Hermione sat at her desk, staring at her timetable for nearly an hour. There were eight weeks until term ended and she needed to drop a class, possibly two. Or three.
She'd gotten so close. Graduation was just around the corner and she's almost managed to reach it with her academic record intact.
She kept trying to rally for the final haul but she had nothing left to rally.
She fainted twice in as many days, both times in the library. The first time she'd ended up in the hospital ward for an entire day. The second time she'd been in such a rarely visited aisle in the Restricted Section, she woke hours later and found herself lying where she had collapsed on the floor.
If she was feeling well enough at the end of June, she would still try to sit for the NEWT exams of her dropped classes. That was her hope.
She wasn't sure what the point would be- beyond her obstinate attachment to the idea, but she was doggedly determined to do it in direct refusal to the pleas of Harry and the Weasleys that she leave Hogwarts. It wasn't as though curse-breaking clinics or hospitals had NEWTs requirements from patients. Or that anyone cared about Hermione graduating except Hermione herself. It wasn't as though anyone was going to say, "Well, at least she graduated before she died."
Were they going to put it on her tombstone as her crowning achievement?
Hermione Granger: graduated Hogwarts with eleven NEWTs
She wanted to graduate. She'd always told herself she'd graduate one day.
Se dipped her quill into the inkwell and hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she drew an X over History of Magic and Muggle studies. After another moment's hesitation, she crossed out Potions as well.
She dropped off a copy of her revised schedule to the Headmistress on her way to Charms.
She no longer had a double period of Advanced Potion-making, leaving her with a long, empty afternoon. She went back to her room and napped. She had reading to do, she had several reports due in Herbology, two Runic translations and an equation for Arithmancy a day overdue because she'd been in the hospital ward when she was supposed to turn them in.
However, she had no energy for any of it. She slept instead.
It was late evening when she woke. The quarters smelled oppressively of nauseating draughts, accentuated with the sharp tickling scent of freshly bruised leaves exposed to fire. Without a word, she went and sat at the far end of the worktop as far from the heat of the bubbling potions as possible.
"I couldn't help but notice that you were absent in class today," Snape said in a cold voice, after several minutes. "I trust it was your health that forced you to stay back? If it wasn't absolutely necessary, however, I must inform you that it has to be a twenty point deduction from your House."
Hermione looked up and was quiet for a moment. "I-...I've withdrawn from Potions." she finally said, watching him carefully to see his reaction.
His expression didn't so much as ripple, however his hand stilled briefly before continuing to add ingredients.
"I can't manage the practical aspects of Potions on my own, so it seemed like a poor use of my physical resources to continue attending." she said in a steady, rational voice. "I've also dropped History of Magic and Muggle studies. I informed Professor McGonagall this morning that my workload was too much. I'm hoping to sit for the theory portion of the NEWT exams- if I'm stable enough."
He was silent.
She inhaled slowly, staring at the steady blue flame beneath the cauldron. "I would like to continue the firecrab treatment, but I believe it's in my best interest to stop pursuing any further experimental treatment. I'd like to reach the end of term without withdrawing from any more classes."
She lifted her eyes and looked at him. He was standing before the cauldron, the stirring rod in his fingers, frozen as though she'd petrified him.
She swallowed. "I hope you won't take offense."
He abruptly roused himself. He made a quick slashing movement with his wand and the flame sputtered out. He dropped the stirring rod into the cauldron.
"Not at all." he said in a quick rasping voice, his lip curling.
He turned on his heel and swept into his room, slamming the door.
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Snape still kept researching Hermione's curse, but he no longer dosed her with anything or asked her to be present while he worked. Hermione stayed in her room, studying for NEWTs or sleeping.
Being in public places in the castle was misery. At that point, most students gave her a wide berth. The other professors fussed over her and kept a careful watch on her. 'Friends' indulged her as though every conversation were her last, or tried aggressively to cheer her up, as if optimism had healing properties. Everyone kept reminding her about what a fighter she was.
She would survive because she was a fighter- she'd been told more times than she could keep track of. The 'encouraging' sentiment was worked into almost every single letter she received from Harry, Ron and Molly.
Which implied by extension that, when she died, it would be her fault, because she just hadn't tried hard enough.
She didn't think most people bothered to think through any of the little platitudes they kept relentlessly trying to foist onto her. She despised all of it. It felt as though it were all a performance. Everyone was just waiting for her to snap or die, or need 'help' so that they could swagger over with their self-aggrandizing generosity and then gossip about her condition once she was safely on her way.
Snape didn't look at her when she came into their quarters. She assumed he was offended, despite him saying he wouldn't, but she didn't think there was any point in having a conversation and confirming it. She was dreading there was a storm coming, but she dared not talk about what happened between them again and risk an eruption of his fury.
She went straight to her room each evening after dinner and didn't re-emerge until she had to head to breakfast the next morning. He never approached her or her room and she was careful not to disturb him or cross paths, if she could help it.
She took a long nap on the day she was due for her next firecrab treatment. The door of her room was open, and the sound of bubbling liquids was audible, punctured by the tap of a chopping knife and the soft clatter of stirring rods.
She stared up at the ceiling for several minutes before getting up. She was starting to come to terms with the fact that she was going to die. Her shock and sense of denial had worn off and she felt much better since she'd stopped testing potions in the hopes that they'd cure her.
She hadn't considered how exhausting hope was- it was like trying to turn back a river's current.
Now that she'd stopped fighting, the current of Nyx was surprisingly endurable.
She got up and quietly went to sit at her designated spot along the worktop, not exchanging a word with him.
"Do you plan to return as Potions Master next year?" asked Hermione, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.
They hadn't talked in a while, so this came as a surprise and appeared somewhat random. Snape's black eyes flickered towards her direction for a brief moment before they were fastened intently once more on the potion.
"I haven't decided."
She nodded and forced a tight-lipped smile. "Just think of how much free time you'll have next year."
He stilled. "Meaning?"
She looked at him and saw him to be visibly irritated. His eyes were fixed on her, his attention undivided. She gulped. "I mean, I won't be around then, would I?"
"May I ask, what makes you think that?"
She was confused, watching him glower at her. "I asked you to continue treatment just until my graduation. After that...I'll-"
"You'll- what?" his anger intensified, "Roll over and die?"
She blinked. "I- I don't understand. I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I told you I've decided to stop any more experimental treatment on myself."
His head tilted sharply as he stared down his nose at her. "When?"
She wetted her lips and stared up at him. "Right here in this room. After I told you I'd withdrawn from Potions. I said I didn't intend to pursue treatment after I graduated and that I hoped you weren't offended, and you said-" her throat caught and she couldn't breathe for a moment as she recalled his words, "-you said, 'Not at all'."
He blinked and just stood staring at her, as if suddenly struck with realization. Hermione wanted to bolt but she forced herself to stay seated. He was looking at her as though what she was saying was entirely revelatory, which was unsettling, to put it mildly.
She was sure that he, of all people, understood plainly that she was dying. That she would die in the near future- certainly within the next couple of years. She'd assumed that he'd known longer than she had, with greater certainty than even she did. He was the one with scrolls upon scrolls of analysis and fruitless hours of research that she's napped through.
She was positive he knew. His undeniable shift from treating her like an inconvenient nuisance to someone who merited his occasional sympathy had been the most damning death-knell possible. It was recently that he had begun to again pretend like she didn't exist, but that was because he regretted them sharing that kiss. But that didn't change the reality of her condition.
"What...what am I even doing?" He was suddenly suffering from a weird sense of purposelessness. "Why are we doing this then?"
She didn't know what came over her, perhaps life itself that was beginning to seem like a joke, that she decided to quip, "I don't know...You have so many jars full of ingredients, I'm sure there must be something lethal in there. Perhaps we can save everyone the trouble and-"
"GODDAMN YOU!" He struck the pot so hard it went hurling to a wall, spilling its contents on the floor and sprayed all over the wall as it came to a clattering stop on the ground.
Hermione flinched from the sudden aggressive action and jumped to her feet. Snape was fuming with rage.
"You have watched me continue to spend my time seeking a cure, without comment." His lips curled. "Did it never occur to you that I may be unaware that you have decided to simply accept your fate? And you just let me rack my brains trying to uncover a solution for you." His eyes traveled wrathfully from the top of her head down to her toes. "Perhaps you assumed that I had nothing better to do."
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. Her chest gave a small spasm, and her throat closed briefly. Then heat flooded into her cheeks and she lifted her chin with a jerk, meeting his black eyes. "Well, I'm sorry if I've wasted your precious time-"
"Do you seriously think that is the only thing I care about?!" he shouted.
She dared to give a quick laugh. "Are we going to stand here and pretend that you came to the hospital wing after I fainted in the bathroom because you cared at all about whether I lived or died?"
His nostrils flared and he opened his mouth to reply. "Don't!" she cut him off, her own voice implacably cold. "Don't lie to me about why you offered. It was because I was diverting." She gave another sharp laugh. "I should clarify- my arm was. A welcome distraction from the job you've always despised. Something to do, now that the war's over. I was just the inconvenient person attached to an interesting problem."
She gestured at the whole room. "You didn't decide to do this because you cared in the least about me." Her lungs ached as though she'd been holding her breath. He had been rendered speechless. She kept meeting his eyes. "Did you think I couldn't figure it out? That I'm like Harry and I would assume everything is about me because I'm so special to everyone?" Her jaw threatened to tremble and she scoffed. "It wasn't as though you ever tried to hide it."
He grew pale and a low colour rose in the hollows of his cheeks. Hermione swallowed and blinked, her feet moving forward on their own as she treaded towards her room. "It's fine. I didn't really want you to care. I liked that you weren't pitying me like everyone else." She looked away from him. "My decision to stop pursuing a cure really didn't have anything to do with you. I'm sure it doesn't necessarily feel that way, but it really wasn't related to anything you did."
She dipped her head down and exhaled deeply. Her skull felt as though it were being crushed and her eyes were beginning to burn. "I think- I need to lie down."
Snape was still standing motionless outside in his office as she entered her room and closed the door.
************************
Hermione's head felt light; she hadn't had the poultice treatment in two weeks and she really needed it. But in his rage, Snape had destroyed the entire batch that he had been preparing. So she went and snatched up one of the vials of blood-replenishing potion she kept on her desk.
She gulped it down and slumped back in bed, putting her head in between her knees, trying to stop the room from spinning. There was a sharp rap on her door about half an hour later.
Snape stood, looming in the doorway, his shoulders drawn rigidly up in the intimidating posture he regularly employed in class. His face was sallow and there was a seething rage still hanging about him. She stared at him, bracing herself, until he spoke.
"You said to me that you didn't want to die. When I asked what you wanted, you said-" his voice was calmer now, almost pleading, "-you didn't want to die."
His tone was accusing and resentful. As though he had caught her in the act of willful deception.
Hermione shifted, her right shoulder twitching. She had a stress-induced migraine that was steadily engulfing her brain. "Sir, sometimes people change their minds about things." She eyed him pointedly, trying hard to keep her eyes from losing focus. "Just because something's true at one point, doesn't mean it always will be. However, I don't want to die. I'm not dying because I want to. But I am dying. Regardless of how hard I try not to, regardless of how I feel about it- I am dying."
She watched the corner of his eyes twitch slightly every time she said 'dying'. She glanced away from him and stared at the floor. "I decided to just accept it rather than waste my limited remaining time denying the inevitable."
"Why..?" He was utterly confused and frustrated.
Hermione looked up at him. Her head throbbed, feeling achingly hollow. His eyes were inflamed and his expression was black, his jaw set stubbornly as though he had already decided not to accept whatever answer she chose.
"Because, I'm tired. I am always tired." She closed her eyes, trying to relieve the strain behind them and giving a low scoff. "I don't think you realize how exhausting it is to want to live when you're dying."
When she opened her eyes, she found his eyebrows furrowed into a deep V as he stood studying her. His pale fingers unfurled, stark against his black robes and he seemed on the verge of reaching towards her, but then his fingers curled into a fist that vanished back into his robes.
She felt herself sway and she gripped the doorknob harder in order to stay upright. But she felt as though someone had sweeped off her legs from underneath her body and she began to fall. She caught Snape's concerned face staring at her wide-eyed as she went down; she felt briefly as if her body was swimming over a bottomless sea, before her head came in contact with the cold stone, hard, and she blacked out.