Chapter Text
August 9th, 1998
As she stepped into the pantry, Hermione immediately felt a presence looming behind her and stilled, the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. She was totally boxed in, with no way of escape, save turning around and passing the man she had been desperately trying to avoid that afternoon. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and get control over her trembling form. Her voice, when she spoke, came out surprisingly clear and unwavering despite the nerves wracking her.
‘You made it perfectly clear that I am nothing to you - that I am just some silly little girl. I don’t need any further reminders of how unwelcome my attention was, sir .’
Hermione emphasised the respectful title, carefully putting distance between them; preemptively shielding herself from anything he might have to say to her.
‘Hermione,’ he breathed, his deep velvet rumble caressing her name, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Look at me.’
Straightening her shoulders, she turned to face him, but still did not meet his eyes, terrified of what she might see there. She froze, spine stiffening when he raised a hand, his index finger grazing her cheek and sliding across her jaw. Hermione did look at him then, and was surprised to see that Snape was just as shocked as she was by this action. A small involuntary whimper escaped her lips, as his hand dropped away.
June 29th, 1997
Hermione walked quickly and quietly through the halls that night, checking alcoves and behind the thick curtains and portraits where couples would often go to do all sorts of unspeakable things. Harry had left her the Marauder’s Map for safe-keeping, and she would often use it to catch people out, a sick satisfaction coming from taking house points from those daring enough to be out past curfew. She knew her own lack of a relationship was perhaps influencing this, but it didn’t matter - almost everyone already disliked the class brain.
As she approached the exterior parapet connecting the courtyard to the quad, Hermione looked at the map and noticed a name scrawled on it that she hadn’t expected: Severus Snape.
Muttering ‘mischief managed’ under her breath, she folded and tucked the map away into the pocket of her robes before walking out into the walkway and in the direction of her professor. He was staring out at the sky, watching as the dark clouds rolled in, his back straight and arms crossed in front of him. Summer, in all its humid glory was upon them, and dark, ominous storm clouds were massing on the horizon. An unseen malevolence was blanketing the school, gripping its unknowing occupants.
She carefully approached him, taking care not to startle him lest she end up on the other end of his wand. She’d seen it happen once before, when a student had snuck up on him inadvertently and had ended up with his back to a wall and the potions master’s wand at his throat.
‘What are you doing here, Miss Granger?’ he asked without turning as she approached. His tone was weary rather than angry. ‘You should be finished with your rounds by now.’
‘How did you know it was me, Professor?’ she asked as she came to stand beside him on the parapet looking out at the blackened sky.
‘I cannot think of another soul in this castle who would have chosen to seek me out for company tonight,’ he replied.
‘There is blood on the moon,’ she noted with a shiver, looking up at it swollen and full above them.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘You should return to your dormitory, Miss Granger. I will remain on watch.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, Professor, I’ll stay here for a while longer. If you’ll allow it.’
Snape turned his head minutely to look at her then, eyes searching her face for… something.
“Very well,” he replied “-just for a little while”.
As Hermione stood beside the austere man, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his posture, his expression, everything. This man before her was a teacher, yes, but he had clearly suffered a lot in his life. Harry had once told her in confidence that his father and the other Marauder’s had bullied and tortured Snape in school, and she wondered what other things in his life could have led to him being so taciturn and cold - so alone.
Chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, Hermione turned her attention back to the night sky and the oncoming storm. It would likely rain before daybreak - she could smell the faint waft of petrichor in the air signalling its imminent arrival. Would the rain wash away the feeling of dread unfurling in her stomach? She very much doubted it.
‘It’s going to rain,’ she said quietly, cutting through the thick silence that had fallen between them.
‘How observant you are, Miss Granger,’ the potions master sneered.
She bit back the retort that flew to her lips, reminding herself that he was a teacher. Gryffindor already suffered enough loss of points without her help. She simply looked at him and narrowed her eyes a little.
‘What are you waiting for out here, sir?’
‘That is none of your business,’ he replied curtly, his dark eyes flashing as he turned his gaze to her for a moment.
‘Something is going to happen, isn’t it?’ she asked, but she already knew the answer. Harry had been on edge for days, and that usually meant nothing good.
Snape made no move to reply, but after a moment, he inclined his head fractionally. ‘You are the much vaunted brain of the Golden Trio,’ he began, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he spoke. ‘If you are as intelligent as I have been led to believe, you already know the answer to that question.’
‘How soon?’
‘Soon.’
Hermione felt her stomach turn, what felt like a heavy stone sliding down into the pit of her stomach. ‘What are we-’ she began, but Snape held up a hand to interrupt her.
‘If you remember nothing else I have told you over the years, remember this: not everything is as it seems, Miss Granger,’ he told her quietly.
She stared at him thoughtfully, absorbing his words as she washed over her. They resumed their silent company for a while longer, before she heard the man beside her sigh heavily and turned to look at him once more.
‘Go to bed, Miss Granger,’ he told her.
Unable to argue, she simply nodded and turned to walk back in the direction from which she came. ‘Goodnight, Professor,’ she said softly.
‘Goodnight, Miss Granger.’
The following night, Hermione stood in the same place at the same time. Except this time, Albus Dumbledore was dead, murdered by none other than the man she had communed with in that very spot the night before.
August 9th, 1998
Hermione took a step backwards in the pantry, bumping into one of the shelves with her hip and wincing from the immediate sharp pain she felt; it would likely bruise.
Snape stood there wordlessly staring at her, his eyes still locked on her. She felt vulnerable, and there was a familiar tightness in her chest as well as a warmth spreading through her abdomen, all from the lightest touch of his skin brushing against hers. She wrapped arms around herself defensively, leveling her narrowed eyes at him, daring him to try something like that again.
‘What do you want, Professor Snape?’ she asked coolly.
He smirked. The bastard had the nerve to smirk at her? She hadn’t seen or heard from him in months and now he was blocking the only door to exit the pantry, leaving her helpless to escape him. Oh, she was mad at him. She had thought, at the very least , they had become friendly during her time on the run with Harry and Ron. But the way he had spoken to her three months earlier had let her know that was not the case - that he would never be able to see her as anything beyond a foolish schoolgirl.
‘Hermione,’ he said calmly, once more taking liberties with her name.
‘Stop,’ she said icily. ‘Don’t call me that. You have no right-’
‘I have every right,’ he snapped, cutting her off.
She levelled an angry stare at him. ‘You lost that right the night you told me that our friendship was a lie. You told me you didn’t care about me - that you manipulated me.’
Hermione watched as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. She felt a pang of sympathy for him then, but stamped down on the feeling. He had hurt her and pushed her away when all she had done was put her faith in him; trusted him when nobody else would, and had been his confidante. He had thrown her out on her ear, and left her with nothing and no one while the rest of her friends were in mourning for their loved ones. She’d only had him - and he had told her that night that he was playing her for a fool the entire time. Manipulating her into believing they were on equal footing.
‘Hermione, that day I was not in any state to see you,’ he told her, taking a step towards her. ‘I was angry - at you, at Albus, at bloody everyone...’
‘Choose a better excuse,’ she snapped.
‘If you would please allow me to explain-’
Ron poked his head around the door of the pantry then, disrupting whatever it was that Snape was going to say to her. Hermione felt a wave of relief that her friend had come over when he did. His timing in the past had always been atrocious, but now she welcomed his interruption.
‘I hate to interrupt, but it’s nearly time for lunch, and people are starting to wonder where you both have gotten off to,’ Ron said bluntly.
‘Nothing,’ Hermione replied quickly. ‘There is nothing going on at all.’
Ron made a face that told Hermione he didn’t believe her, but shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Just come out and eat while the food is still warm. Oh, and pass us the brown sauce, will you?’
Hermione snatched the item off the shelf she had initially gone into the pantry to retrieve and handed it to Ron. He ducked out of the pantry, leaving the two of them alone once more. She brushed past Snape without another word, determined to leave with her dignity at least somewhat intact, rejoining the festivities in the dining room once more. She did her best not to think about Snape for the remainder of lunch, chatting to Ginny and Luna, spending time with Harry and the other Weasleys and making herself as unavailable to the potions master as she could in her efforts to avoid him.
For his part, Snape didn’t try to approach her in front of everyone again, instead choosing to speak with Arthur and Kingsley. Ron, who was sitting beside Neville at the long table, kept shooting her concerned looks. Eventually she met his eye and shook her head, hoping that he would drop it. She forced a smile onto her face as she listened to George talk to them on the goings-on with his newly rebuilt shop. Seeing the remaining twin on his own was still hard. Ron was working there with him now at least - a necessity for both of them it seemed, while they desperately tried to come to terms with the loss of Fred.
But all the time she was listening and trying to enjoy being with her friends, Hermione could feel the heat of two dark eyes boring into the back of her skull. As lunch ended and Molly started to clean up, shooing everyone away who tried to help her. Ron caught Hermione on her way back from levitating dishes back to the kitchen.
‘I know you are upset, but you could at least hear the man out, you know,’ the redhead said in hushed tones. ‘He did nearly bloody die. I might have been the same way if I’d been through what he went through.’
Hermione looked at his serious blue eyes. When on earth had Ron grown up? Sometime between his return to them in the Forest of Dean and this very moment, he had managed to mature. Perhaps the loss of his brother had been the push? Or maybe even the influence of Neville on him. Whatever had caused it, this Ronald Weasley was not the same one who had insulted and disrespected Snape at school; or abandoned Harry and her on their harrowing journey.
Letting out a sigh, Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. ‘I’ll hear him out,’ she agreed.
‘That’s my girl,’ he said with a grin.
She swatted his arm and brushed past him out of the kitchen, and caught sight of Snape, standing over by the front door, shaking hands with Kingsley as he pulled black robes over his usual austere black attire. Setting her jaw, she walked towards the men, making eye contact with Snape properly for the first time that day.
‘Professor Snape,’ she said, proud of herself for managing not to stumble over his name.
Kingsley looked back and forth between them uncomfortably. ‘I will see you Monday, Severus?’ he asked.
Snape nodded. ‘Until then, Minister,’ he replied with a smirk.
Kingsley disappeared through the front door which shut with a quiet snick before Snape turned his attention back to her.
‘Hermione,’ he said, acknowledging her.
‘Follow me up to the library,’ she told him bossily. ‘We can speak privately up there.’
He followed her up wordlessly, his robes slung over his arm. On the way, they passed Ron standing close to Neville, the two of them with their heads together speaking in hushed tones. Neville smiled at her shyly, and she grinned. Once they arrived, Hermione opened the door and walked in first, waiting for him to pass her on his way in. He laid his robe on the back of one of the armchairs, and stood there, waiting.
Hermione closed the door and warded it, crossing the room to throw open the window - it was still summer so the library was a little stifling.
‘Was that -’
‘Yes,’ she answered, knowing where he was going.
‘Are they…’ he began. ‘I assume they are together?’
‘What do you think?’ she said, a note of amusement creeping into her tone at the surprise on Snape’s face.
‘I thought Mr Weasley - and you?’
‘Ron was never interested in me that way,’ she answered. ‘It was always Neville.’
‘I was led to believe that he was in a relationship with Lavender Brown at some stage.’
Hermione chuckled dryly. ‘Lavender was in love with him, and he wasn’t ready to deal with his true feelings at the time,’ she said, walking back over to join him near the empty fireplace.
They sat down then in opposite arm chairs, and she looked up to see he was lost in contemplation.
‘Alright,’ she announced, drawing his focus back to her. ‘Speak.’
May 2nd, 1998
‘Madam Pomfrey! Please, I need your help!’
Hermione was beside herself, her clothing soiled with dirt and blood, tears making tracks down the grime caking her face. Cleansing charms were the last thing on her mind that very moment. The matron bustled around the corner, and when she saw who Hermione was lowering onto the bed, and the state he was in, her eyes widened. She drew all of the curtains and rushed over to relieve Hermione where she was stemming the flow of blood at Snape’s throat.
‘What have you done for him?’ Poppy Pomfrey asked, casting cleansing charms over both of them to reduce the risk of anything further contaminating the wound.
‘He had a vial of something - I think it was an antivenin. I also gave him a Blood Replenisher and tried sealing the wound with some charms, but nothing I’ve tried will hold it. Dittany seemed to help.’
Poppy leaned over and moved Hermione’s hand and the bandages she was stemming the blood flow with out of the way to examine. ‘You’ve done a fine job, but you are right. A simple healing spell will not do,’ she replied, silently contemplating.
‘What can we do?’
‘I shall try something, but I am not certain it will work,’ Poppy said, flustered. ‘How did this -’
‘Nagini.’
Poppy pursed her lips. ‘Oh, Severus,’ she sighed. ‘What have you gotten yourself into?’
‘Please, Madam Pomfrey,’ Hermione pleaded. ‘He can’t die.’
Nodding firmly, Poppy moved up to him close, aiming her wand at the site of the wound and began to quietly chant. ‘Vulnera Sanentur,’ she murmured repeatedly, the sound was both soothing to the ear, and as Hermione watched numbly, she could see that the skin was slowly knitting itself back together and the blood that was still spewing from the wound started to make its way back inside him. Because the wound wasn’t smooth, there was a great big scar from behind his ear that jaggedly made its way down to where his neck and shoulder met on one side. It would not be a pretty scar, but at least he’d be alive, she hoped.
‘Can you please fetch me another flask of Blood Replenisher and some Dreamless Sleep from the stores, Miss Granger?’ the matron asked, pulling an old iron key from her pocket. ‘You’ll need this key to unlock it.’
Hermione hurried to do as she was bid, lurching into the matron's office and to the store room at the back of it. Her hands trembled a little as she tried to unlock the door, adrenaline coursing through her. She finally got the key into the hole and turned it, throwing the door open in her haste and entering the store room. She summoned the two vials to her, remembering to lock the room on her way back, slipping past the curtain and to Snape’s side with the potions.
Poppy had changed Snape out of his filthy black robes and into patient robes instead, and Hermione could finally see his chest rising and falling more easily than it had been when she had arrived with him. She uncapped the Blood Replenisher first, gently easing Snape’s mouth open and tipping the liquid in, massaging the uninjured side of his throat to encourage him to swallow. She could feel the mediwitch watching her with keen eyes as she repeated the task with the second vial.
‘You are a natural, dear girl,’ she said with a smile.
Hermione looked up and flushed. Her bedside manner was not normally of this high a standard, and perhaps wouldn’t have been if the patient was anyone other than the man before her.
‘I have to go find Harry,’ she told the older witch.
‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, and then she was off again to help her friend bring about the end of the war.
Hours later, bone weary and teary-eyed, Hermione shuffled back into the infirmary, making a beeline to the bed at the end with the curtains drawn completely. She nodded at Poppy, who was tending to another patient, before slipping past the curtain, feeling a cool sensation wash over her as she passed through the matron's wards. There was a chair beside the bed, and she gratefully sunk down into it, overcome with exhaustion.
She leaned her head against her arms, propped up beside where Snape was asleep on the bed, and gazed at him. In his sleep, the lines from his constant scowling and frowning melted away, leaving him looking much more young and at peace. Hermione hoped that was the case. The man before her was someone she had spent the past months getting to know, and she was rather fond of him - more than fond; she had come to have rather strong feelings for him, in fact.
Closing her eyes, she allowed sleep to claim her, determined to stay with him until he woke up from his healing slumber.
When Hermione came to, she didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but the deep, even pace of Snape’s sleeping breath had ceased, and she sat up, looking at him in panic. She was surprised to see Snape’s dark eyes were wide open, staring at her with something she was sure was anger and resentment; an expression that he usually reserved for Harry.
‘Severus,’ she said softly, standing up and moving closer to examine his wound. ‘I can’t believe you are awake already - there was so much damage…’
‘Unhand me, Miss Granger,’ he croaked, his normally smooth and velvety voice a harsh and rasping sound now.
She snatched her hands back in surprise. He hadn’t called her Miss Granger in months. ‘Let me check your wound,’ she insisted.
‘You are not my nurse, Granger,’ he snapped. ‘There is no need for you to fuss over me.’
Hermione thinned her lips into a hard line and stared at him. ‘Don’t be stubborn.’
‘I’m not being stubborn. You are not a mediwitch - you are a teenage girl with no qualifications and I did not ask for your assistance.’
There it was - the real reason he was being so cold. He’d expected to die, had intended for her to let him die. She felt a gnawing begin in the pit of her stomach. After all the months of support and strength, and yes, kindness, Snape expected her to just regress into her former state of being a little terrified of him. His words had cut her, and she simply stood there, metaphorically bleeding out in front of him.
‘Severus…’
‘I do not think that is an appropriate form of address,’ he interrupted gruffly.
‘Professor Snape,’ she said, emphasising his title. ‘I thought that we had -’
‘You thought what? That I would fall head over heels for a teenage girl, and be pleased about you swooping in to save my life?’ he said, cutting through her response. ‘Well thank you very much for your assistance with preserving my “life”. Now, if you have nothing else important to discuss, I would like to be on my own.’
‘Please,’ she pleaded.
‘Miss Granger,’ he croaked, his damaged throat making his voice come out angry and harsh. ‘You may be suffering from the delusion that you and I are somehow equals after our correspondence throughout the war. That is not the case. You were simply a means to an end - a tool to bring about the end of this war, as were we all.’
She blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘You can’t mean that.’
‘With every fibre of my being,’ he said coldly. ‘I did what needed to be done in order to secure your trust, and now the Dark Lord is dead and we can resume our positions in this world accordingly.’
Hermione could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t believe it. Was she really that gullible? ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said vehemently.
‘Miss Granger, I have been a spy for longer than you’ve been alive,’ he drawled. ‘I am practiced at manipulating people at will. I can see the hurt in your eyes right now - you thought you would save my life and I would be so grateful to you that I would confess some sort of feelings for you, correct?’
His words cut her to the quick that time, and Hermione felt her chest ache. He hated her; she was just some silly little schoolgirl to him. None of it had mattered. She felt her eyes burn with unshed tears as she moved towards the curtains so that she could leave him alone. Pausing at the gap through which she had entered, she turned her head back to look at him and found him staring in the opposite direction, steadfastly looking away from her.
‘Goodbye, Professor Snape,’ she said, before turning to leave.
With a heavy heart, she blinked and white hot tears of anger scorched her cheeks as they made their journey downward. She left him on his own, as requested.