Disclaimer: never did and never will own it. J.K. Rowling does.
Spoilers: Order of the Phoenix
Thank you to my beta, Nakhash Mekashefah!

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~ Living On Borrowed Time - Shake The Cloud From Off Your Brow ~

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He could still remember the feeling of slowly dying, even though he knew it was not truly happening. Voldemort was weakening and would be easy prey to Harry Potter and his allies because he was draining the Dark Lord’s life force, yet he felt useless in the final fight. He wanted it to finally be over and done with. Then she entered, like a light in his darkness, and she stopped his slow descent into madness.

He distinctly remembered her leaving for the fight and, though he couldn’t begrudge her for wanting to be in the middle of the action, he regretted that she had left him in his last moments. Watching her as she moved toward him, he knew there were countless things he had wanted to tell her, yet he also knew he would never breathe a word of them. It was far too late and he didn’t want her to live with any regrets for what might – or might not – have been.

“I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you again,” he said, quite mortified to hear that his tone was more wistful than mocking.

Fortunately, she didn’t reply with some soppy line. A light smile crossed her lips as she answered, “It was getting boring.”

“So you preferred to return to the bedside of a dying man?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow quizzically.

“You may be a lot of things, Severus, but you are never boring.”

She sat by his bed and handed him a glass of wine.

“Dead man’s last drink?”

“Your favourite wine. I thought we could share a glass together, before… well, just before.”

“Where’s Poppy?”

“She’s in the library trying to find a cure for your… problem.”

She was lying and he knew it. She had never been very good at lying to him. But he didn’t care if she had stunned Poppy, or anything else, as long as he could spend his last moments with her. He didn’t even have the heart to scold her as he might have done some days earlier, telling her that if she insisted on telling lies, at least she could practice to make them sound believable.

She looked at the clock above his bed and raised her glass. Silently, he imitated her; they both knew they were running out of time. He looked at his glass; almost smiling at his near whimsical observation that the colour of the wine matched the robes she was wearing that day, he took a sip. The taste was altered. He didn’t put it past Hermione to have mixed something in his drink to make his end more bearable. To be truthful, he wasn’t in a hurry to feel the Killing Curse or whatever nicety Harry had in store for Voldemort. He took another sip; he knew he should have recognised the potion she added, but his mind was curiously blank. He looked at her.

“I’m glad you brewed the potion,” he said softly.

She had a tight smile.

“I didn’t want to.”

“But I knew you would do it. You were the only one able to brew it and understand its importance. You wouldn’t deny me this small part in the Dark Lord’s death.”

Before she could answer, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Hermione caught his glass as he fell backwards and the last words he heard were, “Goodbye, Severus.”

Then darkness engulfed him and he knew no more.


~*~


Those last moments continued to haunt him. He now knew what potion had been mixed with his wine and, with each recurrence of memory, he savoured the irony of his thanking her for brewing the potion. He should have known that, even though not truly denying him his revenge against Voldemort, she would do such a Gryffindor thing as to deny him full redemption through death. He blamed himself for his blindness; he knew her better than anyone else – or so he flattered himself – and her quiet resignation to the whole plot should have alarmed him. But at the time, he had simply been selfishly grateful not to hear any recriminations from her.

Now, even if he had to dedicate his entire life to the task, he would find a way to cure her. She had wanted him to be free, but he would never truly be free as long as she was trapped in this endless sleep. No matter how genuine her gift had been, he was still living a borrowed life and he didn’t want this kind of life anymore, not now when his arm was finally bare of the Dark Mark.

So, for her sake, he had resigned himself to doing something he would never have done for himself. He had given it much thought while brewing the potion to rid himself of the Dark Mark. Each time he had arrived at the same conclusion. Which was why he was now standing in front of the door of the Potions master who had taken Hermione on as his apprentice and trained her for her current position as Potions mistress. The two wizards didn’t like each other very much and Severus mentally gritted his teeth at having to ask for his assistance.

He had felt the tingling of the wards being activated as he approached the house. By now, the owner was aware of the arrival of a visitor. He knocked at the door.

It opened silently as a distant voice called out, “Come in, Severus, I was expecting you.”

He wondered momentarily if it was some privilege of old wizards to appear irritatingly omniscient or if Albus had, once again, meddled in his private affairs, and then realised that only one person could have warned the old Potions master of his possible arrival. He felt a curious sensation of betrayal, as if he was just a toy in her hands, as if all the protestations in her letter had been lies to manipulate him into playing her game. He was almost tempted to turn away, but he had his honour to maintain, even if a Gryffindor mocked it. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold.

The door closed softly behind him, though he didn’t hear the latch click. Glancing behind, he noticed that the door was ajar, as if to leave him some means of escape. Yes, a trapped snake could be most dangerous and it appeared his host was not eager to entertain such a guest. A wry smile twisted his lips before he regained his usual closed countenance and faced the only other door in the parlour. The sound of steps could be heard approaching the room. From the amount of time it was taking for the person to appear, Severus guessed that the voice had been enhanced magically. He sighed inwardly and, while waiting for his host to appear, took the time to wonder fleetingly why he couldn’t just follow the Slytherin code of self-interest and forget all about this mad quest.

An old wizard entered the room and studied him at length. They had known each other for quite a long time and it wasn’t difficult for him to decipher the rigid stance of the stern wizard in front of him or to guess at the doubts assailing him.

His eyes slightly hooded, as if he would have preferred to remain silent, the older man spoke.

“In truth, I wasn’t completely sure you would come. She only said that you may come and, considering our relationship of mutual animosity, I didn’t think it likely.”

Relief flooded Severus. She hadn’t taken his compliance for granted! The sense of betrayal lifted.

“She said that your twisted sense of honour would push you to come. I didn’t know you had any notion of what honour was.”

Severus glared at the old wizard.

“Why you barmy old codger, don’t think because I’m standing here you can–”

At the same time, his interlocutor said, “Ah, I apologise. I am supposed to forget all our differences for now.”

A bit ashamed at forgetting his purpose for being here, Severus fell silent.

The other wizard made as if nothing had happened and added softly, “Follow me.”

They entered a smaller room filled with books – presumably the library – and he waved Severus toward a seat.

“So, before anything else, how is Hermione?”


~*~


Severus froze.

“What exactly did she tell you?” he asked carefully.

“That perhaps you would come here to talk about a rare potion and that she would be incapable of helping you herself. It must have cost her to make such a statement.”

“Rare potion, indeed. I wish I had never heard of it. Of course, the war wouldn’t be over now and I would be dead, but she– oh, never mind,” muttered Severus.

“And she asked me to put aside any resentment I have against you, whether it be because of her or Remus Lupin.”

Severus’s face grimaced into a twisted smile. Remus Lupin had been the reason for the first of their ‘infamous’ rows, when he had discovered her trying to make changes to the Wolfsbane potion. She had been the one brewing it regularly for Remus, Severus having washed his hands of the task with glee. She knew the process by heart and also how instable the mixture was. She had yelled at him that if he didn’t stop behaving like a child, she would dose Remus with Veritaserum, if necessary, and thus prove to him that his resentment against the werewolf was ridiculous. The mere memory of it made him wish he could still have such passionate arguments with her.

The older wizard didn’t notice that Severus’s attention had wandered; he was lost in his own memories of discussions with Hermione. With a start he returned to the present.

“Oh well, better you should read her letter. Then you will know exactly what I know about her plans. Accio letter!”

He handed the parchment to Severus. Seeing words he had not yet read, written in her familiar handwriting, almost made him believe that she wasn’t on her sick bed in the Hospital Wing, until the date at the top of the letter disabused him of this little fantasy. She had written it the very day she had given him the potion for the second time. Sighing internally, he began to read.


~*~


Dear Master,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wish it could be more of a casual letter, but it isn’t. I have a favour to ask of you. Severus and I encountered a problem with a rare potion recently and I am unable to help him. The only one I can truly think of who would be able to help him progress is you; I know he will come to the same conclusion. Though I sincerely hope he will, for once, listen to me and drop this matter, I fear his twisted sense of honour won’t leave him in peace until the problem is solved. I find myself both hoping he will and will not come to you.

In case he does, would you please, for me, forget all the hatreds remaining between you? I know some of them concern Remus and myself, but Severus has long since come to peace with them. Please, Master, consider my request carefully. You know as I do that Severus is a proud man and if he does come to you, it’s because he believes in the righteousness of his cause. Do not mock him and deprive him of his best ally because of pride. He makes the first step in coming, with a non-spoken offer of truce, and I wish you to make the second one, allowing both of you to work companionably.

Of course, it may be that, for once, I made him see reason and he doesn’t come. I truly don’t know what he will do. If you hear of him living a peaceful life, then forget all about my request; destroy this letter and know that this is my dearest wish for him.

With all my affections and gratitude,

Hermione


~*~


Severus looked up at the old wizard who was waiting patiently for him to finish reading the letter before speaking.

“It’s a strange letter, isn’t it? For a Gryffindor she’s quite able to keep a secret. I can’t for the life of me understand a word of what she said.”

“She’s known how to keep a secret since her third year at least. She maybe told you of possessing a Time Turner and of being aware that Lupin was a werewolf almost from the beginning.”

“I had heard. Now, out with this secret! And how is Hermione?”

“Well, she tells the truth in her letter when stating her pleading is for herself. She probably didn’t tell you everything because she feared you would come charging into Hogwarts asking for my hide.”

“If you harmed her in any way…” growled the old wizard, half-rising from his seat.

“Not directly, but indirectly, yes. And I came to you so you would help me to undo what she did.”

Hearing Severus Snape ask for help was a rarity and the old wizard sat back, in deep thought.

“I have the feeling it will be a long story,” he remarked before calling a house-elf for tea.

“First of all, I’m supposedly dead. Among those knowing of my ‘death’, very few are aware of the truth. If it were not for Hermione, I truly would be dead now. But she had to succumb to Gryffindor brashness and save my life.”

“It’s a habit with you to have your life saved by Gryffindors,” said the old wizard, frowning at the first sip of his tea and adding a sugar lump. “But you always made a point to repay them for it. I guess that’s what she called ‘your twisted sense of honour’.”

Severus chose to overlook that last comment.

“I wouldn’t begrudge Hermione for it as I resented Potter. In fact, I would have lived with it without any problem if not for the nature of the potion involved.”

“Ah, the mysterious potion!”

“It’s a Dark potion, naturally, and don’t glare at me like that. I didn’t want her to use it. It was intended for me and me alone.”

He told him everything, how he had found a way to weaken Voldemort, how Hermione had brewed the potion, and how she had turned it against him. Even the last letter she had written to him of which he had left a copy with Albus. Several times, the old wizard had looked as if he were ready to hex him, but he calmed slightly while reading her letter, the same way Severus hoped it had calmed Harry and Ron.

“Yes, it sounds like Hermione,” he said wistfully. “Of course I will help you.”

Severus responded with a smile of relief. Slightly surprised by the sight, the old wizard thought inwardly that he couldn’t remember a time he had seen him smile.


~*~


“How much time do we have?” he asked practically.

“As long as needed. As this book states,” he said, producing Voldemort’s book of spells from his bag, “the sleeping spell she cast on herself is a kind of time-freezing spell. I am virtually immortal.”

He stopped for a moment, letting the information sink in. He hoped it was telling of Hermione’s faith in him and not that it would be seen as Gryffindor foolishness.

“But,” he continued quite cautiously, “even without taking my own life into consideration, we shouldn’t be looking for just a way to reverse the potion. I’m afraid that, were I to die, she would express her resentment most forcefully after all the effort she had expended for such an event not to occur. She would most likely hate you for your hand in it and I would not wish the wrath of Miss Granger on anyone.”

“True, that she would. Very well, we will begin to look for a remedy tomorrow. You will be my guest for as long as needed. No one will know you are here, since I rarely receive visitors. And maybe this book with help us,” he added, eyeing the book of spells.

Severus recognised that look; it was the same as Hermione’s when she had spotted a book she was dying to read, the look of someone eager to lose himself or herself in the numerous pages of an unknown tome.

“You are more than welcome to read it,” he said, deciding to offer it as an olive branch.

He took a sip of his own cup of tea, noticing it was now cold, but choosing to ignore it. He was resolved to make sure that if the thawing of relations with the other wizard should revert to their former levels of icy reserve, it would be through no fault of his own.

“Now, tell me about your current research,” he asked, genuinely curious now that the first step had been made.

His host seemed surprised by his interest and almost choked on his tea before being able to answer.

“Dementors. Two of them are in this house, by the way. The room is isolated and strongly warded, so you won’t feel a thing, but I prefer you to know.”

Severus nodded slowly. The old Potions master had always had eccentric ideas and studying Dementors was just one of them. It usually allowed him to follow a wide field of interests. In a way, Severus envied him his willingness to research the unusual, although this particular subject matter wouldn’t do well for his own peace of mind. He had a very bad memory of Dementors. Yet, despite this, for the first time since he had awakened, Severus enjoyed a night of sound sleep. And, as the dawn rose, the two wizards began their work.