Hermione's steps were heavy as she approached the hospital wing. What could she possibly say to him? Snape had accomplished everything he'd ever set out to do—there was nothing left in this world that could give him the will to keep fighting for his life. She'd known him for seven long years, and although he had always refused to reveal even the smallest details of his private life, she felt she understood what he must be feeling now.
Snape was a man who did things fully or not at all—there was no such thing as half-measures for him. And now… now there was nothing.
In the outer room, Madam Pomfrey was sorting a handful of pills.
"Hello, Hermione. I'm glad Professor McGonagall convinced you to come—you're our last hope. He doesn't have much time left. The wound has opened again."
"How long?" Hermione asked, her throat tightening.
"Two days, maybe," Pomfrey replied grimly, leading her down the corridor to the last room. "He's still losing blood, and the blood-replenishing potion is wearing off faster and faster. Ours isn't working—he must have brewed something specifically for the snake. Go on in—the door straight ahead."
The door creaked as Hermione pushed it open. Snape was lying on his left side, back to her, appearing to be asleep. She moved quietly to his bedside and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She couldn't decide if he looked better or worse than when she had found him nearly lifeless. His skin was pale—nearly bloodless.
For a long moment she simply watched him. The harsh lines of his face had lost their severity when one understood their origin. One mistake—one terrible, life-changing mistake—had shaped and destroyed everything that followed. It was frighteningly easy to make such a mistake, Hermione thought.
"Professor? Are you awake?" she asked softly.
Snape kept his eyes closed.
"Don't bother trying to talk to me. Go," he rasped, his voice weak but his meaning unmistakable.
Hermione knew nothing could change his mind—not now. She didn't even try.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to force you to live. I understand—and maybe I'd feel the same if I were you. Down in the Shrieking Shack… but you had to know—Harry survived. You achieved your life's goal. I thought… I thought that would matter to you."
Snape opened his eyes, studying the young woman before him. She looked exhausted—her eyes puffy from too many tears in the past few days.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Professor? You know more about potions than anyone alive. If you just told me what to brew, I could try to help with the wound on your neck."
He hesitated, as if weighing her words, but the bandages around his neck kept him from turning to face her. The thick wrappings were soaked dark red. She could only imagine how much blood he had lost.
"If you understand me," he said quietly, "you've already done enough."
She didn't know what to say. Instead, she reached for his hand—warm and softer than she had expected. He didn't pull away.
"Damn it," she whispered, half to herself, "I'm so tired of losing people I care about. I want to do something."
"Study… potions," he breathed so faintly she almost didn't hear it.
She almost laughed. A dying compliment from the Potions Master—how morbid could fate be? Instead, the tears came hard and fast, pouring down her face in hot streams. She didn't hold them back—she couldn't.
She felt the faintest pressure in his hand before she let go and stood.
"I'll miss you, Professor."
Then she left the room.
Snape stared at his right hand for a long moment, feeling the warmth slowly fade.
---
Outside the door, McGonagall was waiting.
"Well?" she asked, hope flickering in her voice.
"He doesn't want our help. We should respect that. But… I can't help feeling there's a way—if only he wanted it. Please, Professor, may I have the rest of the morning off from the library?"
"Of course. Get some rest."
But Hermione couldn't rest—not after the war, not after everything. She couldn't bear the constant closeness of death for another minute. She ran, taking the stairs two at a time, but the noise of voices, orders, and shouts from the Great Hall chased her. She didn't stop until she reached the dungeons.
The quiet there was almost a relief. She could understand why Snape might have found peace here—at least when the place was as empty as it was now.
A toppled suit of armor blocked the way to the Potions classroom. Inside, chaos reigned—broken vials, scattered books, crooked portraits glaring down from the walls. It hurt to see Snape's "holy halls" like this.
Her eyes drifted toward the adjoining lab. Beyond that were his private rooms—territory no student had ever dared approach.
But Hermione's curiosity carried her forward.
The living room was cluttered but intact: a black leather sofa to the left, a large oval table piled with books and papers to the right. It looked as though he had only just left.
She sat at the table and picked up a thick yellow book—Antiserum for Venomous Snakes. Scattered around it were handwritten recipes, covered in colorful margin notes.
Her heart pounded as she recognized the formula for Nagini's antiserum. Page after page, she followed his thinking—until she found a note with only four words:
Nagini: Blood-replenishing – Antiserum – Wound balm
Three components—not two. Frantically, she searched until she found the "Wound Balm" recipe. One ingredient stood out: 1 ml of Nagini's venom.
Where was the snake?
She folded the recipe and shoved it into her robes, then bolted for McGonagall's office. She didn't need the password—the door was open. McGonagall jumped, startled, with Neville sitting opposite her.
"Hermione! What on earth—?"
"I know how to save Professor Snape—but I need Nagini. Where is she?"
"She's dead, buried, I think—Slughorn was supposed to handle it. But why—"
"Where's Slughorn now?" Hermione cut in.
"I've no idea, but he should still be on the grounds—"
She turned to Neville, pressing the folded recipe into his hand. "You're good with Herbology. Here—get these ingredients. All of them. As fast as you can. I'll be back."
Before McGonagall could stop her with another question, Hermione was gone, running as though her own life depended on it.
An hour ago she'd told Snape she understood. Now she was prepared to defy his final wish. She couldn't help it—she wouldn't lose him too.
.
END OF CHAPTER
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