The passageway took a sharp turn, and she felt a rush of relief as she saw the faint outline of the door that led to the dungeons.

The moment she stepped out into the familiar, dank corridor, a wave of nausea hit her. The dungeons had always had a foreboding atmosphere, but now, in the aftermath of the battle, the sense of dread was almost tangible. She could feel the remnants of dark magic clinging to the walls, an invisible residue left behind by years of secrecy and hidden deeds.

Ahead, she spotted Snape's private storeroom, the door heavy and unassuming. But as she approached, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The wards on the door were far more intense than those she'd broken on it in her second year—these were layered with more powerful enchantments, woven so tightly that even standing near them made her skin tingle with the sheer force of the magic.

Hermione ran her wand over the door, muttering a series of detection spells under her breath. The wards were complex, designed to repel any unauthorized entry, but there was something else—something darker, lying just beneath the surface. As her magic probed the defenses, she felt it—a blood ward, pulsing with a sinister energy that made her stomach twist in fear.

She had encountered blood wards before in her studies, but never one this potent. This was old magic, the kind of spell that demanded a sacrifice—something Snape would have likely set up himself to protect his most valuable potions. The realization sent a shiver down her spine. Breaking through a blood ward was dangerous, especially one this strong, but she didn't have a choice.

Snape's life depended on her getting through that door.

It took only a few moments for her to break the rest of the spellwork. The wards were familiar, similar in nature to those they had used on the tent. Others were measures she had considered but abandoned, too complex for the boys to reproduce and not the most suitable for avoiding detection. Finally, only the final blood ward remained.

She hesitated for a brief moment, her mind racing through the options. There was a way to break it—one she had only read about in the darkest tomes of magical theory, a way that involved using her own blood to disrupt the ward's integrity. It was risky, and it bordered on dark magic, but there was no other option. There may not be time to retrieve Snape's blood, what little he had left, and she had no idea if a blood sample would work. Breaking the ward was the quickest way.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione drew a small, sharp blade from her bag—a relic from her time in the tent with Harry and Ron—and made a quick, shallow cut on the palm of her hand. The pain was sharp, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the task before her. She pressed her bleeding hand against the cold stone of the door, feeling the blood seep into the ancient carvings etched into its surface.

The stone beneath her fingers warmed slightly, as though the blood had awakened something within it. Hermione muttered the incantation she had read, a spell meant to disrupt the flow of magic within the ward. As she spoke the words, she felt the ward resist, pushing back against her intrusion, but she pressed on, pouring her magic into the spell, feeling it twist and warp in a way that made her heart race with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

Just as she finished the spell, the door shuddered, the wards faltering under the strain. The blood on the stone seemed to sizzle, and Hermione felt a sudden, violent jolt as the ward broke, sending a shockwave of energy through her. She staggered back, nearly losing her balance, but the door creaked open.

"Hermione!"

She whipped around, her heart pounding, to see Ron standing a few feet down the corridor, his face flushed with anger and fear.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ron demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. "That's dark magic, I can feel it. You know what that stuff can do!"

"I didn't have a choice, Ron!" Hermione snapped back, her frustration bubbling over. "Snape is dying! I had to get through those wards, and this was the only way!"

Ron stared at her, his anger warring with concern, his eyes flitting down to her bleeding palm. "But... using your own blood? That's not us, Hermione. We don't mess with dark magic!"

Hermione's breath hitched as she looked down at her bloodied hand, the sting of the cut bringing her back to reality. "I know," she whispered, "but there wasn't time. I had to do it."

Ron looked at her, the anger draining from his expression, leaving behind only worry. "You're not alone in this, you know," he said, his voice softer now. "We're in this together."

Hermione nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I know, Ron. I'm sorry."

He sighed, reaching out to take her injured hand, examining it for a moment before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it around the cut. "Just... be careful, alright?"

She nodded again, grateful for his support. "Come on, let's get what we need."

They stepped into Snape's storeroom, the air inside heavy with the scent of potions and herbs. The shelves were lined with bottles and vials, each labeled in Snape's scrawled handwriting. It didn't take Hermione long to find what she was looking for—three vials of anti-venom, nestled among other rare and powerful potions.

With the vials in hand, they turned and hurried back toward the hospital wing, the gravity of what had just happened weighing on them both. As they raced through the castle's corridors, Hermione couldn't help but feel the darkness of the magic she had used still clinging to her, a reminder of the lengths she had gone to in order to save a man she had once despised.

As Madam Pomfrey fed Snape the potions, McGonagall entered the hospital wing, her face lined with worry. She approached the bed slowly, her eyes fixed on Snape's lifeless form.

"Is there anything I can do?" McGonagall asked, her voice strained.

"Pray that this works," Madam Pomfrey snapped, her usual calm demeanor frayed. "He's lost a lot of blood, and the venom has spread through his system. If we're lucky, this will buy him some time."

McGonagall winced at the sharpness in Madam Pomfrey's tone but nodded. "I never truly knew what he was doing... but I always hoped... Albus trusted him, and that should have been enough for me."

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her work, her expression softening slightly. "He did what he had to do, Minerva. I've seen enough of these children come through here over the years. Severus never harmed them more than necessary. He was strict, yes, but never cruel. He tempered the Carrows, not encouraged them."

As the anti-venom began to take effect, Snape's breathing became slightly less labored, though he was still far from stable. Madam Pomfrey continued to administer potions, her hands moving steadily, her eyes focused on the task before her.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood back, their hearts in their throats as they watched. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each one more excruciating than the last. They had fought so hard, lost so much, and now all they could do was wait.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Madam Pomfrey stepped back from the bed, her face drawn with exhaustion.

"He's stable," she said, her voice hoarse. "For now. But he's not out of danger."

Hermione released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her shoulders sagging with relief. But even as the immediate crisis passed, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on her.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, his eyes still fixed on Snape's pale face. "For everything."

Madam Pomfrey gave a tired nod. "He'll need time to recover. And even then... well, we'll see."

Hermione nodded, though her thoughts were already racing ahead. Snape's survival was a victory, but it was also a complication. The wizarding world was in turmoil, and not everyone would accept that Snape had been on their side. They would have to fight, not just to save his life, but to clear his name and ensure that his sacrifices were not in vain.

They sat by Snape's bed in silence as the hospital ward carried on around them. The first rays of sunlight began to filter through the hospital wing's windows, casting long shadows across the floor, finally waking them from their own thoughts.

"What's next?" Ron asked, his voice low, as though he didn't want to disturb the fragile quiet.

Hermione turned to him, her eyes resolute. "We start rebuilding. We clear Snape's name. And we make sure that the world we fought for is the one we live in."

Harry looked at her, a spark of determination returning to his gaze. "Then let's get started."