Hermione woke up in the hospital wing; her head had been wrapped in bandages so that it was hard for her to even open her eyes. Apparently, she hit her head when she fell and although Madam Pomfrey's medicines were known to work wonders when it came to healing, her curse made it difficult to do that too, so that Hermione had to stay an extra day at the hospital wing in order to recover.
While laying idle in bed, she had vague recollections of the night before. When she was on the verge of unconsciousness, she remembered Snape picking her up and rushing her to the hospital, she recalled bits and pieces of the conversation he had with Pomfrey, saying that he regretted that his hesitance in catching her before she fell had led to her getting hurt, how he was concerned about the viscosity of her blood, which had become thinner. He had wanted to make haste and prepare another poultice for her but the medi-witch had diagnosed Hermione and observed that her condition was too fragile to go through that right now.
Snape was nowhere around and Hermione was pretty sure he was holed up in his lab; he was a stubborn man, he probably disregarded the fact that another poultice treatment might be futile and he was concentrating hard on how to make Hermione better again.
At the end of the day, she was released and when she went back to their quarters, a cloud of amalgamated potion fumes struck her forcefully. The whole room looked like a bomb had gone off; all the furniture had been shrunk and shoved against the far wall, there were several new tables, covered with cauldrons of all shapes and sizes and ingredients messily scattered across the surfaces.
Snape was sitting on the ground, with his head in his hands. He seemed helpless and defeated, like he was about to tear his hair off. She had seen that look before- when he had reached a dead-end.
She knew it- she saw it in Pomfrey's eyes when she had taken her leave. That there was slim chance that Hermione was going to survive the night. She needed the treatment, but her body was incapable of bearing it any more. The cursed blood was choking her heart- she knew it, felt it.
The matron wasn't too keen on her leaving the hospital, but Hermione had insisted she went back to her room. If she was going to die, she preferred to die in a familiar place, at least. And besides, she wanted to go back to Snape, if only to thank the man who had spent countless amount of time for her. Even if in the end- it was all in vain.
But Snape looked like he was not ready to accept that he had lost. He was not even aware of her presence as he sat clawing his brain to be hit with a new wave, so that he could think of a plausible next step.
She cautiously approached the hunched figure and slowly put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't even react to the touch, he looked vaguely aware that someone else was there. She grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"Severus...?"
She felt that it was necessary to approach him by calling him by his name; he was disturbed and if he could get a sense of familiarity, he perhaps wouldn't react brashly. And her tone was soothing and reassuring. She couldn't believe that she was the one who was dying and she was consoling someone else. But he looked like he was consumed by guilt and he really needed to be assured that all this wasn't his fault.
Snape looked up and for a second she thought that perhaps he couldn't even recognize her. His eyes looked wild and unfocused, his face lined with worry and he was worn down. He looked disconcertingly maniacal as he jumped up and quickly moved, about to shove three vials towards her.
"Take these." he said without preamble.
Hermione blinked, making no effort to hold the vials. He forced them into her hand and made to move over and collect some more. But she held him back.
"No."
He didn't pay any heed to her. He tore his hands away and proceeded to make some more potions. He was acting crazy.
"Severus, stop!" She stamped down the vials on the table and forced him to come to a standstill and listen. He was shocked, partly because she was taking his first name and partly because she was taking a stand against him, although he didn't know for what. He was only trying to help her.
"I'm not doing this anymore...I won't." Her throat tightened, but she was firm.
His expression narrowed and his mouth twitched imperceptibly. "These are not experimental potions." his voice was a low snarl. "Take them. Now."
Hermione stared at the colourful potions on the table. "What are they?"
He drew himself up, clearly irritated that she wasn't just obediently drugging herself at his behest. "They're intended to improve your physical and mental energy."
She eyed the potions more curiously but before she could start to reach out for them, she stopped herself, her fingers only a few centimeters away.
"You never offered them before."
He stiffened, the ladle in his hand shifted audibly against the empty cauldron. "They'll have the side-effect of making your health difficult to accurately monitor. It will be easier to physically overextend yourself without realizing it. However- they should help you to revitalize your system, so that you can endure the next poultice treatment."
Hermione sighed; she was so exhausted, it was as though she could feel her life slipping away like sand in an hourglass. There was a tearing sense of wistfulness in her chest.
All she wanted were simple and uncomplicated things that felt good. It didn't seem like a horribly unreasonable thing to want for just the little while that she was going to be there.
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'?" he was scathing in his mockery.
He said it like that wasn't even an option. He couldn't begin to fathom why someone would reject their only possible chance at survival.
"I mean..." she was looking down at the ground but then forced her eyes upwards to meet his gaze. "What's the use? I can't keep doing this...I'm not getting any better."
"But you will be." he was exasperated as he came around his desk and tried to force the vials into her hand again. "That's why I'm asking you to take them!"
"Even if I do, what then?" she tried to make him understand. "I might feel better for a few days but then what? I would be kept alive for the poultice and eventually grow weak again till the next date arrives. I'm just trying to make it to the next date...I can't keep living like that. I feel like I'm stuck in a loop."
"Don't you think I'm doing everything I can?" he accused.
"I know you are." she closed her hands over his, so that the bottles remained in his palm. "I'm asking you not to anymore."
He stared at their hands for a while, then peered into her eyes. "What do you want me to do?" his voice sounded resigned, beaten. But when she looked at him, he looked steady- because he was, he was ready to comply, ready to do whatever it took.
She slowly pulled her hands away. She couldn't look at his eyes. She took a deep breath.
"Don't you think, it's time?"
"Time...to what?" He eyed her.
"To- to give up."
She knew it and she knew that he knew it too. But he refused to accept defeat.
"No...no, no..." he was muttering to himself.
"Please, listen-"
"No!" he exclaimed, "Wha- do you want me to beg now?"
"Of course not! I-"
"Then take them!" His voice broke as he shouted, then added a little more solicitously, "Please."
He said he wasn't going to beg, but he did. Which proved that he was ready to do anything for her. She bit her lip, forcing back tears. "Please...It's okay. Really, it's fine." she tried to put a hand on his shoulder in comfort, "You tried your best and there's no shame in giving up-"
"No!" he doubled up in anger, jerking off her hand. "You don't understand. This is precisely NOT the time to give up!"
Snape threw aside the vials and stormed out, kicking the door open and disappearing in a flurry of black cloaks, leaving Hermione in tears.
************************
Hermione went to the bathroom to wash her face. She couldn't cry anymore, her eyes felt sore and her body couldn't bear to go through any more emotionally draining experiences. Her chest was paining. She didn't tell him anything, but the pinching sensation had increased. It was getting harder to breathe.
She cringed when she caught sight of her reflection. She had to lean close to the glass because her vision had grown somewhat blurry during the last few weeks. Her hair looked like a hedgerow someone had endeavoured to hack apart with a kitchen knife. It was so tiring to comb. Her clothes were rumpled, hanging on to her feeble frame.
Snape didn't return to their rooms that evening, although Hermione waited nervously for him to come back. She felt too tired to go and search for him herself. She didn't even go to the hall for dinner.
She smoothed down her hair, brushed her teeth meticulously and dutifully went to bed. She gnawed at her lips as she lay thinking. She felt as though she'd found herself mired up to her throat. She was certain that the potions were some scheme he was coming at- a last attempt to bribe her into cooperation. To make her remember how good she could feel?
Her chest constricted as she tried to think what he thought their next step could be. Ironically, the packets of information on the clinics he had found had been what forced her to realize what impossibly small odds she had of surviving. Snape was usually vague about it. She'd known that many healers regarded her case as hopeless, but she hadn't studied the numbers until she flipped through the intake forms that required her acknowledgement that the treatment was highly experimental, with no guarantee of success and she had read through the pages of potential side-effects.
The odds were ridiculous. She couldn't understand why Snape wouldn't acknowledge that.
He was attached to the idea of Hermione's survival.
He'd been unwillingly brought back from the brink of death by a few potions, Harry had survived the Killing Curse when Snape had assumed he'd die.
Hermione had become someone who should survive as well, in his mind.
A hollow dropping sensation cut through her chest under her ribs. She gave a shaky gasp and wanted to crawl into a hole. He tried to convince her to keep pursuing a cure by drugging her with what were likely illegal, or at least highly regulated potions, in order to remind her how good it could feel to be alive. She gave a shaky, despairing laugh.
She didn't want to be a replacement Lily. A Muggle-born witch he was determined to successfully save this time around.
She felt as though she was going to be sick. She pressed her hand over her mouth and forced herself to swallow, wanting to scream. She didn't know whether she wanted to wait for him to come back. She didn't know whether she wanted to see him at all.
She couldn't hear Snape outside but she still kept an ear out to listen for his footsteps, until she fell asleep.
She didn't know how much time had passed, when she felt a cool hand pressing against her forehead. She felt fingers on her pulse. Someone was in her room.
"S-severus?"
It was Madam Pomfrey. And McGonagall. They were peering over her appraisingly, literally staring down at her like she was lying on her deathbed. They talked in whispers as they fussed over her. Pomfrey spent several minutes casting diagnostic spells on her and prying her eyes open in order to inspect their dilation.
"Where's...Professor...Snape?" Hermione was trying to sit up, to show them she was fine. They immediately fretted over it.
"No, no, don't get out of bed, dear!"
"Minerva, do you think she should go to the hospital?"
"I don't think we should move her..."
"We must speak to Severus."
"Yes, where is he?"
Hermione felt herself slipping back into sleep. When she woke again, she knew it was much late at night. She felt someone's hand holding hers under the thin guise of retaking her pulse. Even though the room spun, Hermione forced her head up from where she had buried her face in her pillows and checked who it was.
It was Snape, seated on the floor of her room, her hand still in his, and his head resting against the edge of the mattress as he slept.
Hermione couldn't keep herself from wrapping her fingers around his wrist as well.
"Severus..."
His eyes opened and his head snapped up. He studied her face and for several minutes he couldn't think of anything to say. He looked broken.
"I...I'm sorry, about earlier."
"It's okay..."
He looked sheepish as he stuck one hand inside his robe and brought out a small vial of a thick golden potion. "You have to...take this at night to have an effect in the morning-"
She made a huff of annoyance. "Are we back on this again?"
"No, it's not that..." His voice was tired and rasping. "This potion- it has no known uses. Nothing particular. But...it can make you better."
She sighed; this was the last ditch attempt- the last last try. She tried to swallow and speak but she didn't have the energy to say all the words, to hear his response, to argue...
She extended her hand to take it, but he didn't let go. He looked torn, unsure and deeply remorseful.
"You didn't listen to the whole thing..." his voice was choked, barely audible, "This- this thing has inordinate potential. It can either be good for you, or...it- it could kill you."
Hermione looked at him, feeling as though there was a stone lodged down in the base of her throat. So this was it- she had expressed her desire to die and he had brought her her poison. That's why he looked so weak and irresolute- he had to literally hand her her own demise so that she could pass away in her sleep. She wondered how many battles he had to fight with himself before he came to her room that night.
She put her hand over his and gave him a broken smile. "Alright...I'll take it."
He gave a low sigh and sat back, staring at her for several moments, appearing to hesitate. Even though he had brought it to her, his fingers refused to uncurl from the bottle and let her take it. He pressed his forehead onto their conjoined hands and his shoulders drooped and started to shake, as he broke into a sob.
Hermione reached for him instinctively and rubbed at his back, her tears falling onto his head. She gripped his hand tighter and when he looked up, tears still in his eyes, she brushed back the hair from his face. "Don't sit on the floor. Get into bed."
He was tired enough not to be resistant. He got up stiffly from the ground and she shifted to the side to make space for him. She pulled him down into the bed beside her and buried her face against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind at all. His hand reached out and touched her head gingerly before they curled into each other's arms, her head against his chest.
He glanced down at her small form and sighed, wishing he could make all her pain go away. He wanted to lull her to sleep and tell her everything was going to be alright. He longed to say something tender and comforting, but no fitting words came to him, so he lay silent, gently stroking her head. It was the best thing he could have done, far more soothing than the most eloquent words, for Hermione felt the unspoken sympathy, and in silence, learned the sweet solace which affection administers to sorrow.
She bit back the tears and tried to keep her lips from trembling as she watched tears leak out of him. She laced their fingers together and brought his hand to rest on her heart, above her heaving chest. He could feel her heart racing even faster and her breathing became more laboured than before.
Hermione closely inspected his eyes that were trained on her. His darker-than-night irises were glowing with a dark chocolate hue through the black. She had never seen any colour in his eyes before and she saved that image in her mind.
They were beautiful. He was beautiful and wonderful.
She couldn't believe he let this much emotion show; he couldn't keep running from his problems, he ran away from his feelings most of his life and he perhaps knew it was time to confront them. He just desperately wished he didn't have to and not under these circumstances.
She would have liked to keep looking at him but she felt drowsiness overpower her. "I'm tired..." she whispered, and snuggled closer to him, hiding her face back in the crook of his neck. He let all abandon go and held her close to him, letting his fingers run through her curls. They could live in this moment forever. He clenched his jaw, feeling a stab at his heart.
If this was it, if this was the last night that she was ever going to spend on this earth, she was glad that it was with him. She was happy.
She breathed in a lung full of his scent. Keeping a stone on her heart, she stated, "I think it's time."
She felt his whole body tremble as whimpers traveled up his chest. He wrapped his hands around her tighter. "Just a little longer..."
She gave a hollow laugh. "Aren't we always going to want just a little longer?"
He exhaled, his trembling fingers bringing out the potion but still hesitant to hand it over. "I- I don't think I can do this."
She pressed her lips together. "It's alright. Give it to me." she gently pried his fingers off and took the vial. "It's okay..."
"No, it's not. It's not okay." his voice was vexed, sullen, bitter and broken all at once, "Why is it okay with you? Why aren't you angry?"
After a pause, she remarked, "That's not the last thing I want to feel."
She watched his chin quiver, before he reached out to brush the hair out of her eyes, fondly caressing her face. Then he cupped her face with both of his hands and brought his lips gently to hers. She was overwhelmed as he kissed her, tenderly, longingly, passionately. He didn't have to tell her, not in so many words, but she knew- she knew that she was loved.
Hermione broke from the kiss and took a deep breath of air, smiling in gratitude towards the man who was observing her every expression. She was panting hard and could barely find any air from between the small gap that separated them. But she didn't regret their closeness.
She held up the vial now and looked at him. After a moment, he placed a kiss on her forehead and slowly nodded, telling her to go ahead. She unstoppered and tipped the vial in her mouth and quickly swallowed, getting it over with.
It wasn't like the change was going to be instantaneous, they had to wait for it to take effect, and whatever the result may be, Hermione didn't want to waste a single moment of this precious time with him. This was the most intimate she had ever been with her professor, and most likely, ever will be.
Putting the now empty bottle out of the way, Snape pulled her close again, unwilling to part with her just yet. Hermione gave a peaceful smile, thinking that this would be the best way to go.
"I don't want you to go..." he said, almost as if he had heard her. His voice quaked with another sob, as he took her small hand in his and kissed her knuckles, "Please don't go...please..."
She reached up and wiped away a stray tear from his face, before claiming his mouth once again. She kissed him in a way reassuring him that everything was going to be alright. Then she laid her head back on his chest and her eyes gradually drooped closed.
He lay awake listening to the soft whistles of her breath and dreaded the silence that would enshroud them once the faint sound of her heartbeat could be heard no more.