Meeting in the Middle, Chapter 1: The Fog of War
Alright, folks, be merciful! This is my first ever fic posting.
Title: Meeting in the Middle
Chapter 1: The Fog of War
Genres: Romance/Drama/Angst
Word count: 1,026
Rating: PG-13 for graphic gore (so far--higher rating later for the smut)
Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione agrees to an unusual request in order to help Snape survive a curse.
At first, Hermione thought she was dead. The silence was so absolute that she could hear the seal of her eyelids breaking as she opened her bleary eyes. Thick, white mist swirled around her, and she wondered for a moment if her parents--murdered last month in their beds--might come to welcome her to the afterlife. It was fitting that they should all three be killed by Voldemort's minions, she thought as she stood up to look for them.
Or tried to, anyway. Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell whimpering back to the ground, her shattered left foot flopping uselessly. All at once, the stench of the battle shoved filthy fingers up her nostrils, the howls of the wounded assaulted her ears, and she understood that she had survived after all.
She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the sounds around her. Many others were wounded, clearly, but she heard no hexes, no active battle. It was over, then.
Moaning, she struggled back into a sitting position and examined her foot. Whatever curse Yaxley had hit her with had turned the front of her shoe into hash. Huge beads of cold sweat stood out on her face as she gently pried away the remains of her Mary Jane. The black patent was slick with blood. With one final, agonizing tug the shoe came away, and she was left staring at the winking white bone of two of her toes.
Perhaps I'll get a metal foot like Mad-Eye, she thought wildly just before she leaned to the side and threw up all over her derelict shoe.
And someone else's shoe as well. She looked up, acid stinging her nose, and beheld the imposing figure of her former Potions master. He was staring dispassionately at her as he held a wad of fabric--his shirt, she realized--to his left forearm. It was saturated with blood. The skin of his chest was so pale it was almost translucent.
"You!" she hissed, groping dizzily for her wand.
He sighed, then, and toed the splinters of the vine wood wand over to her. "It's no use," he said softly. "It's broken, you know."
Still she seethed at him, even as her dubious strength began to wane and he appeared to double, treble. She blinked and shook her head, and the three Snapes coalesced back into one, who was currently frowning at her thoughtfully.
"You're hurt," he said, and it seemed to her he was having difficulty making his mouth form the words. He's in shock, too, she realized.
But she hardened her heart. One thought emerged from the haze of pain surrounding her, and it was that she must not die sitting at the feet of the traitor.
Grunting in pain, Hermione reached out and fisted both hands in the fabric of Snape's pants. Taking care not to put any weight on her left foot, she slowly, slowly grappled her way up his body until she was more or less upright. In her delerium, she never noticed that Snape slid one foot back to brace himself so he could take more of her weight.
Since Snape wore no shirt, she grabbed his right forearm, which was crossed in front of his abdomen so he could hold the compress to his left arm. Her shaking fingers dug into his skin.
She leaned in until she was inches from his haunted eyes and whispered, "I saw you die." She cocked her head. "Why are you still alive?" He inhaled sharply just as her knees buckled once again and she swayed backward, eyes rolling up in her head.
Without hesitating, he dropped the bloody compress and wrapped both arms around her, then picked her up and staggered off to the castle. Dimly she felt his blood pulsing out onto her where his forearm touched her, just behind her knee. She felt the thick slide of it as it ran down her thigh and saturated her underwear beneath her skirt. She hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn't think it was her blood and jump to conclusions about her having a miscarriage or something. Wouldn't it be hilarious if I died of blood loss from my foot while Pomfrey tried to save my imaginary child? she thought bitterly.
Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes as Snape carried her into the castle and up the stairs to the hospital wing. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the comfort of being held, even if it was by a liar and a murderer. She felt the belabored beat of his heart next to her ear and wondered if she ought to be surprised he had one.
"Not far now, Miss Granger," he murmured, and the rumbling of his deep voice tickled her cold cheek.
She knew the moment they entered the hospital wing, not from the faint smell of Pepper-Up that clung to the place, but from the outraged shrieks of Madam Pomfrey the second she and Snape came through the door.
She sprang from behind an overturned hospital bed, wand pointed shakily at Snape, but didn't actually curse him. Hermione wondered whether it was because he held an injured student or because she didn't have it in her to hurt someone.
"Your vengeance will keep for a moment," he said dryly as he staggered the last few steps to the nearest bed and dropped Hermione on it. "But first, I believe you've promised to 'first do no harm', so heal us if you please, and we'll talk about the question of my guilt afterward." He collapsed into the bed next to Hermione, and she heard Pomfrey's gasp as the extent of both their injuries became clear. She turned her head and saw that he'd flung his right arm over his eyes. There were tiny bloody crescents where her fingernails had broken the fish-white skin.
The capable nurse cast stasis charms over the both of them, and Hermione finally gave in and slid into unconsciousness. As she closed her eyes, she thought she heard him whisper desolately, "After all, we wouldn't want me to die, would we?"
Title: Meeting in the Middle
Chapter 1: The Fog of War
Genres: Romance/Drama/Angst
Word count: 1,026
Rating: PG-13 for graphic gore (so far--higher rating later for the smut)
Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione agrees to an unusual request in order to help Snape survive a curse.
At first, Hermione thought she was dead. The silence was so absolute that she could hear the seal of her eyelids breaking as she opened her bleary eyes. Thick, white mist swirled around her, and she wondered for a moment if her parents--murdered last month in their beds--might come to welcome her to the afterlife. It was fitting that they should all three be killed by Voldemort's minions, she thought as she stood up to look for them.
Or tried to, anyway. Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell whimpering back to the ground, her shattered left foot flopping uselessly. All at once, the stench of the battle shoved filthy fingers up her nostrils, the howls of the wounded assaulted her ears, and she understood that she had survived after all.
She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the sounds around her. Many others were wounded, clearly, but she heard no hexes, no active battle. It was over, then.
Moaning, she struggled back into a sitting position and examined her foot. Whatever curse Yaxley had hit her with had turned the front of her shoe into hash. Huge beads of cold sweat stood out on her face as she gently pried away the remains of her Mary Jane. The black patent was slick with blood. With one final, agonizing tug the shoe came away, and she was left staring at the winking white bone of two of her toes.
Perhaps I'll get a metal foot like Mad-Eye, she thought wildly just before she leaned to the side and threw up all over her derelict shoe.
And someone else's shoe as well. She looked up, acid stinging her nose, and beheld the imposing figure of her former Potions master. He was staring dispassionately at her as he held a wad of fabric--his shirt, she realized--to his left forearm. It was saturated with blood. The skin of his chest was so pale it was almost translucent.
"You!" she hissed, groping dizzily for her wand.
He sighed, then, and toed the splinters of the vine wood wand over to her. "It's no use," he said softly. "It's broken, you know."
Still she seethed at him, even as her dubious strength began to wane and he appeared to double, treble. She blinked and shook her head, and the three Snapes coalesced back into one, who was currently frowning at her thoughtfully.
"You're hurt," he said, and it seemed to her he was having difficulty making his mouth form the words. He's in shock, too, she realized.
But she hardened her heart. One thought emerged from the haze of pain surrounding her, and it was that she must not die sitting at the feet of the traitor.
Grunting in pain, Hermione reached out and fisted both hands in the fabric of Snape's pants. Taking care not to put any weight on her left foot, she slowly, slowly grappled her way up his body until she was more or less upright. In her delerium, she never noticed that Snape slid one foot back to brace himself so he could take more of her weight.
Since Snape wore no shirt, she grabbed his right forearm, which was crossed in front of his abdomen so he could hold the compress to his left arm. Her shaking fingers dug into his skin.
She leaned in until she was inches from his haunted eyes and whispered, "I saw you die." She cocked her head. "Why are you still alive?" He inhaled sharply just as her knees buckled once again and she swayed backward, eyes rolling up in her head.
Without hesitating, he dropped the bloody compress and wrapped both arms around her, then picked her up and staggered off to the castle. Dimly she felt his blood pulsing out onto her where his forearm touched her, just behind her knee. She felt the thick slide of it as it ran down her thigh and saturated her underwear beneath her skirt. She hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn't think it was her blood and jump to conclusions about her having a miscarriage or something. Wouldn't it be hilarious if I died of blood loss from my foot while Pomfrey tried to save my imaginary child? she thought bitterly.
Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes as Snape carried her into the castle and up the stairs to the hospital wing. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the comfort of being held, even if it was by a liar and a murderer. She felt the belabored beat of his heart next to her ear and wondered if she ought to be surprised he had one.
"Not far now, Miss Granger," he murmured, and the rumbling of his deep voice tickled her cold cheek.
She knew the moment they entered the hospital wing, not from the faint smell of Pepper-Up that clung to the place, but from the outraged shrieks of Madam Pomfrey the second she and Snape came through the door.
She sprang from behind an overturned hospital bed, wand pointed shakily at Snape, but didn't actually curse him. Hermione wondered whether it was because he held an injured student or because she didn't have it in her to hurt someone.
"Your vengeance will keep for a moment," he said dryly as he staggered the last few steps to the nearest bed and dropped Hermione on it. "But first, I believe you've promised to 'first do no harm', so heal us if you please, and we'll talk about the question of my guilt afterward." He collapsed into the bed next to Hermione, and she heard Pomfrey's gasp as the extent of both their injuries became clear. She turned her head and saw that he'd flung his right arm over his eyes. There were tiny bloody crescents where her fingernails had broken the fish-white skin.
The capable nurse cast stasis charms over the both of them, and Hermione finally gave in and slid into unconsciousness. As she closed her eyes, she thought she heard him whisper desolately, "After all, we wouldn't want me to die, would we?"