Chapter 59
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Laurel awoke the morning after the battle to the blinding white light of magical orbs flickering above her head. Her limbs were numb, her mouth dry, and a sharp pain in her arm made her realize she had an IV inserted. She looked up and saw that the bag was completely empty. Where was she? How much time had passed?
The hallway around her was chaos: stretchers lined against the wall like silent victims of another battle, leaving barely enough room for medi-wizards to move between them; portraits of medieval healers barked diagnoses from their frames; needles floated over patients, stitching wounds with golden thread. Some moaned in their sleep. Others didn't move at all. A witch wearing lime-green robes rushed past, shouting:
"Three more cases of Sectumsempra in A !"
Then reality hit her like a wave. The Shrieking Shack. Nagini.
"Severus Snape," —Laurel croaked, grabbing the hem of the healer's robe as she passed. —"Is he...?"
The young witch nearly stumbled as she stopped beside Laurel's bed. Her name badge was smeared with ash and blood.
"You're awake," —she said, eyes wide with surprise, consulting a floating clipboard beside her.—"You're… Noel. The Akardos. You're lucky we had Muggle medicine at the hospital. Don't worry, you're out of danger, you just need rest. I'll get someone to change that IV bag..."
Laurel clutched the healer's uniform even tighter, pulling her closer.
"Where is Snape? Is he alive?"
The young witch hesitated for a moment, then gave her a tense smile, impossible to read.
"He's still alive. He's under observation..." she said, but then her face hardened, and she lowered her voice. "They've got him in the magical surveillance ward. It's a special area, separate from the rest of the hospital… reserved for Death Eaters who, once stabilized, are to be transferred to Azkaban."
"I want to see him… please."
The nurse gave a small nod and held Laurel by the waist when her knees buckled as she tried to stand up. She gently removed the needle and conjured a floating chair with a flick of her wand. As they moved through the hospital corridors, Laurel caught glimpses of the war's aftermath: mutilated youths, wizards with trembling hands clutching teacups, children sitting beside beds where their parents slept in magical comas. One room had been enchanted to smell like a flower field. Another glowed with a soft blue light, where ghosts came to say goodbye to their loved ones.
St. Mungo's was a place of miracles… but it bore its scars as well.
They reached a quiet wing on the top floor, far from the commotion of the trauma wards. The nurse briefly showed her ID to a burly guard with a stern expression, who let them through. The hallway was steeped in shadows, and Laurel held her breath until they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The healer gestured for her to go in.
The walls were marked with softly glowing healing runes. A monitoring charm pulsed slowly above the bed, like a hologram floating in the air. Incense burners exhaled silvery smoke that smelled of sage, rue... or was it oleander? Laurel paid them no attention, because her eyes filled with tears the moment she saw Severus lying motionless under white sheets, his skin still pale but no longer ghostly. The wounds on his neck were wrapped in bandages stained with blood.
Laurel crossed the room in three unsteady steps, and that's when she noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt standing by the window, tall and solemn in his Auror's cloak and Tonks, her hair a dull brown, her eyes swollen from crying. Both turned when they saw her enter.
Kingsley inclined his head in a respectful nod. Tonks approached her and gave her a faint smile, pulling her into an embrace.
"I'm sorry, Dora," —Laurel murmured with a weak sob. —"Remus..."
"It's alright..." —Tonks wiped her tears with the sleeve of her robe, smiling sadly.—"Little Teddy will know his father was a hero. We'll leave you with him."
Before they could leave, Laurel turned toward Kingsley, her vision still blurred by tears.
"Is it true...? Is he really going to be sent to Azkaban?"
Kingsley crossed his arms, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he let out a quiet sigh, as if he hadn't slept in days.
"It's not been decided yet," —he said in a grave tone. —"Many still consider him a Death Eater. His record… is complicated."
Laurel pressed her lips together, unable to speak. Kingsley looked toward the bed where Snape lay, and his expression softened slightly.
"But Harry Potter spoke on his behalf," —he added. —"He said Snape was loyal to Dumbledore until the very end. That his sacrifice was part of the plan. That without him, Voldemort would never have fallen."
Laurel blinked. For a second, she thought she hadn't heard him correctly.
"Voldemort… fell?" —she whispered, her voice barely a thread of air. —"So… it's finally… over?"
Kingsley nodded solemnly.
"Yes. He died in the Great Hall. Harry faced him in front of everyone. This time, it was final."
Laurel exhaled, her legs began to tremble again, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. All the fear she had carried for months: the grim headlines in the Daily Prophet, Greyback's howl, the dark alleys of a Death Eater-occupied Hogsmeade, melted away like a thick fog vanishing at dawn.
There would be no more Dark Marks slashing across the sky. No more fear.
Laurel looked down at Severus. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, fragile but unyielding. She took his hand in hers. It was warm. Not like before, when she had thought she had lost him forever. She didn't care what the Ministry decided, or the Wizengamot, or what the Daily Prophet printed. All that mattered was him. All that mattered was knowing Severus would recover, that he would open his eyes.
Kingsley and Tonks left without another word. Laurel leaned forward, resting her forehead on Severus's fingers, and let her tears fall in silence.
The war was over. But Severus's battle was not.
• •
Days turned into weeks.
The wounded from the Battle of Hogwarts gradually left St. Mungo's: many walked out on their own, others were pushed in enchanted chairs, and some unfortunate ones departed in coffins carried by their families.
And still, the air had turned jubilant. The war was over. Outside, the wizarding world burst into celebration: fireworks lit up the night sky, and choirs of enchanted owls sang victory hymns over the cities, regardless of whether Muggles might witness the miracle. Inside the hospital, laughter began to echo in certain corners, mingled with sobs and healing spells. Hope and loss coexisted in every corridor.
Little by little, gifts and flowers had begun to arrive. At first, just a few bundles of calming herbs from the Hogwarts staff, then baskets of healing honey, cards signed by students, and anonymous letters of gratitude. Laurel spent her days arranging Severus's room as best she could: organizing the packages, replying to letters from concerned well-wishers, reading to Severus in the afternoons, washing and combing his hair, and preparing tea for the few visitors that were allowed.
One night, when everything was silent and all that could be heard was the low hissing of the array of censers burning powerful ingredients and the distant movement of the healers in the hallway, Laurel took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. She felt the urge to rip her hair out with her bare hands and scream her anguish and desperate longing for him to the entire world. Instead, she lay beside him on the bed and whispered words of encouragement and love into his ear.
"Is it true, Sev? Did Dumbledore make you promise you had to kill him? Well, I don't care, I had to kill someone too..." —her voice broke. —"Nothing matters, Sev. The only thing I want is to see you smile one more time— that would be enough joy for the rest of my life."
She buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes, wishing sleep would come, but then a knock at the door made her rise to her feet.
Harry Potter was standing at the threshold.
He looked older than his seventeen years, fine lines marking his face with maturity, and his emerald-green gaze seemed shadowed by war, by the pain of having looked death in the eye. Still, he offered Laurel a faint smile.
Laurel, her heart in her throat, extended a hand to invite him in. She had heard from earlier visitors that he might come.
Harry entered slowly. In his hands he held a scroll tied with a dark plum-colored ribbon stamped with the seal of the Wizengamot, and a polished wooden box.
"I hope I'm not intruding."
Laurel silently shook her head. She looked at Severus, then back at the boy who, overnight, seemed to have turned into a man.
"I brought this," —said Harry, placing the box gently at the foot of the bed. —"It's the Order of Merlin, First Class. For him. And one for you too."
Laurel blinked, incredulous.
"For me?"
Harry nodded.
"The word got out. The cure. What you did for Lupin. What you did for the Order." —He paused. — "I just wanted to thank you."
"And this," —Harry continued, handing her the scroll, — "is from the Wizengamot. It's official: he's been pardoned. Completely. No Azkaban. No trial. I had to fight for it a bit, but after they saw the memories… they forgave everything."
Laurel lowered her gaze, suddenly shy. She wasn't sure how to ask, but the question hung between them, and Harry seemed to read it in her eyes.
"Yes," —he said softly. — "I saw them. The memories. All of them."
Laurel held her breath.
"I know he loved her," —Harry continued gently. — "Lily. My mother."
The young man sighed, scratching his scar absently. He looked at Severus, whose chest rose and fell softly beneath the white sheets.
"I used to think he hated me. Maybe a little, yeah," —he said with a hint of humor. —"But I also think we had more in common than I ever realized. I get it, you know? I was abused too, growing up. When someone shows you a bit of kindness when you're drowning… well, you cling to them. But… I don't think that makes what you and he had—have", —He corrected himself —"any less real. I think Snape is someone who loves deeply. That's just who he is."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"But I also believe that… in the end, it wasn't just my mother who moved him. It was you. The idea of a world where you could be free. A world where Voldemort couldn't touch you. That mattered to him. Maybe more than anything."
Laurel pressed her lips together, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Harry stepped back toward the door, offering one last nod.
"I'll take my leave," —he said with a half-smile. — "I wouldn't want to deal with his bad mood when he wakes up."
"Thank you, Harry," —Laurel said before he closed the door. — "Thank you for everything."
• •
The little laurel tree on the windowsill shook its green leaves as Laurel absentmindedly ran her fingers through its branches.
"It's only a matter of time," —the Healer had told her that morning, adjusting the monitoring enchantments over Severus's bed. —"His body is in perfect condition. He could wake up at any moment."
Those words should have filled her with hope. Instead, they tangled into a knot in her chest, because she knew what name had escaped Severus's lips in his last moments before falling into a deep coma.
Lily.
The laurel tree trembled when a breeze slipped through the half-open window, and Laurel exhaled, resting her forehead against the cold glass. Outside, the mid-afternoon sun bathed the hospital gardens in golden hues, painting the world with warmth. But inside her, her heart wavered between hope and fear.
What would happen when he woke up? Would he look at her… and still see someone else?
A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts.
"May I come in?"
Minerva McGonagall entered the room, her impeccable Scottish tartan robes flowing behind her, carrying a neatly wrapped package under one arm and a book in the other. The stern lines of her face softened as she took in Laurel's tired expression.
"Minerva," said Laurel, quickly standing to greet her.
"Laurel, dear, I brought biscuits," —Minerva said gently, setting the package on the coffee table and handing her the book. —"And another book for you. I thought you might enjoy this edition of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Albus loved it."
Laurel took the book, running her fingers over the engraved cover.
"Thank you," —she murmured. —"I'll read it to him. Maybe it'll give him a reason to wake up, just to scold me for being so sentimental."
Minerva smiled.
"I have no doubt he will. Severus has never been fond of fairy tales."
She looked toward Severus's still figure, her lips pressing into a slight frown.
"He looks better. Less pale. Any real progress?"
Laurel nodded, setting the book aside.
"They say it's just a matter of time. Any day now." —She hesitated. —"But they said that last week too."
"Ah, the hardest part of healing is always the waiting."
"I know," —Laurel replied, moving toward the side table to prepare the tea. Soon, the scent of jasmine and bergamot filled the air, warm and comforting.
As Laurel poured, steam rose in lazy spirals. Sunlight filtered through the window, casting patterns on the floor, and despite the calm around her, that pinch in Laurel's heart remained.
"I suppose it's silly… being afraid of what comes next. I should be grateful he's alive. And I am. But… I can't stop thinking about it."
She sighed, passing the delicate porcelain to the older witch.
"Minerva," —she said, blushing slightly. —"What if… when he wakes… what if I'm always second?"
"Second to whom?"
Laurel stirred her tea with trembling fingers before answering:
"He… called for Lily when he thought he was dying. That was the last name on his lips. I think… I think I'll always come second to her."
"Listen to me, Laurel," —said McGonagall, placing her cup down on its saucer with a soft clink. —"Love is not a competition. And it certainly isn't measured by whose name is spoken at the end." —She took a slow breath, as if bracing herself. —"Let me tell you a story."
"When I was young, much younger than you. I fell in love with a Muggle. His name was Dougal McGregor. He was kind, gentle, and very clever. I met him before I came to teach at Hogwarts. He proposed, and for a while… I thought I would say yes." —She smiled wistfully, her gaze drifting to the window. — "But I was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to tie my life to someone who could never truly understand my world. So I let him go."
Laurel's eyes widened in surprise. She had never imagined Minerva McGonagall, strong, unshakable Minerva carried such sorrow.
"I told myself it was for the best, that love was a luxury I couldn't afford. But the truth is, I was a coward." —She looked Laurel in the eyes. — "You, my dear, are anything but."
Laurel released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"You fought for him," —Minerva continued. —"You stayed when many others would have walked away. You loved him despite his past, despite his flaws. That's more than enough. You have nothing to prove. You've done more than anyone could have asked. And if you truly feel you come second to Lily, it's only because you've let that thought settle in your heart. But hearts—true hearts—don't rank. They expand. They make room."
Minerva extended a hand, taking Laurel's in hers.
"Now it's his turn to prove that you are the most important one in his heart. And if he doesn't…" —Her voice shifted back into her typical stern tone. —"Then he's a fool."
The words settled over Laurel like a balm.
Outside, the sun was sinking, casting the room in hues of amber and rose. The enchanted laurel tree glimmered, its leaves catching the light, and for the first time in weeks, something warm and fragile took root inside her.
Hope.
Minerva sipped her tea with a satisfied look.
"Now tell me, Laurel, have you written to your family lately? I'm sure they think of you every day. You should visit them soon. It would do you good. They need you, and you need a break from St. Mungo's and… the uncertainty."
Laurel looked toward Severus, unsure.
"But what if he wakes while I'm gone…?"
"He'll survive," —Minerva cut in. —"If he loves you—and I believe he does—then let him show it. Give him the space to make that choice, now that he has a second chance."
Laurel lowered her gaze, knowing she was right.
"Maybe I will," —she murmured.
And on the bed beside them, unnoticed by either woman, Severus Snape's fingers moved.