"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked for the umpteenth time.

Hermione sighed and nodded, staring at him where he stood shoulder-to-shoulder beside Harry. "Yes. I'm sure."

"It's just," Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets and glowered across the room. "It's Snape. I didn't really think you'd—you sure you want to go somewhere with him?"

Hermione glanced over towards Severus; a tall, thin figure, shrouded by his heavy cloak, glaring impatiently at the party of well-wishers who had come to see Hermione off.

"He understands my curse better than anyone. If I'm not in a condition that's competent to make medical decisions, he'd be the best person to make them for me. I trust him."

Harry stood staring at her with his bright green eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he studied her.

"He's a git," Ron said, grimacing.

Hermione shook her head without looking away from Harry. "A bit, but not really."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, and he glanced towards Ginny. "You know... if you want me and Ron to come with you, you just have to say the word and we will."

Ron swallowed and nodded in emphatic agreement.

Hermione stood for studying them both for several seconds. "No, Harry," she shook her head, "Ron, I'm not asking either of you to do that."

Harry nodded slowly, his expression uncertain. "Well, just know that all you need to do is ask."

Hermione forced a bright smile. "I know."

She looked down, pulling her sleeve carefully over the bandages on her arm and drew a steadying breath before lifting her chin. "Take care of yourselves, you two. I put in a lot of work keeping you both alive. Don't you dare die doing anything stupid while I'm in America. I'll never forgive you. I mean it."

They both nodded and then stepped forward almost simultaneously and crushed her in a hug. She could feel Harry's chest hitching as he gripped her.

She buried her face between them and hugged them both fiercely.

"You're going to come back, right?" Harry's voice was thick and muffled near her ear.

Hermione was silent for a moment, her eyes fastened on Severus' face as he stood waiting for her.

"I'm going to try," she said, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm going to do my best."

She let go and stepped back.

"Course you will," Harry said with a forced, thin-lipped smile of his own.

Ron's eyes were swimming and he scrubbed his face with his sleeve.

"I've got to go now," Hermione said, glancing towards the clock on the wall.

"If that greasy git does anything you don't like, send us a letter and we'll hex him into the ocean for you." Ron was back to eyeing Severus with great suspicion.

"I'll keep it in mind," Hermione said dryly.

She hugged everyone goodbye again and again until her arms began to feel weak.

"Miss Granger, the portkey departs in one minute if you can possibly tear yourself away from the repetitive embraces of your friends." Severus' cool, disdainful voice invaded the tearful party like a bucket of ice water.

Ron stiffened, his hand reaching for his wand, and he angrily opened his mouth to reply.

Hermione laid a hand on his wrist. "I have to go, Ron."

Severus stood gripping their bags and extended his other hand towards Hermione. She took it and stepped towards the Ministry portkey.

Harry stood, the Weasleys and a few members of the Order and DA beside him. Concealed beneath the fabric of Severus' cloak, Hermione entwined their fingers, squeezing his hand tightly as she turned and smiled at everyone.

She waved one final time before taking hold of the portkey.

There was a sharp, wrenching tug behind her navel and they both vanished.

The sheets of the Nordhelm Clinic in upstate New York were pristine. Perfect creases. There was not even a speck of dust to be found in the room. The beds, walls, and furniture were all blindingly white and neatly straightened, just like the teeth of the American nurses and healers who flitted down the hall and tended to grin unrelentingly.

Severus was starkly out of place with his black robes and unapologetically dour expression.

Hermione felt equally foreign as she sat in her bed staring at the garden outside her window. She looked down at the sheets again, and her toes scrunched under the sheets as she tried to relieve some of the vibrating tension trapped inside her.

Her stomach was twisted into a multitude of anxious knots.

She pressed her right hand against her left forearm, but there was no comfort in the touch. The head healer at the clinic had placed a structured cast embedded with monitor spells on Hermione's arm upon her arrival the week before. There were diagnostic readings from it projected onto the wall beside her bed, and Severus' eyes tended to be glued to them.

She looked down at her hands for several seconds before drawing a deep breath and looking up.

Severus was staring at the door, still and impassive as a statue.

Hermione's lips moved, but it was as though there were iron bands locked around her chest, forcing out all the oxygen in her lungs. No sound came out.

She gripped her left arm tighter and tried again.

"Severus."

He instantly turned to look at her, his black eyes locking on her face. Her throat thickened, and she gripped her arm more tightly

"This is it," she finally managed to say. "Today's the day."

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, his expression was unchanging.

She forced a smile. "Severus, if I don't—"

"Don't," he said, his voice cold.

She froze and stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "No. I want to say all of this once. If this is the last time I speak to you, I want you to know—"

"I don't want to hear it." His tone was implacable as he cut her off.

Hermione swallowed and looked down, straightening the sleeves of her hospital robes.

After a minute, she looked back up. He was still staring at her, his expression unrelentingly obstinate.

She drew a deep breath, her shoulders rising and squaring. "Don't you want to hear me say it once?"

"I don't want to hear anything from you now," he said, his voice flat. His expression was closed and his black eyes emotionless.

Her chest tightened, and she dug her fingers in against the hard material of the cast. "You can't just assume. Statistically speaking, my odds are—"

"I am aware of how statistics work," he said, cutting her off. His eyes were flashing with visible irritation.

He stood abruptly, turning towards the door. Hermione's heart dropped, and she thought he was going to walk out and leave her.

She pressed her lips together, watching him. He stared at the door, straightening the collar of his robes, and inhaling audibly through his teeth.

He shifted away, and her mouth went dry, but then he pivoted abruptly and came over to her bed, seating himself on the edge of it, and prying her right hand away from the place where she was gripping her cast. Her fingertips and nails had turned white from nervously squeezing her forearm tighter and tighter.

He held her hand in his long, pale fingers, his thumb tracing lightly along the tendons running across the back of her hand.

"We're not saying goodbye today," he said without looking up at her. "This curse is only a chapter in your life. When it's concluded..." the words grew thin and strained, he cleared his throat.

"When it's concluded," he said again, his voice dry, "I expect you to live a very long and insufferable life—to the point that I am forced to question many of my choices."

He looked up at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched, giving the barest hint of a smile when their eyes met. "I sincerely believe that."

He looked down again and rested his other hand on top of hers. "Anything you wish to tell me can wait a few more days."

Hermione pulled her hand free and reached up, pressing her palm against his cheek.

"I want you to hear me say it," she said.

He sat back just enough for his dark, intrusive eyes to meet hers. There was an obstinate and unapologetically greedy expression written across his face. "I will."

As he said it, the door clicked and opened.

The head healer entered the room. "Miss Granger, are you ready?"

Hermione's mouth was too dry to speak. She gripped Severus' hand and nodded.

There was heaviness everywhere. Darkness.

Everything was black.

Hermione knew she needed to breathe, but the very cells in her body felt leaden. Everything weighed too much. Her lungs were being crushed and were too heavy to expand. She struggled but couldn't even manage to make her fingers twitch.

There was a slow, rounded noise that kept repeating in a vague, monotonous rhythm, muffled and interspersed beneath a deeper, melodic hum that was far away.

She needed to breathe, but it was as though she couldn't remember how to. Was there a trick for making the air go in?

Her whole sense of being seemed disjointed.

There was a vague impression of light in front of her, in the same direction as the distant, mumbling sounds. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were uncooperative. They fluttered and parted just enough to glimpse blinding whiteness.

Her eyes slid shut again.

Limbo was a white mist Harry had said.

The rounded, repeating sound seemed to grow faster.

She tried to move. Why couldn't she move?

She struggled, trying to force her eyes open, and finally managed to part them enough to peer through her lashes. There seemed to be nothing but bright white around her. It hurt to look at.

Everything was so heavy.

She squinted.

Something dark and vague in shape appeared in the furthest reach of her vision, blurring as it shifted and moved overhead.

She tried to force herself to breathe, feeling as though her body were pinned down and crushed under a boulder. Her chest seemed to barely rise. She tried again.

The noises surrounding her grew gradually clearer and slowly decipherable.

The monotonous repeating sound was a heartbeat monitor. Her heartbeat.

The melodic hum was the rise and fall of a voice.

She forced herself to breathe again and felt her fingers twitch against cool, crisp fabric.

The dark shape overhead drew nearer, becoming more distinct as she peered up at it, trying to see clearly.

Black hair and eyes.

Pale skin.

Her eyes widened.

Severus was at her bedside, staring down at her.

He was smiling.

The End