A/N: Thank you Dragoon811 for being my wonderful beta! I wrote this ages ago for the HP Minifest 2015 on LJ, but never got around to posting it. Enjoy some Christmas angst in July! ;)

Warnings: Unrequited Crush, Angst, Referenced Character Death/Torture.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

His Guardian Angel

Hermione's hands trembled as the bitter wind whipped her hair against her face. She pulled her cloak around herself tighter and adjusted her scarf. Her eyes stung from the cold, but she couldn't bring herself to move from atop the Astronomy Tower. Her eyes scanned what she could see of the grounds as she waited for Snape to return to the castle.

Hermione's heart ached each time she imagined what he must be going through. Ever since she learnt that Snape was a spy for the Order, something Tonks let slip, she couldn't help but watch him. She suspected that he knew she was watching him, but she couldn't bring herself to care… The poor man just couldn't catch a break.

It had been during Hogwart's Christmas Eve dinner that Snape had gone rigid at the Head's Table. She had watched in horror as, without speaking a word to anyone, he had stood and left. Hermione knew with a sinking feeling that he had been Summoned.

Christmas Eve with Voldemort. Hermione couldn't even fathom to guess what that would be like. She shivered, unsure if it was the winter night or her current thoughts that were responsible.

Please, let him be okay, she closed her eyes and wished.

Hermione's body ached for sleep, but she couldn't bring herself to leave her post. Not until I know he's alive.

She hated this. She absolutely hated that she cared so much. Tears stung at her eyes as she thought of her professor lying dead somewhere…

"No," she whispered firmly. "He'll survive. He's a survivor." But still, the doubt nagged at the back of her mind.

The sun began to peek over the Black Lake and Hermione found herself more than worried for his safety. Should she seek out Professor Dumbledore? Or would that reveal her feelings for her professor?

She turned her head side to side, stretching her neck. She stood from her spot on the floor and grasped the railing with frozen fingers, leaning out over it.

Her eyes widened as her gaze locked on a lone familiar figure coming up the pathway to the castle, the only spot of black on the otherwise white landscape. "Professor," she whispered with chapped lips, her heart aching so much it felt as if it would burst.

Thank Merlin he's alive.

Snape limped up the path towards the castle, his body aching and protesting every step. Almost there, he told himself as the castle came into view. A sigh of relief escaped him, and he was thankful that he had survived another encounter with the Dark Lord.

He knew that he needed to report to Dumbledore, but a part of him just wanted to head straight to bed. He didn't want to deal with the old coot, he wanted sleep.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Snape growled bitterly, his breath steaming in the early morning air. He absolutely loathed the holiday, and this one would be no different. He'd spend it alone in his chambers as he always did, recuperating.

As he neared the castle walls, his gaze automatically went towards the Astronomy Tower. Sure enough, he saw her small figure near the railing. He wanted to sneer at her persistence, but couldn't find it in himself.

Granger was always there, watching and waiting. He imagined that the silly chit had probably spent the entire night up there again. "Foolish girl," he grumbled, unsure as to why Granger would even care.

Snape was loathed to admit that a small part of him was touched that she cared. He knew that she was always worrying – as if she fancied she was his guardian angel.

He snorted and cringed at the pain that radiated throughout his face — damn Dolohov for breaking his nose during their duel. He didn't deserve a guardian angel. Only good men had one of those… And he was no good man. He had killed: not directly, but it was his fault that Lily had been murdered. It was his fault when he was unable to stop three Muggles from being killed this very evening. He had attempted to deter Doholov from torturing the child, resulting in him being the one to take the brunt of Doholov's wrath.

His leg throbbed with pain from the curse that had burnt his flesh. He had tried to save them, but once more failed.

He didn't deserve anyone's sympathy. He was simply doing what he needed to in order to end the war. There was nothing valiant about his efforts.

But still, he mused, glancing up at her silently watching figure. It was nice that someone cared.