The Wand of Ravenclaw

The Power He Knows Not

Harry stared around the darkened ward. Ron was slumbering in a chair near the window. Harry was glad he was there. He didn't think he could have faced the last few hours without his first friend for support. He was happy to let him sleep, unless he started to snore. Though it might help to wake Hermione, who was showing no signs of coming round after her attack.

Harry watched her intently as she slept. He marked the passage of the night in the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle pulse at her neck, eyes glued for any signal that she might suddenly become more cogent. For so far she had steadfastly refused to come back to him. The Healers were confident they had contained the poison from the snake bites and that the antidotes were working well. Hermione was in no immediate danger.

But they couldn't get her to wake up.

"This isn't unusual where Dark Magic is concerned," Healer Pye had reassured Harry. "We have seen many cases likes this before. Sometimes we just have to be patient and wait. Though, I know, this can be the hardest thing for a loved one to do."

He wasn't wrong. Harry had spent hour after pensive hour sat at Hermione's beside, holding her hand and just watching. He had angrily refused entreaties from several sources to try and get some rest himself. How could he sleep? What if Hermione woke and needed something from him? It was nonsense to even suggest it. Besides, Harry had a lot to think about.

The Battle. He had run it over and over in his mind. Looking at it, he felt he should have been more attuned to Voldemort's strategy. It seemed too neat to him that Hermione had been the one attacked, while he was allowed to move unfettered through the battlefield right to the enemy HQ. He could only come to one conclusion. It hadn't been him Voldemort wanted.

Hermione had been the target all along.

The thought chilled Harry right to his marrow. His skin prickled with an angry electricity. He felt his magic drifting on his fingertips as though ready to erupt out and strike anything in sight. They had been tingling ever since the spell he had cast back in Little Hangleton. The power of it still shocked him a little. He could see that wide arc of golden light, the buzz of magic that ignited on the evening air. He hadn't known he was capable of anything like it. But he was as wary of it as he was impressed with himself.

But the thought of Voldemort directly targeting Hermione was a more pressing concern. It was the fruition of one of Harry's greatest fears. Voldemort using Hermione as a conduit to hurt him. There was none greater. Harry was mindless for the danger he'd put her in, his thoughts a convoluted mess as he considered how close he'd come to losing her. He should have known better, been firmer to keep her away from any trouble.

Though he knew such thoughts were pointless. Hermione was the strongest person he knew, and the one who loved him most in the world. He could no more have kept her in the background, while he faced danger, as she could have him if the roles were reversed. It was just the pitfall of being lovers as well as comrades-in-arms. He was simply angry with himself for not seeing her vulnerability and failing to protect her. He should never have left her side.

His dark mood of self-loathing was interrupted by the door to the private ward opening. The wiry figure and lank hair of Severus Snape was framed against the light from the corridor behind, giving him a distinct vampire-like appearance. Their gazes met and Harry gave silent permission for this one-time target of hatred to enter the room. He could hold nothing against this man now. His quick actions and expert knowledge had saved Hermione's life. Harry owed him a debt for it.

Snape moved to stand at the foot of the bed, careful not to overstep the space around Hermione that Harry was guarding with fierce diligence. "Is there any change in Miss Granger's condition?"