A/N - My first Fic in a very long time. This story will eventually tackle some dark themes and trigger warnings will be placed ahead of relevant chapters, without trying to give away too much.

June 9th 1998:

Pain. Her first thought upon waking was white hot, blistering pain. Her second and somewhat begrudging thought was that Scotland was supposed to be dull and overcast. The sun had barely risen but already bands of light were streaming through the windows and setting the room aglow. Another day, in another lifetime, Hermione might have thrown the bed covers over her face to try and capture a few extra minutes of slumber; or at the very least conjured some thicker curtains to keep the rays at bay. Such attempts would be fruitless on this morning, however. If sleep had mostly evaded her for the past eight hours, no doubt the next thirty minutes wouldn't be any different.

She cast a very quiet tempus charm. Quarter past five. Enough time to sneak down to the dungeons and collect what she required, but she'd have to be quick; the castle would be a hive of activity straight after breakfast. Jaw clenched, she steeled herself for the inevitable wave of pain and nausea that would come with standing up. It took longer to pass than last time, not a good sign, surely.

Hermione looked around the unfamiliar dormitory, checking for other signs of life. Gentle breathing and snores came from all angles, she was pleased to notice. She pulled her faithful beaded bag from under her pillow and wordlessly summoned a change of clothes for the day, hesitating when a pair of jeans and t shirt landed in her lap. Comfort was the name of the game today, she told herself whilst sending the denims back into the dark depths of the bag. She chose instead a pair of well worn black leggings and long, baggy dress which came almost to her knees. After realising she was shivering slightly, she shrugged on a cardigan too. Yes, a warm and sunny day had dawned, but it was an old, draughty castle that still had countless windows missing and holes in its ancient walls. THAT was why she was shaking! She almost managed to convince herself.

With one final, silent spell sent at her bed, she tiptoed from the room.

Padding out of earshot of any sleeping guest of the castle, she paused in a deserted corridor to pull on her shoes. Bracing against a wall, she found she couldn't bend over all the way to ease her feet in and on throwing her head back in frustration, realised she was slightly out of breath. She cursed her own naivety; she would never manage this task if she couldn't get her own bloody shoes on!

"I say! Are you quite alright, young lady? Would you like me to send for assistance?"

The voice, although quiet, startled Hermione in the silence of the deserted corridor. With rambling excuses and apologies, she thanked the kindly portrait with all the fervour she could muster. The jolt of adrenaline from the shock gave all she needed to press on towards her destination, leaving the blasted shoes where they lay.

The castle was large, nobody who has visited Hogwarts or knew anything of it would say differently. Hermione marvelled how she used to get from one class to another so quickly when a short walk to the dungeons seemed to be taking a lifetime.

She quickly tried to distract herself with an academic problem or riddle to make her mind focus on anything other than the terrible, gut wrenching pain she was in.

"Think, think, think. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. Come on. Distract Yourself. Recite a book. No, too easy. Think about arithmancy probl… NO!"

She stopped dead in her tracks. No, not that one. She thought of that yesterday, to distract herself from… never mind.

"Ok, book recital it is."

She tried to smile as she thought of the front cover of Hogwarts: A History in her mind's eye. That will do.

Hermione rounded the last corner and spied the thick, heavy door to the potions classroom. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry, although whether it was from the pain or from sheer relief, she couldn't guess.

The hard part was truly over, she realised. Professor Slughorn was not as strict as his predecessor and a couple of accio charms pointed in the general direction of the store cupboard, had every single potion she had wanted whizzing towards her grateful, open hands. She had already downed two vials before drawing breath.

She sighed happily as the pain relief potion took hold and straightened her stance. Nobody would be able to guess a thing! She stowed away enough pain reliever to get through two days, she imagined. If the symptoms hadn't started to subside, she'd need to get brewing. But that was another problem for another day.

Another tempus charm showed that half an hour had passed since she got up. She'd be in the Great Hall just in time to blend in with the early risers.

One month earlier:

May 9th 1998:

"Oh come on 'Mione! I bet we've only seen you three or four times in the past week! She's not even at dinner and stuff, is she Harry?"

Ron's eyes met his best friend's, filled with hidden pleas to back him up. In response, Harry's own eyes drifted over to Hermione, who was focusing very hard on the list she was writing. Not wanting to take sides, he mulled over his answer carefully before speaking.

"You know what, after months of surviving on berries and those tiny fish we could catch, I'm surprised any of us can even drag ourselves away from the table!"

Ron, clearly displeased with the attempted change of subject, gave a raised eyebrow in response before rounding back on the woman before him.

"Seriously babe. We need to get the castle back on its feet. You know most of the order won't leave until it's back the way it was. Including Mum and Dad, so I can't go home either. And I'm sick of being here now, I want to start living my life. And you know you're the cleverest person here, I bet you could do loads to help. We'd be loads quicker if you came and helped us with the rebuilding!"

Ron finished his rambling with an awkward shrug of his shoulders.

"Ron! I AM helping, just not doing the same things as you. We don't have to be joined at the hip all the time! Besides, you have plenty of hands on deck already!"

"I know you are, but…"

"Look, I've got to go. I'll catch you both later". Hermione punctuated her sentence with one last flourish of her quill, before shoving both that and the parchment she had been scribbling on into her bag. She quickly left the room without a glance at either of them.

Harry looked at his best friend and nodded towards the door through which she had left. They both stood and lazily strolled through it, into the courtyard beyond. Once clear of the building's shadow, Harry raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes, thinking for the hundredth time that week how grateful he was to be alive.

"What was it you said again Harry?" Ron said with a sigh. "Tell her how you feel, Ron. Tell her you want to spend time with her, Ron. Yeah great advice mate. T'riffic".

A cloud moved in front of the sun, and Harry reluctantly opened his eyes before answering. "Yeah tell her how you feel – not tell her she's not pulling her weight!"

"You know I didn't mean for it to come out like that! I just miss her! And you know I'm not good with all the mushy stuff!"

They altered their course around a particularly large pile of rubble and stepped once more into a patch of dazzling sunlight.

"Maybe, Ron… Maybe she's just struggling with it all. We all cope with things differently. She might just not want to be here. A lot of people died." Harry paused and looked around him, spying the very place Tom Riddle's body fell. It was an image that would be burned in his mind forever. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"You know they found another body under some debris yesterday? A death eater I think, but still. She doesn't want to be an auror like we do. She's had enough of checking for curses and identifying corpses. I don't blame her to be honest."

"I know mate, me either. She's just… she's the one that kept us going. You know what I mean? Even my mum is here helping with all the building work and she lost… This is where…"

Ron suddenly looked away, blinking furiously. Harry noticed a particularly interesting scuff mark on his trainers to stare at while waiting for Ron to carry on.

"It's just weird that she's not bossing us around, I suppose. I thought we'd have colour coded to-do lists from her, and have her moan when we're saying the incantations wrong."

They both shared a small smile, the sudden sadness at the memory of Ron's lost brother forgotten for a moment. They walked through the archway where two huge front doors used to hang, sharing tales of happier times.

By the time Harry and Ron had reached the great hall, they were both chuckling at the memory of charmed, talking homework planners. They hesitated for a moment as they looked where to sit. There were no traces of the four huge dining tables that once sat here. Instead there were dozens of smaller tables with chairs. It looked to most like an old fashioned restaurant. It had been decided, once the battle scarred, broken fragments of the tables had been cleared that these might serve as a temporary replacement. With so many volunteers being older or injured in some way, chairs were certainly easier to sit at than the old benches too.

The two boys quickly found a sea of red hair amongst the fifty-something people present and dropped into two of the empty chairs at their table. Harry reached under the table to the seat on his right and found a small, soft hand. He gave a gentle squeeze and a small smile before heaping food onto his plate.

Ron was barely following the conversation between his father and Percy. It was politics bullshit, he concluded early on. He absolutely avoided looking in George's direction, lest he catch a glimpse of the pure grief he would see there. He tore a mouthful of meat from the chicken drumstick he was holding and turned his attention to his mother, who was currently talking to Ginny. He smirked as he noticed Harry was staring at his sister although she wasn't currently speaking.

"… bless them! Cracking on with cooking for dozens of people without even batting an eye, aren't they? Is Kreacher still here, Harry?"

Unable to talk through a mouthful of mashed potato, Harry simply nodded his head a couple of times. A smile formed at Mrs Weasley's lips but didn't quite add any warmth to her brown eyes.

"Ahh that's good for him – I've often thought it was solitude that made him so cantankerous! But anyway, look at all this… I didn't realise they're sending different meals to each table! They're rushed off their feet the poor dears! And have you seen what they're sending to the hospital wing?!"

Ron tucked into his plate with added gusto, pleased that his mother was filling the silence. Even though sadness was etched into each line on her face, it was clear she had convinced herself that acting normal was the best path forward. It could have been any other morning at The Burrow.

Just as he was mopping the last of his gravy up with his fifth Yorkshire pudding, Ron suddenly felt his ears prick up and tune into the conversation once more.

"I said to Hermione, I said to her- Madam Pomfrey would have been lost without you this past week! Poppy was saying to me yesterday that she's gotten through more potions, salves and bandages since the battle than her entire time at Hogwarts, she thinks!"

"But why aren't they transferring people to St Mungo's? Surely it's better equipped than we are, especially in the middle of rebuilding a bloody castle?" Ginny asked with a frown.

"Well they have now, Ginny dear. After the dust settled and the minor injuries were treated. The only patient she has now is poor Severus. She's too scared to move him, she told me"

"Is his condition still so serious?" Harry exclaimed louder than he intended. He didn't notice Arthur and Percy's glances from the other end of the table.

Molly blanched slightly under the force of Harry's stare. She knew, like all members of the order what Severus' true motives had been during the war. Harry had seen to that almost immediately, as soon as he had discovered the absolute miracle that Nagini's bite hadn't been fatal. Harry had been his fiercest defender, telling all who needed to hear what a good man Severus was, and demanding that he deserved the very best care they could offer while he recovered.

Ginny sensed her boyfriend's concern and covered his hand with her own. "Of course it's not that serious. You went to see him yesterday, didn't you? And Madam Pomfrey said she's going to try and wake him up next week! What's he still doing here, Mum?"

Molly's gaze slid down the table to rest on her husband, who cleared his throat and carefully picked his next sentence. "The thing is Harry, he's still got a lot to recover from. Look how long I was knocked off my feet from that ruddy snake! We just want to keep him somewhere safe while he recuperates. Professor McGonagall is really keen to…"

"Why wouldn't he be safe at St Mungo's?" Harry interrupted, keen to get to the point. Arthur sighed and ran a tired hand across his face.

"Not everyone knows the full story yet Harry, and not everyone who has heard it believes it to be the truth yet. There are some people out there who want vengeance for their losses. Grief can turn to anger and… we wouldn't want that, would we?" He finished somewhat lamely.

Harry felt his face flush with rage as he considered what narrow minded people would feel that way. He was trying to fathom a response without swearing for Mrs Weasley's sake when he heard Ron's voice.

"The greasy git will be fine! Just rewind a sec, Mum. You're telling me Hermione has been in the hospital wing all this time, changing his bandages?" The redhead waited for his mother's response with his mouth slightly agape in disbelief.

"Heaven's no! Do you think Severus would let anyone near him but Poppy? She's been brewing, I think! Horace has been convalescing on the east coast and I don't think anyone else has offered." Molly followed her words with a questioning brow.

In lieu of an explanation, Ron pushed his chair back with a screech and a hurried farewell before briskly walking out. A moment of silence fell upon the table before Molly attached a smile she hoped looked genuine before asking sweetly "Harry dear, would you like some treacle tart? The house elves clearly know it's your favourite!"

The doors to the hospital wing swung open, disturbing the silence of the deserted ward. A mop of bushy brown hair obscured any facial features as Ron spotted Hermione bent over stocking some shelves with dozens of small bottles.

"There you are!" Ron boomed from the other end of the room.

She looked up, startled before pressing a small finger to her lips and nodding towards patterned curtains obscuring a bed from view. She rose and walked quickly to meet Ron as close to the door as possible. As she drew near, Ron grinned widely.

"Been looking everywhere for you" he proudly exclaimed.

She stood before him, just out of arm's reach and nervously picked at the stitching on her sleeve.

"What's up?" She asked, not quite looking him in the eye.

Ron's smile faltered and reached for her hand. His fingers didn't connect before Hermione pulled her arm back abruptly, taking a step away as she did so.

"Are you avoiding me?" he asked in a small voice.

"What…?" She tried to formulate a response without success; just managing to stammer without words.

"It's ok, you know; things don't have to be awkward. We were in the middle of a battle for God's sake".

Hermione's head was swimming. True, the lack of sleep might be catching up with her at long last and her body hadn't had decent nourishment in months. She couldn't follow his train of thought at all and finally voiced her confusion.

"What are you on about?" She asked in a hushed voice.

Ron's brows knitted together at her tone, his own voice lowering as he heard slight movement from the direction of Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Us. You and me. I'm just saying I don't expect anything from you, even you did kiss me back… You don't have to hide away from me…". He dropped his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck.

At one time, the familiar gesture might have sparked affection in Hermione's mind. Instead it fuelled her annoyance.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Ronald" She retorted in an icy tone. "I'm busy, so if you don't mind.." Her eyes shot pointedly towards the door through which he'd just arrived.

He clamped his teeth as a red flush spread over his cheeks. Standing tall, Ron swept together the last of his pride, but couldn't help the small inflection that turned his statement into a question.

"Fine, I'm guessing we're over then…?"

The brown eyes that met his had no warmth as she replied with no emotion.

"We never even started"

One month later

June 10th 1998:

She was completing her weekly stock check in Madam Pomfrey's vast cupboards, trying to focus on cataloguing the vials present. Hermione was pleased she was helping in the hospital wing. Not that there were any patients that needed her assistance right now, but whatever stocks hadn't been destroyed in the battle had been depleted helping the injured.

Truthfully, she liked the peace and quiet that potion making had afforded her. It had been a good distraction. She needed a distraction now. The pain relief potion she had hoped would last two days had barely lasted twenty-four hours and she noticed her hands were starting to shake.

She lifted the back of one trembling hand to wipe away beads of sweat upon her forehead. She would have to make excuses tomorrow and go back. She was getting worse, not better. The orange sun setting over the distant green hills told her it was too late to go today, and she cursed her own foolishness.

Sitting cross legged on the floor near the open cupboard, Hermione realised with a start that a dose of dreamless sleep would work in lieu of a pain reliever potion. She was just wondering why her foggy brain hadn't thought of the simple compromise thus far when Madam Pomfrey's voice interrupted her musings.

"Come now Severus, it's only been five weeks; you were unconscious for nearly two of those"

"Exactly" came the curt reply. "That's more sleep than I've had in years. I will manage to complete my recovery quite well in the privacy of my quarters, thank you."

The floral curtain surrounding the very end bed was suddenly thrown open and the tall, thin frame of Severus Snape stalked towards the door, although much slower and more carefully than she remembered.

His dark eyes swept over her and he passed, then jerked back in a double take; finally coming to a halt a few feet from where she sat.

He said nothing, but turned his gaze to the older woman who had caught up with him.

"Ah yes, Miss Granger here has been helping me replenish our potion stocks, Severus. Surely you've noticed her around the ward?" The matron's tone was almost apologetic, although expecting a reprimand for recruiting a student.

"And how many points have you awarded to Gryffindor, Poppy?" Severus sarcastically replied as he looked to continue walking without addressing the young woman on the floor.

He stopped short as he appraised her a second time. Hermione, feeling awkward under his searching gaze shifted uncomfortably and turned her attention back to the vials in her hand.

"Poppy I do have concerns…" he began, still looking intently. "How many potions have been contaminated with Dragon Pox or Sweating Sickness or whatever it is Miss Granger is suffering from…?"

Hermione's head shot up, fear forming a tight knot in her stomach. He suspected. She needed to get away before they looked any closer. She scrambled to her feet, trying to ignore both the creeping feeling of anxiety and the searing flashes of agony, lest she give anything further away.

"Hermione! You look frightful! Whatever is the matter, dear? Why didn't you say anything?" Madam Pomfrey stepped forward reaching out a kind hand that Hermione dodged.

"I'm fine, just not sleeping. Don't think anyone is really, are they? Must be catching up at last. Might go get my head down now actually. Yes, that's a good idea. Bye Madam Pomfrey, Professor."

She whirled on the spot, planning to bolt for the door and the sanctuary of her bed, or the closest bathroom. She body stopped moving, but the room did not. Spinning, spinning while muffled voices called her name. They sounded so far away. Everything was spinning. Faster and faster until there was nothing but whiteness.