Sight

Chapter 11

It was worse than the first night. It was worse than anything she'd ever seen, and that included pictures of WWII torture victims in her parents' old library. There was a man-shaped puddle of blood where he'd collapsed. The towels she'd laid on the bedsheets were soaked through. She could see the muscles of his back where he'd been whipped, and her diagnostic spell had yielded there were glass fragments in his innards. It wasn't exactly routine, but the injuries were far less than what would make him collapse, on Death's door- there must be something magical- she splayed her fingers on his chest, feeling the wiry muscles beneath the bruised skin. There was nothing, no, that couldn't be... And then she felt it, faint, oh so faint, but there nonetheless, pulsing against her own, a warm, tingling force that was so innately Severus Snape she would know it anywhere. But his magic had always been so strong- now, it was spluttering.

They siphoned his magic, she realised with awe and horror. Is this how Voldemort gained his power? It should return to its former strength, with time, but they didn't have that kind of time, and even if they did, he was closer to death than recovery at this moment. She supposed other Death Eaters brought back their power by other means than hot tea and sleep- namely, murder- but she knew the man before her, and he wouldn't raise a wand against someone unless it was truly the only choice. How did he even apparate back? His breath was growing shallower, his chest barely moving under her touch. Almost subconsciously, she leaned down, brushing the hair from his face with a trembling hand, running her thumb along the gash that ran from his right temple to his jaw. With all the gentleness of a wraith, she lowered her head and pressed her lips to his, her magic flowing into him as her tears moistened his cheeks. "Come back," she whispered against him. "Come back."

It took a moment, one agonisingly slow, torturous moment, before his arms came up around her and pulled her onto the bed with him. They stared at each other, noses touching, eyes unblinking, his hand in her hair. "You shouldn't have done that," he whispered.

"I couldn't let you die."

He looked down. "I owe you a Life Debt."

"Severus." He tensed at the sound of his name, but looked back up at her cinnamon eyes. "You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you more than you know." And he wasn't just talking about the Life Debt he could feel, settling at the back of his skull the same way her magic was settling in his veins, running through him and giving him strength.

She moved to take his hand, and something shifted in the air. Reality had come crashing down with his recovery, and the reality was that he was her professor.

"You should go, Miss Granger." His eyes were still on hers, but now they were blank, unreadable. "Your friends will miss you."

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Hermione spent the rest of the day in a daze. Well, she spent the rest of her waking day in a daze, as having barely slept half an hour the previous night warranted a lie-in on a Saturday morning. The events of last night swam before her eyes every time she blinked. She couldn't decide which was more disturbing: Severus so close to death, or that she had been in bed with him, albeit not in that sense, and his always inexpressive eyes had been anything but. Harry and Ron had been hounding her to tell them what was on her mind, but she dreaded their reactions when she told them she kissed a teacher- her own reaction had been bad enough, when she regained her sanity. They had both been overjoyed to have the old, laughing Hermione back, and but she doubted they would be equally pleased with the reason. As far as they knew, she was learning potions from Snape for Order business. As far as they know? That's all it is, Hermione. At least the year was coming to an end. She would have 10 weeks to come to her senses before she had to see him again. No, I do not feel up to deciphering my emotions surrounding that at the moment.

On a less pleasing note, the end of term meant OWLs were coming up. And despite the fact that there was not a single teacher in the whole of Hogwarts (excluding Umbridge, who was less of a teacher than Peeves anyway), that would not attest to the fact that she could have sat her OWLs in her thirds year, Hermione Granger had to study. Occupy your mind.

Charms had gone rather well. She wasn't sure she had done herself justice on the Cheering Charm, but there was only so much to time. Transfiguration had been more or less the same; Defense against the Dark Arts could have gone better, but she would make do with the fact that she had helped Harry and Ron get to fifth year without dying, which was no small feat; she had missed a question in Arithmancy; and Potions... Potions had been odd. There had been something unnerving about preparing a potion for someone other than Professor Snape or herself. Neville hadn't exploded his cauldron, and somehow that brought her more joy than having turned in a perfect brew. There was only History of Magic left, and a rereading of her notes should ensure she was prepared for that, as well. And then it would be over. Peace, yes, I'm looking forward to that. We all need a break.

Peace was the last thing she got. Harry was nowhere to be seen, because he had fainted in the middle of the exam.

"Where is he?" She whispered furiously to Ron, who was scanning the room, as she was.

"I dunno, 'Mione, I can't see inside his head."

His reference jostled the wheels in her mind into motion. "You don't reckon he's had an another episode?"

She shrugged, but their exchange came to an end anyway, as they spotted Harry making his way towards the pair.

"Harry! Are you alright? What happened?"

Harry didn't say anything, just grabbed their arms and steered them to a nearby deserted corridor.

"Voldemort's got Sirius in the Department of Mysteries." His eyes were darting about, not settling on anything for more than a second. "He's torturing him, he said he's going to kill him- we've got to go, now." There was absolute conviction in his voice. And yet, a nagging voice in the back of Hermione's mind said a wizard as clever as Voldemort would have never let Arthur Weasley's discovery slip past him. There was a reason he had been taking Occlumency lessons...

"Harry. Look at me, Harry- how do you know this?"

"I saw it- I fell asleep in the History OWL and then I had another vision-"

"But Harry, shouldn't Occlumency make sure you don't see things like this?"

"Well, it's good that it didn't work then, isn't it? Now come on, we're wasting time- we have to get to the Ministry!"

"Harry, mate," started Ron, the uneasy look in his eyes echoing her own. "The Ministry is chock-full of Aurors."

"And how did Voldemort even get to the Ministry? And Sirius? They're the most wanted wizards in all of Britain!"

"I DON'T KNOW- but it's not important! We have to get there- NOW!"

"But Harry, it is important. Because look, Voldemort knows you, he knows you care about Sirius because Lucius Malfoy saw you together at King's Cross and recognised him, and he knows you have a- a bit of a thing for acting before you think when something's in danger."

"So you're saying I'm stupid and Sirius can rot? Hermione, SIRIUS IS BEING TORTURED, AND WE HAVE TO HELP HIM. NOW ARE YOU GOING TO BE MY FRIEND OR AM I GOING ON MY OWN?!"