Chapter Text
The crack of Apparition startled the Trio, causing them to shrink back from the windows but the silence that followed was what unnerved them. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance before Harry emerged from beneath the invisibility cloak into the frigid air of the shack. The boards and walls, worn and weathered despite the wards protecting them, creaked and groaned around them.
They watched as Harry, crouching low, peeked around the doorway before his shaking hand beckoned them forwards to join him. A fresh surge of adrenaline wiped away Hermione’s bone-weary exhaustion at the sight of the Headmaster’s bloodied and near-lifeless body upon the ground. Her hands moved without direction, reaching for her beaded bag to seek out what remained of their emergency supplies. Harry crouched before the fading man where indistinct words were whispered between the two while Ron stood frozen in the doorway.
The sound of Harry's voice snapped her back into action and she thrust an unbreakable glass vial into his hand before pulling the remains of their emergency kit and the leather wrap that held their supply of potions from within her bag. It was relatively well stocked compared to the meagre stock that remained before their capture by the Snatchers. Seeing what they faced now, Hermione knew she owed Bill and Fleur a debt of gratitude, as they had provided a number of invaluable supplies while also allowing her access to brew several modified potions before leaving Shell Cottage.
“Hermione. HERMIONE! Help me. He isn't breathing."
With Harry's frantic plea, Hermione darted across the room to replace the pressure on his neck with her own hand, thick sticky blood oozing beneath her palm. The breadth of the wound dwarfed her palm and she struggled to maintain the pressure as she quickly organised the potions.
"Half a vial of Blood Replenisher first," she muttered to herself as she tipped the flask to the Headmaster’s mouth. The choked cough that followed heartened her, letting her know the potion had gone down and should be taking effect. Harry and Ron hung back, giving her room to work. Experience told them that they would be more of a hindrance if they attempted to help and given the extent of the Headmaster’s wounds, time was of the essence.
"Dittany next, otherwise he'll just keep losing blood." The eyedropper skittered across the floor, discarded from the force with which she removed it from the vial, as she tipped the contents directly onto the gaping hole in his neck. A nauseating hiss filled her ears as she pinched the edges of the gash together in an attempt to seal the wound while she poured the remaining Blood Replenisher into his mouth. Her palm rocked against his injured throat, bidding him to swallow so the potions might have a prayer’s chance of working.
"Come on, Professor. Don't give up," she whispered against his ear, even as she doubted he could hear her.. Beneath her trembling fingers, his skin remained deathly cold, but the blood flowing from the savage rip across his throat had reduced to a trickle.
"Please. It's my turn to save you this time. Don't give up." Hermione leaned closer and placed her cheek in front of his nose, holding her own breath as she waited to feel the whisper of his against her face.
It didn’t come.
Hermione’s wand snapped into her hand as the cool, emotionless voice of Voldemort filled the room. Ron turned on the spot, searching the shadows for the nebulous voice, while Harry remained still, his green eyes still trained on where the Headmaster lay lifeless. A furrow creased his brow as Voldemort concluded.
“ You have one hour.”
Hermione turned back to her former Professor and searched for any discernible changes—a whisper of breath, colour returning to his cheeks— anything to give her hope. She took his hand, desperate for any sense of movement within the tips of fingers.
“Professor. Professor Snape. Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?” Her voice trembled, cadence growing more erratic as hope began to fade with each second his skin grew colder beneath the warmth of her palm. This man, this man who, despite his dour demeanour and hatred of everything her House stood for, did not deserve to lose his life to a bigoted madman. This man, who had no hesitation in jumping in front of a werewolf to protect them, did not deserve to die on the floor of this dirty, dusty shack.
Of that, she was certain.
Hermione pulled a red ribbon from within her beaded bag. It had been neatly tied around the final present she had received from her mum and dad at Christmas the year before, one of her last mementos of them that she dared to carry with her. Without hesitation, Hermione transfigured it into a gauze bandage and gently began wrapping his throat to cover the wound. When she finished, she took his hand and gently squeezed his fingers.
“Hermione. We need to get back to the castle. I need to get to the Headmaster’s office.” Harry’s words washed over her as her eyes flicked between Severus’s eyes and chest watching for any signs of life. Harry’s warm hand settled against her shoulder, highlighting the unnaturally cold temperature of the hand she was clutching with her own.
“I can’t leave him like this, Harry. He deserves better.”
“He’s gone, ‘Mione,” Ron said. Hermione’s gaze shifted away from the Headmaster’s face as Ron’s twisted into a grimace. “I agree that the greasy bat didn’t deserve this but we need to go back to the castle.”
Hermione looked between them, the weight of the world apparent upon their shoulders before nodding. “Give me two minutes please, both of you. He’s earned that at least.”
“We’ll be right outside the door, Hermione,” Harry said gently.
As soon as they vacated the room, Hermione knelt before the Headmaster’s body and placed a hand behind his neck, mindful of his injury. Pulling his body forward, Hermione tipped his head back slightly and his jaw dropped open in a slack yawn. She dropped a Bezoar into his mouth and poured one more vial of Blood Replenisher down his throat to wash it down before manoeuvring him to where he leaned against the wall in a bid to keep his head above his heart. It was foolish to hope that he could recover from this, but there was a feeling inside her, a thin thread of hope that spurred her on.
“I’m just going to make you more comfortable, Professor Snape. I’ll come back when this is all over, I promise.” Hermione moved a wooden crate to each side of him to buttress against sliding down the wall. He could almost pass for being asleep if it wasn’t for the deathly pallor of his skin. She straightened his hands into his lap and with a final gesture, tucked his hair behind his left ear before whispering a strained thank you to him.
She held in her tears whilst she gathered her supplies back into her bag before standing and facing him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a button on the floor that matched those sewn onto his frock coat. She picked it up and examined the button before seeking out the place where it had been. The gap in the uniform line of studs down the front of his coat stood out like a physical chink in his armour and she placed the button reverently into her coat pocket as she stood.
Her wand felt heavy against her fingers as she pressed the tip against the tiny opening in his coat.
“Rennervate.”
With renewed vigour, Hermione pulled a deep cleaning breath into her lungs before joining Harry and Ron in the hallway so they could journey back to the castle and put an end to this war, once and for all.