Hero

Severus

And the reason that she loved him was the reason I loved him, too.

And he never wondered what was right or wrong; he just knew. He just knew.

They'd dumped him at the edge of the Forest, near the hippogriff paddock. Probably hoped that he'd get mauled by one of the proud creatures, bitten by one of the local werewolves, or stomped on by Hagrid's 'little' brother. Death by centaur would be an appropriate demise for the likes of him, too.

At least the Dark Lord remained ignorant of his true loyalties. But he was running out of excuses for why he hadn't delivered Potter into his enemy's hands yet. His position in the Death Eaters' ranks had deteriorated in recent months from potion concocter and trusted spy, to potion concocter and plaything.

He rested against the low stone wall of the paddock, shivering from pain and cold. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness. He had to fight it, damn it, he had to get up. Albus had to know. He made himself grab the low stone wall and hauled himself to his feet. He wasn't far from Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid certainly wouldn't mind him getting some rest there, before making his way to the castle.

The way to the dwelling was short enough, but it took him a long time to get there. His stomach had long ago rejected what few contents it had, but that didn't stop him from heaving repeatedly on the way. He finally made it to the worn stone steps and let himself in. It wasn't like there was anyone there for him to disturb any more, except the dog.

Fang bounded across the room, his bark echoing in the little hut. "Shhh, Fang, hush," he murmured. He held his hand out, so the boarhound could identify him. Once Fang licked his hand in recognition, he pushed the dog away with a cross, "Yes, good, now go away," and began to unbutton his robes. He heard a whispering noise, like the intake of breath, but dismissed it after a brief visual inspection of the room. It night have been the wind, but he felt uneasy, as though he was being watched. He shucked his Death Eater's robes, frock coat, and waistcoat off as quickly as he could, leaving them where he dropped them. Most unlike him, but he didn't care tonight.

He looked around. Most of Hagrid's things were already gone. He didn't know what they were going to do with Fang; the old dog resolutely refused to leave the hut and the grounds immediately surrounding it. He hoped the new groundskeeper and the boarhound would get along.

He started to unbutton his shirt when something caught his eye. He peered at the object on Hagrid's chair -- was that a wand? Another small rustle of noise, and then a small voice reached his ears: "Before you go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone."

He gasped and spun, pulling his wand, scanning the hut once more with his penetrating glare. Then it registered that the voice had come from above. He looked up.

Bushy hair. Long-fingered, slender hands clutched the rafters. And now he recognized the wand, which shone pale in the dim light. He also recognized her voice before he drew breath to hex her into next week. "Miss Granger," he sighed, "what are you doing here?"

Large brown eyes peeked out from behind a beam. "Fang won't leave. Someone had to take care of him," she explained.

The adrenaline was still rushing through his body, enabling him to stand straight as he regarded his student. "At three o'clock in the morning? It is not safe for you here."

She raised an eyebrow and leaned over, so she could loom a little better, all righteous indignation. "Professor Dumbledore sent me," she pointed out.

"At what time?" he asked shrewdly.

She had the decency to look abashed. "Well ... five o'clock last night," she mumbled. He harrumphed. "He asked for a volunteer to assist the house-elves as they packed some of Hagrid's things up. I wanted to help."

The skin under her eyes was shadowed, and it was obvious she'd been crying. "Three weeks from your N.E.W.T.s? You should be revising."

She shrugged. Bad idea; she nearly fell. He took a step forward, alarmed, until he saw that her grip of the beam was sufficient to keep her from falling. "I'm okay," she gasped. "I can miss one night of revision, I've been doing little else since Easter," she added, struggling to right herself on the beam. "This is more important."

He was exhausted. "And where are Potter and Weasley?"

"They still need more revision."

"I don't doubt it," he muttered. The shakes were coming back, though his stomach seemed to be relaxing. "Get down from there and go back to your dormitory, Miss Granger." He leaned on the table; it kept him on his feet, and looking exasperated would, hopefully, disguise the fact that he was about to collapse.

Miss Granger gingerly let herself over the side of the beam, then swung down. She let go and dropped several feet, stumbling a little when she hit the floor. "Ouch. It's full moon tonight, sir. Besides, I can't possibly leave you alone out here."

She saw right through his ruse. Damn. "So Hagrid's hut is not safe for a full-grown wizard and duelling champion, but it is safe for a little, seventh-year, know-it-all witch who isn't even of age?" he snapped. Brilliant. We're stuck here until moonset.

"As you can't even stand on your own two feet, I wouldn't talk, sir." She moved closer, looking concerned. "And I am too of age," Miss Granger grumbled. "Please, Professor Snape, let me help you."

Hell

and damn. "Just leave me alone," he snapped.

"I can at least make you comfortable, sir, and then go for Madam Pomfrey or Professor Dumbledore. There doesn't seem to be anything else I can do for the Order," she griped.

His stomach lurched. "Do not speak of it so casually," he snapped, but his vehemence was lost in a nauseous gurgle. He dropped his wand and hastened to the nearest window. Flinging it open, he heaved himself dry once again. His throat burned and his eyes watered. Damn whoever created the Cruciatus Curse. Damn them to hell. Snape felt hands touch his shoulders, and he wondered what she was up to until he felt her firmly tuck his hair behind his ears. Shit. I don't want her involved. Why can't she just not be nosy, for once in her life?! He hated the thought that anyone had to see him like this.

Once his stomach had stopped its mayhem, he closed the window and slid to the floor. Severus leaned heavily against the wall. He clamped firmly down on a groan, but he couldn't stop the shakes. His teeth chattered as he clutched his aching abdomen. This bout of nausea had drained the last of his energy. "Merde," he breathed.

He felt cloth press against his mouth, then a cup. Miss Granger's other hand cradled the back of his head in a surprisingly gentle gesture. "Don't swallow this first, just rinse your mouth out," she instructed. He glared at her, turning his head away from the cup. She looked fearful and much older than her eighteen years in the moonlight. "Please," she whispered.

Snape knew that he was in no position to put up a fight. He accepted a little water into his mouth. A white basin seemed to float under his chin in the moonlight. "Spit," she said. Resigned, he obeyed again. Pressing the cloth to his lips once more, she asked, "Do you think your stomach can handle it if you drink?"

"Yes," he growled. He idly wondered if anyone could die of mortification or embarrassment. He could coin a new phrase: fatally embarrassed.

As he accepted a sip of water from the cup that Miss Granger held, Snape decided he'd never live this down. She was even holding the mug, like he was a child, for Merlin's sake! He reached up to take it, but she drew the cup away. "No," she said gently. Her hand reached back, under his hair, to support his head again. "Your hands are shaking too much, you'll spill." Miss Granger pressed the vessel to his mouth, and he took another sip. "You ... you feel feverish, sir," she said, looking concerned. Her fingers trailed along his neck, standing his hair on end, and her palm pressed against his cheek. "I can go --"

"No," he cried, looking into her anxious eyes. What kind of an idiot was she, offering to set foot outside while the full moon was above the horizon?! She had just pointed out that she couldn't leave.

"Shhht," she murmured, hand on his shoulder. "I'm just worried for you, sir."

What kind of rubbish was that?! Miss Granger hated him, she had to hate him after everything he'd said and done, these last seven years. "Have to protect Dumbledore's pet," Snape groused. She looked hurt, but she didn't say anything. She just pressed the cup to his lips again, her thumb drifting over his sharp cheekbone.

She looked across the room, then back at him, her brow wrinkled in thought. "Wait a moment, sir," she instructed. Snape closed his eyes and curled in on himself, willing his trembling muscles to relax. He heard a rustling noise. "Sir, I need you to move," she began.

He looked at her with all the venom he could muster. Are you blind?

She seemed to shrink a little, but she gestured to a quilt that she had just laid out on the floor. "Just shift your weight," Miss Granger explained.

Snape decided that he must really be exhausted, for him not to know what she was up to, and blindly obey. Still, he pocketed his dignity and tried to comply once again. Miss Granger knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, trying to help. He feebly brushed at her hands, muttering, "Geroff." Stubborn as a mule, that girl was. She guided him onto the blanket. He collapsed, coughing.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said, swishing and flicking perfectly. The quilt rose into the air, corners straining to reach the ceiling, cradling him in a large hammock of fabric.

It was at that moment that he gave up trying to second-guess Miss Granger.

The quilt, still carrying him, settled onto the bed. She tugged his boots off, then wrapped the edges of the quilt over him. He was still embarrassed, but he had to tell her something. "Don't --" he began, looking anxiously up at her.

"I won't," she interrupted. Miss Granger found his hand and pressed it between both of hers. "I'll only tell Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey about this. I swear it. Just go to sleep, Professor Snape, you need to rest."

That wasn't what he was going to say, though he was glad of the reassurance that she would keep her mouth shut. He trusted her. He had to. Of all the students in this school, she was more dependable and honest than any other. That comparison left a lot of room for improvement, but its implications were accurate, nonetheless. "Find Albus," Snape muttered, closing his eyes. He began to drift into slumber.

"What's the password to his office?"

"Azcid pop," he slurred.

"He'll be here soon," Miss Granger promised.

Though it hurt, he nodded, satisfied. His last conscious thought was to remind her not to go outdoors, but he couldn't wake himself enough to voice it. That was what he was going to say when she interrupted: Don't go out there. Wait until moonset. Surely the warning would be unnecessary. She may be a Gryffindor, but she was still a sensible little witch.

As he drifted into sleep, he dreamt something pleasant. But that was impossible; he always had nightmares after his gatherings with the Death Eaters ...