Caged Bird Sings

Day 75

Hermione tossed the parchment across the room. Fucking ridiculous. She’d never keep another journal for as long as she lived.

“Everything all right in there?” came Molly Weasley’s voice from outside her closed and locked door. Her borrowed wand wasn’t exactly in tune with her, but it covered the locking spell adequately.

“Fine!” she lied, hating how foreign and wrong everyone’s voices were.

She’d been welcomed with shock and amazement. They had thought she was dead. Harry and Ron hadn’t given up hope, of course. But Hermione had seen a sad glimmer in the twins’ eyes when Arthur had said that, making Hermione think that maybe they have given up, just a little.

No matter. She was safe and she planned on helping.

Only no one wanted to let her. And that pissed Hermione off to no end, because these people had no idea what she’d gone through, and they had no right to stop her from doing whatever it took to help.

An owl had left soon after her arrival with news of Hermione’s return. She’d insisted that the letter also say how Snape was on their side, after all. A long hesitation in which Hermione had stared down Remus Lupin so viciously he must have thought her mad, before he nodded curtly and added her addendum.

They’d tried to get the story out of her, but she’d only said that Snape was on the side of the light, and it was their duty to protect him.

They didn’t seem to want to leave her alone, but she didn’t care. Let them try to follow her around. She had nothing to hide.

She had nothing except anger and determination, and she planned on using both.

*

“Merlin’s balls.”

“It’s true…”

Hermione turned over on her bed, the light from the window hurting her eyes. Had Snape put in an enchanted window? That was thoughtful of him.

“Hermione!” someone shouted, and all of a sudden her bed was much too small.

Squinting, Hermione tried to see why Snape was being so… energetic.

“Give me a minute to wake up, Professor,” Hermione mumbled.

“’Mione, it’s us! Ron and Harry!”

Gods.

Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes flying open. Ron. And Harry. Gods, they were beautiful.

Ron launched himself at her and hugged the life from her. Harry, laughing, pulled him away, only to replace him immediately.

“You’re okay,” Harry whispered, his hand rubbing her arms as if to make sure she wasn’t a spectre.

“I’ve missed you both… so much,” Hermione said, her voice cracking. Then she was crying. And then she was sobbing. Her friends immediately gathered her into their arms, and while it felt good and safe, it just wasn’t right.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Harry was saying, sniffing suspiciously.

Ron kept randomly laughing and then cutting himself off, making Hermione and Harry smile as well.

“Now what?” she asked softly.

“Now,” Harry said with determination, “we fight.”

Hermione almost asked what would happen if they didn’t succeed, but Snape’s words rang in her ears as if he were whispering them to her.

Then we wait… and fight again.

*

Hermione wanted to close her eyes against the carnage around her. Seeing her friends and colleagues fall was almost more than she could bear. But Ron was fighting, and Harry was fighting, and somewhere, she just knew Snape was fighting.

So she would stay and be brave because she knew it was in her to do so.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, pausing to fire two Stunners. “The Shrieking Shack! Go, now!”

But Hermione could see Voldemort, and Harry couldn’t do this alone… What was in the Shack? Was Harry just trying to protect her and keep her out of the fray?

She ran to his side, casting a hex to immobilise one of his opponents, and the Death Eater who’d been in mid-lunge fell with a satisfying thud.

“He’s there, Hermione. Neville killed Nagini, but Snape was bitten. You’d better be right about him!”

“Harry!” she cried, torn. She didn’t want to leave him alone.

Another curse had the other Death Eater on his knees, and Harry grabbed Hermione and hugged her with the certainty of a good-bye. “It’s going to be okay. I swear it,” he said fiercely, kissing her forehead and pushing her back. “Go!”

Hermione gripped his hand and tried to convey all her strength and love and gratitude. He squeezed back and turned away to face Voldemort for the final time.

And Hermione ran.

She darted past the Whomping Willow, not even bothering to prod the knot to stop its vicious pummelling. She barely made it through the swinging branches. Crouched over, she ran and ran the length of the underground passage, only one thought on her mind.

Save him.

Finally, the trap door was before her, and she threw it open with all her strength.

When she finally found Snape, it was almost too much.

The blood was everywhere. The floor was slick with it and the smell of it hung heavy in her nostrils, making her think of the piggy bank she’d had as a child, all coppery metallic and cheap.

A weak, gurgling choke reached her ears, and Hermione no longer cared about the blood. Falling to her knees beside Snape, Hermione searched for a wound. There was so much blood that it seemed to take forever, but she finally found a bite mark on Snape’s neck.

Hermione tore off her outer robe and pressed it firmly against the wound, staunching the flow. Snape made a protesting noise, and his eyes flickered open.

“…ger?” he said hoarsely, frowning.

“I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Do you… I mean, you must have an antivenin on you!”

“You’re dead,” he said, but Hermione ignored him, searching his pockets instead.

She knew Snape rarely labelled his personal potions, except the ones he’d numbered. In his inner breast pocket, Hermione found a potion with a large number one on it.

She thought that was probably a safe bet.

Popping the cork, Hermione tilted Snape’s head and placed the potion at his lips.

“No,” he whispered, turning to the side. The action made the blood flow more freely from his wound, and Hermione clamped down on her robes to slow it again. “I killed you.”

Hermione was starting to get exasperated. “I’m alive, you stubborn bastard! I’m right here and alive, and you need to drink this. Drink it and I promise everything will be okay.”

A great roar from outside reached her ears, and Hermione hoped, oh, gods, she hoped it was her side’s roar of victory.

Snape’s eyes fluttered and closed, and Hermione resisted the urge to slap the obstinate man. He wouldn’t respond to her gentle shaking or even her yelling his name. She pried his lips open and just poured the potion into his mouth, closing her hand over it and rubbing his throat with her fingers. Snape swallowed automatically a few times, and when Hermione checked to make sure the potion was all gone, she noticed that the blood had stopped spilling rapidly from him.

She gingerly pulled away her robes, and tears of relief blurred her vision when she saw the wounds on his neck shrink and close completely.

The sounds of fighting had stopped completely, but maybe that was because Hermione only had ears for the steady in and out of Snape’s still-laboured breathing.

A swipe of her wand had the blood cleaned up. Hermione wished she knew which potion bottle was a blood replenishing potion, but there were a few in his robes that met the consistency, and she wasn’t willing to risk poisoning him in an attempt to save him.

Snape would be okay.

Hermione shifted until she was lying on her side next to Snape. She arranged him so one of his arms served as a pillow, and then she draped one of her own across his chest.

If Harry hadn’t won, the two of them would be dead within the hour, she was sure.

But Hermione just had a feeling that Harry had defeated Voldemort, and everything was going to be okay. Just like Harry had said.

Tired and aching, Hermione set wards on the door to alert her if anyone tried to come in and finally let her eyes fall closed.

*

The staff at St. Mungo’s had been easily convinced about Snape’s true loyalties. Hermione had the feeling that Harry would have an easy time of convincing anyone of anything these days.

Upon saving the world, a little clout was inevitable.

However, convincing Harry had been a different feat altogether. Her word had been enough to get him to the hospital, but not enough to convince him to let Hermione stay with Snape.

Unperturbed, Hermione let Harry view some of her memories. She was loath to leave Snape alone, even for the hour or so they’d be gone, but Harry personally spoke to the guard on duty, giving Hermione his assurances that everything would be fine.

She tended to believe Harry whenever he said that.

With the Headmaster’s Pensieve, Hermione pulled thread after thread of memory from her mind. Snape giving her the Repleo spell. Snape reading with her. Snape taking her to the Prince grounds. Snape telling her about Harry’s progress.

Many memories she kept to herself, but not because she regretted them or was embarrassed, but because Harry wouldn’t understand. Hell, she barely understood. Now that she was free, Snape was safe, and the war won, there was no reason to fight anymore.

“Hermione,” Harry said when he finally came out of the Pensieve. “Did he hurt you?”

Wincing, Hermione knew she couldn’t lie to her friend. “He was a spy, Harry. What do you think Voldemort would have done if he’d found out Snape was leaving a Muggle-born in perfect peace in his basement?”

Harry nodded slowly, but he was eyeing her in a way that reminded her of… herself.

“I believe you that Snape was on our side. But I don’t believe that his actions came from the good of his heart.”

Unfortunately for her, Harry was right. Snape had told her he’d asked for her as a boon from Voldemort.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said slowly, realising for the first time that her words were true. “It’s not like I’m going to marry him, Harry.”

Saying it aloud was like a fog clearing. Hermione had fancied herself in love, but Snape didn’t even like her. He’d tolerated her because he’d had to and because he’d wanted her, but that didn’t mean anything. And even only a week out of her cell and she was already beginning to question her feelings. Could anything be real with so much on the line? Had her love been a coping strategy to deal with her fear and anger?

“But you care for him… like that,” Harry said, watching her as she reinserted her memories.

“I do. I did, and I do now. Maybe I always will. It was… it was like there was nothing else in the world. And for more than two months, there really wasn’t. He was all I had.”

“But now you have us,” Harry prompted softly, taking her hand.

“I’m okay, Harry. I just need some time to myself.”

Nodding, Harry squeezed her hand before releasing it. She knew that if anyone understood about needing time, it was Harry.

“I’m thinking about going away for a while,” she said carefully, the words tasting strange in her mouth, almost like she wanted to take them back. “I have to go to Australia to fix my parents’ memories. I was thinking I’d stay for a while. Sort of… get to know myself again.”

“Will you visit?” he asked softly.

Hermione’s throat swelled. She didn’t really want to leave. But everything was so strange and open here. She felt like she would just float away any moment. She needed to be somewhere smaller, somewhere easier.

“You can visit me,” she promised. “I’ll find a flat in Australia’s wizarding quarter. I’ve heard they’re very friendly. I’ll owl you every day, promise.” Hermione laughed, knowing it was true.

Maybe writing letters would take away her need to write in her journal.

“But I’m not going to leave until Professor Snape wakes up,” she said seriously. She looked at Harry as if daring him to deny her.

Harry held up his hands and chuckled softly. “I believe that he was on our side all along, Hermione. I’ve no problem with you staying with him. But don’t dismiss the guard, okay? He’s there for Snape’s protection.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered, layers of meaning in the simple word. Thank you for saving the world. Thank you for not hating me because I didn’t help. Thank you for knowing me.

“You’re welcome,” he said simply, and she knew he meant just as much as she did.

*

“No change,” said the mediwizard, cancelling the observational spell he’d put on Snape.

Hermione nodded bleakly. She settled back into her chair and opened her book once more. Snape’s copy of Jane Eyre. She was beginning to see, now that she was on her third time reading it in the past two weeks, just why Snape liked it so much. The passion and sheer anger behind the words, the heartbreak, confusion, misunderstanding, loss… Hermione knew it all intimately.

Resting her head on the bed beside Snape’s still body, Hermione was lulled to sleep by the deep breathing of her former lover.

¬*

Hermione felt like a coward, running. But everything between them had been a lie. How could she be expected to stay with him when she didn’t even really know who he was? And who was he? A Death Eater, her saviour, a hero?

Or just Severus Snape, formed by circumstances, driven by promises to dead people?

In her dream, Hermione was tired. She’d been running for days, it seemed. The field was cool and her body was so hot. This seemed like a perfect place to rest her head.

Silly Jane. She had run from the man who needed her, who loved her. He’d made mistakes, horrible ones. He’d taken Jane for granted and he’d hurt her desperately. But did any of that matter?

Her life wouldn’t be like Jane’s. She’d save Snape from himself, from her. She’d save herself, too. Everything would be okay, just… no more running.

*

Hermione awoke when the bed shifted beneath her head. Jerking her head up, she saw Snape’s eyelids flutter and open. His entire body stiffened before gradually relaxing, and Hermione watched him take in his surroundings. Finally, his eyes fell on her, and she offered a shaky smile.

“You’re okay,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if she was asking him or telling him. But he nodded, and that worked with either scenario.

“The war’s over.” Hermione straightened in her chair, wincing as her back popped and her neck didn’t quite want to turn to the right.

“Potter defeated the Dark Lord?”

Hermione nodded. It still felt unreal to say aloud, as if admitting it would cause their new world to falter and crumble.

Snape sighed, a bone-deep noise that sounded like absolution. “How did you get out?” Snape asked, his eyes closed again.

“The dressers,” she said.

Snape’s eyes snapped back open. He stared at her for a long minute as if looking into her eyes could reveal exactly how she’d done it. And Merlin knew her mind was open enough at the moment for him to do exactly that.

“And then I crawled up the coal chute,” she added, reflexively wiping her hands on her pants as if to rid herself of imaginary coal.

“Coal chute?”

Hermione realised how scratchy and coarse Snape’s voice was. “You probably shouldn’t talk. I don’t know how deep the fangs got you. They might have scraped your larynx or something.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “The coal chute?” he repeated.

“In the basement. It was boarded up,” she explained.

“Ah,” Snape said, shaking his head a little. “I’d completely forgotten that was there. Rather remiss of me, actually.”

“Well,” Hermione snapped, “thank you for not thinking of everything for once, because if you had, I’d be dead! And you would, too.”

Snape eyed her warily. “You were the one to save me?”

Hermione’s heart felt unaccountably heavy. For some reason, she wanted him to know that despite everything he’d done she’d still wanted him alive. He was still worth something to her.

“In the Shrieking Shack,” she said. “You were bleeding to death. I gave you the potion labelled One. The bleeding stopped. Then I—” Hermione cut herself off. Snape didn’t need to know she’d slept beside his barely breathing body, hoping they’d be saved, but also hoping that if they weren’t, they’d at least be able to stay together.

And Snape didn’t even know it’d been her.

“And then the war was over,” she finished instead, smoothing her hands over her jeans and carefully avoiding his eyes. “You could have saved yourself.” It was a statement.

“Yes,” answered Snape simply, as if there was nothing more to it.

Hermione felt angry again. That was as good as suicide. Selfish prick.

But her eyes were becoming scratchy at the thought that she’d been that close to staying with Harry as she probably should have, to help him win the war. No, Snape had taken her away from the fighting again.

But that wasn’t really his fault, she knew.

“I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

“And you,” Snape said. His eyes were closed again.

When his breathing evened out, Hermione felt more comfortable in watching him. In repose, he looked no younger, no more innocent. She doubted even as child he’d looked anything but mildly sinister.

He didn’t respond when her fingers trailed over the back of his hand, but she was glad for that, because it meant he wasn’t awake to hear her say good-bye.