Sanguinem Maledicta

8

Hermione woke up in the hospital wing; her head had been wrapped in bandages so that it was hard for her to even open her eyes. Apparently, she hit her head when she fell and although Madam Pomfrey's medicines were known to work wonders when it came to healing, her curse made it difficult to do that too, so that Hermione had to stay an extra day at the hospital wing in order to recover.

While laying idle in bed, she had vague recollections of the night before. When she was on the verge of unconsciousness, she remembered Snape picking her up and rushing her to the hospital, she recalled bits and pieces of the conversation he had with Pomfrey, saying that he regretted that his hesitance in catching her before she fell had led to her getting hurt, how he was concerned about the viscosity of her blood, which had become thinner. He had wanted to make haste and prepare another poultice for her but the medi-witch had diagnosed Hermione and observed that her condition was too fragile to go through that right now.

Snape was nowhere around and Hermione was pretty sure he was holed up in his lab; he was a stubborn man, he probably disregarded the fact that another poultice treatment might be futile and he was concentrating hard on how to make Hermione better again.

At the end of the day, she was released and when she went back to their quarters, a cloud of amalgamated potion fumes struck her forcefully. The whole room looked like a bomb had gone off; all the furniture had been shrunk and shoved against the far wall, there were several new tables, covered with cauldrons of all shapes and sizes and ingredients messily scattered across the surfaces.

Snape was sitting on the ground, with his head in his hands. He seemed helpless and defeated, like he was about to tear his hair off. She had seen that look before- when he had reached a dead-end.

She knew it- she saw it in Pomfrey's eyes when she had taken her leave. That there was slim chance that Hermione was going to survive the night. She needed the treatment, but her body was incapable of bearing it any more. The cursed blood was choking her heart- she knew it, felt it.

The matron wasn't too keen on her leaving the hospital, but Hermione had insisted she went back to her room. If she was going to die, she preferred to die in a familiar place, at least. And besides, she wanted to go back to Snape, if only to thank the man who had spent countless amount of time for her. Even if in the end- it was all in vain.

But Snape looked like he was not ready to accept that he had lost. He was not even aware of her presence as he sat clawing his brain to be hit with a new wave, so that he could think of a plausible next step.

She cautiously approached the hunched figure and slowly put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't even react to the touch, he looked vaguely aware that someone else was there. She grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Severus...?"

She felt that it was necessary to approach him by calling him by his name; he was disturbed and if he could get a sense of familiarity, he perhaps wouldn't react brashly. And her tone was soothing and reassuring. She couldn't believe that she was the one who was dying and she was consoling someone else. But he looked like he was consumed by guilt and he really needed to be assured that all this wasn't his fault.

Snape looked up and for a second she thought that perhaps he couldn't even recognize her. His eyes looked wild and unfocused, his face lined with worry and he was worn down. He looked disconcertingly maniacal as he jumped up and quickly moved, about to shove three vials towards her.

"Take these." he said without preamble.

Hermione blinked, making no effort to hold the vials. He forced them into her hand and made to move over and collect some more. But she held him back.