Chapter 5
(Three years prior)
Severus collapses in the dark and dingy hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place and prays to any god listening that no one has awoken. He can feel the blood continue to pour from his side and he knows he should be alarmed by the coldness seeping through his flesh. But his agony has eased, and he simply cannot bring himself to care as he sits crumpled against the wall.
If the gods exist, no one will find him until morning. And by morning, he will surely be dead.
“Professor Snape?” A faint whisper reaches his ears. “Sir? Sir! What’s happened to you?”
Severus pries his eyes open to see Miss Granger crouched before him, her wide eyes staring at her bloodied hands.
“Never you mind, little witch,” he rasps, barely audible even to himself. “Leave me.”
“Absolutely not!” She cries in a harsh whisper, her shock gone in an instant as she turns a stubborn gaze to him.
He couldn’t say how, but in the next moment he finds himself hunched over the girl’s shoulder as she practically drags him down the hallway and to his room before he can even think to muster the strength for protest.
He can see her much more clearly now, after several potions have been poured down his throat, and he watches her diligently tend to his wounds as he tries to solve the mystery of where his shirt has gone and whether his bed has always been this soft.
“This one is too deep, Professor,” she says, gently cleaning the gash on his ribs. “I’ll have to stitch it by hand.”
She jumps as he grips her wrist with a surprising strength for being half-dead just moments ago.
“Do you know how?” He asks, raising a skeptical brow as she nods.
“Well, I’ve never stitched a person exactly, but—“
“— I trust you.”
He nearly smirks at her surprised expression, though he is equally as shocked by his own admission. But he does trust Miss Granger… He trusts her intellect, at least.
Severus considers the young witch as she continues her work. In the past, he has often been quite cruel to the girl. And yet here she sits gently stitching him back together, and with a hand as steady as any experienced mediwitch he has ever had the displeasure of being accosted by.
He admits that she is brilliant… and kind, and brave, and everything the other members of the Order have lauded her to be. That is what makes what they’ve done to her so cruel, he thinks. He’s not even sure if she yet realizes the true weight of what has been placed on her shoulders. That she is expected to make up for what The Boy Who Lived lacks.
Does she know how much they count on her? Does she know the risk of sacrifice that lies ahead? Severus knew all of these things when he gave himself to Dumbledore…. But that hasn’t made it any easier.
“You could have died, you know,” she says as she trims the thread of his last stitch.
“What does it matter?”
In that moment, he is certain that no one has ever looked at him the way that she is now, with such tenderness, such a sense of honesty and understanding glowing in her honeyed gaze that it nearly hurts.
No, not honey… Amber, he notes, as the silence stretches.
“Don’t make it easy,” She finally says in a hushed voice, as if it’s something she must say but knows she shouldn’t.
Severus remains silent as she secures a bandage to his side, attempting to ignore the mysterious warmth that now burns in his chest— surely it is just the blood replenisher.
“Would you… would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?” She asks tentatively once finished.
He squints at her in consideration. He should say no— of course, he should say no. But for the first time in a long while, he… Well, he does not wish to be alone.
Eventually, he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling with a sigh.
“Very well, little witch.”
She grins to herself when she plucks a worn paperback from his nightstand— few would guess he enjoys romantic mysteries— but graciously makes no comment on it as she sits up against the headboard next to him.
Staring up into the canopy above as her soft voice reads from the pages, he considers her poignant words again.
Don’t make it easy…
He has nothing, Severus thinks, certainly not for the first time. He has always known this. No measure of good deeds or sacrifice could redeem him for what he has done. Most members of the Order still despise him, save for Minerva, and he will likely die by the end of this next war, so it is very much a moot point anyway.
But her… She could have the world one day, if she so wished. She would deserve it too, more than any of the rest, if she manages to survive until the end. And he hadn’t considered it until now, but… he would give it to her himself, if he could. If she so wished. Because she deserves it, and she’s the only one of them that does.
If— if— any of them survive.
Damn them. Damn them all, damn them straight to hell for what they’ve done to her.
She turns a page and he impulsively reaches up and stills her with a brief touch to her wrist.
“If I don’t make it easy… then neither can you,” he says, looking up to meet her gaze.
“Is that a deal?” She asks with a rather cheeky grin.
Severus considers for a moment. “I suppose it is, Miss Granger.”
“Hermione,” She blurts, a furious blush instantly igniting her face as she bites her lip with regret. “Sorry…” She murmurs, dropping her gaze from his raised brow to the book still in her hands before shifting to flee.
“Stay,” He says, stifling a chuckle at her embarrassment as he catches her arm, “Please… Hermione.”
***